Chapter One: Bleach Taste Funny
The Lone Wanderer was getting ready to begin his work shift for the day in the Laundromat Hell he was imprisoned in when he saw a familiar person. He had thought about Jericho possibly coming to wreck up this shitty place to rescue him, but there he was in a familiar outfit that the Lone Wanderer himself had been forced to wear, attending to a row of washing machines.
None of them ever even took the time to question, who the hell was supplying all of this laundry to be washed and dried? It clearly didn't matter. Why would it matter? Two hundred years had passed from the year, it was time to quit the shit and get people back to work. Even if work meant being enslaved by Chinese people with no skin and then being forced to wash and dry clothes every day.
Why did it have to be Chinese people? Well, a pre-war stereotype was that all laundromats were usually owned by Asians. Who knows where that particular stereotype started, but it obviously proved to be true in the Lone Wanderer's case.
The Lone Wanderer didn't care one fucking bit about what the Chinese people would do if he stopped putting clothes into the dryers. He was going to talk to Jericho, even if that meant he was going to get shot by one of these rotting pricks.
"Jericho, what the hell are you doing here? Why aren't you shooting these Chinese bastards in the face with your shotgun that was given to you by that one guy?"
"Wash. Wash the clothes. Jet. I'll get jet. If wash clothes. Bleach taste funny." The strange expression on Jericho's face immediately struck the Lone Wanderer's heart like a knife. Did the Chinese drug Jericho up? How long has he been here? Is he actually enjoying washing clothes? And why is he tasting 200 year old bleach?
The Chinese Overseers were becoming suspicious at the Lone Wanderer being near their not so new recruit. They would soon fire a warning shot. Then they would shoot the Lone Wanderer in both of his legs and then permanently assign him to folding duty.
Nobody wants to be assigned to folding duty. It's like hell within a hell. Who in their right mind wants to fold clothes without stop for three weeks? Perhaps even longer if the Chinese Ghouls feel like being evil.
The Lone Wanderer took one last look at his lost friend and simply walked back to his dryers. He wished that somebody would just come and renuke this area.
End of Chapter One
Oh hey there. I used to write Fallout fanfiction a long time ago. My most popular one was Fallout: A New Definition of Hell. Then I made up a bunch of other ones that will most likely never ever be finished ever. I like to think that my writing has improved at least a little since those days. I write mainly crappy shoddy stories that I will eventually attempt to get published. But until then, I randomly got the idea of this story one day.
Ridiculous? Check? Laundromat? Check. Chinese ghouls? Check.
This is not supposed to be serious. Why, it's not even supposed to be not serious.
How I would classify this fanfiction is, what is this I don't even.
Adios.
~TGG333