Fallout 3 belongs to Bethesda.

I own Wisp and Dukov's underwear.

Just kidding~

...he doesn't wear underwear.

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Damn it, just damn it!

It was just like me, to get jumped by those fucking Super Mutants. How the hell did I pull that off? Their every step is like a fucking earth tremor. Just fuck!

I was being a stupid wastelander, and a stupid wastelander is a dead wastelander. Simple as that, that's how I live.

I had been heading into the D.C. area, looking for some answers. --Like that Vault 101 kid, who I've heard, been running around too. Three Dog of course filling me on that kid's adventures whenever I turned on that damn radio.

That kid's a spit fire, if you ask me.

But why the hell am I thinking of that pipsqueak now, when I need to take care of my own ass?! With my head filled with glass and my muscles feeling as if peeled off the bone.

I'd been traveling to Three Dog's radio station myself, like I said, I needed answers and he's the guy most likely the know them.

A sudden stillness in the pain covered me like soaked blanket, followed by the light bursting in front of my eyes the dust covered landscape shattering like glass.

Dust clawed at my side, my bare arms and face. I ripped my hand out against what was causing such pain.

"A wall—just a fucking wall…oh."

Head suddenly light I felt my legs falter under me and I dragged my skin across the stone wall even more, yet the last of my worries now. Convulsing, vision still gone I lost it all across the rubble.

Very "Waste Warrior" like indeed.

It tasted just as horrible coming up as going down, probably worse. Rule of thumb to puke, I'd say. Nonetheless how horrible it tasted, or smelled for that matter, I sat there for who knows long, my eyes tightly closed and my ears straining for any fucks about to mess with me. Though I'd doubt even they'd want to get close to this nasty shit.

Slowly, I lifted my eyes to survey my surroundings. The result was something that probably what the stew below me looked like.

"Oh…just fuck."

Vision still blurry, this cannot turn out good. Swallowing the bad taste lingering my mouth, I grasp at the wall and pull myself up shakily. I need a place to curl up and heal up, out here is too dangerous. I lifted a hand to keep my head still, all I touched was sticky clots across my head. Damn.

I follow the wall, it's the only thing I can think of at the moment, and this has to lead somewhere…right?

Slow going and I slipped once, most likely on my own excretions, which is pretty damn nasty. But I made it to a door…wait a door?! I felt air rush from my lungs, as if I'd been holding my breath the entire slide across the wall. This was dumb luck, purely dumb fucking luck.

"Yes!" I hissed under my breath, I rummage around till I find the handle and push. I push like it's the only thing my brain can function to do. Which might be closer to the truth than when I thought that. Last thing I remember is falling through and ending on the ground, someone leaning over me and laughter.

Laughter. Dark, amused laughter.

Sometimes I wonder why I always jump from the pan to the fire, or maybe, the incinerator.

Than it's the void.

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Please excuse the crap in this, I'm trying to get back into the flow of writing fiction. I've been writing school essays too damn long, I swear.