I finally did it.

Future chapters will be longer in length.

Old chapters have been exported and I will put them up in a separate story later. So we can all remember how awful it was.

Michael opened his crusty eyes slowly, seeing the white brown stained mattress that he had been resting in. His hangover was apparent, due to the crushing headache and the violent urge to smash an idiot raiders head in like a watermelon. He grabbed both sides of his mattress, and pushed himself up. The cold morning air sent shivers across his scarred skin, and he coughed up phlegm onto the rusted metal floor of his room. It came out thick and green, and he had the sudden urge to drink even more booze. Sure, it wasn't exactly good for him, and certainly wouldn't help with his god damned headache.

But fuck it.

He stood up from his mattress, and cracked his back, his spine popping to his satisfaction. He heard the sound of chair legs scraping the floor in the room next to his, and Michael rolled his eyes. He took his cask of whisky from atop his white corner desk, and swallowed a mouthful, the liquid burning his throat (in a good way) on the trip down. He smiled.

Booze was good, booze was great, booze made him not want to fucking evaporate… something.

He wasn't good at rhyming, but he shouldn't have been, he was hung-over. He had every right to not be able to rhyme today! Fuck rhyming! He grabbed a black ceramic mug off of his desk, and gave it a test swing. Michael nodded to the cup, and marched over to the room next to his.

It was literally just outside of his door, he just had to merely step out of his room, and there it was. He twisted the rusted door handle, and swung it open, seeing a bloody gagged man tied to a lawn chair that Michael had found exploring the wastes. It was an excellent lawn chair, made of the finest of cheap plastics and elastics.

Wait.

He just rhymed, without even trying. That was the key.

To be good at rhyming words, he had to not try.

"I don't mean to pry" (Damn he was good!) "But I need to know where you guys got those chairs, now don't tell a lie." (Hot shit!) Michael said, pinching his brow.

He took this guy from the wasteland and found out that his entire gang had a huge assortment of really nice prewar lawn chairs. Very nice prewar lawn chairs. Like they hadn't even been touched by nuclear war or anything. Michael didn't really care about that kind of stupid bullshit, but if anyone should be allowed to sit in a really comfortable lawn chair, it should only be him.

Definitely not shit headed raiders, faggot ass little fucks.

"Mmmmphhh!" The raider replied through his gag.

Michael scraped gunk out of his ear with his pinky.

"You know, yellin' isn't nice." Michael said, bashing the mug he grabbed earlier against the raiders skull. "You fuck!"

Much to the wanderer's surprise, the mug did not shatter, and he smiled to himself as the raiders eyes shut.

"Huh, good cup." He stated, walking back out of the room and shutting the door behind him.

He yawned, and avoided staring at any light directly; else his headache would likely murder him to death. Today was going to be a lazy day; Michael didn't plan on adventuring out in the wastes today. Hell, there wasn't much left for him to do out there anyway. Hell, the only reason he brought lawn chair guy back here was because he was bored.

Was a dumb quest he created for himself, who the fuck wants to find out about fresh lawn chairs? Fucking whatever. Michael quickly charged back into that room, and smashed the mug against the raider's skull over and over again until he could feel the bone crack beneath the tough ceramic. Michael stopped his vicious beating for a moment to see if the raider was still breathing.

He saw no movement from the raider's chest. Michael smiled, and looked the cup over.

Not even a scratch on the cup.

"Damn good fuckin' mug. Smashed your mug up pretty damn good." Michael said to the corpse of the raider.

Michael yawned again, exiting the room and shutting the door behind him once more. He walked over to the railing that looked over his rusty metal living room, and cupped his hand around his mouth.

"Wadsbitch! Put some fuckin' coffee on!" Michael shouted, retreating back into his room.

He heard a robotic sigh as he slipped on his black Chinese stealth suit. Sleek yet comfortable. He let the part that covered his head dangle off the nape of his neck like a hood, and climbed into his winterized t-51b power armor, twisting the valve on the back that opened it up. The snow colored metal was full of dents, scratch marks, and the occasional plasma burn mark. This thing had never let him down, and even on a lazy day like this, he would wear it. He almost felt naked without it, even in his own home.

And he couldn't forget to pack some heat of course!

Michael swiped black hawk off of the top of his corner desk, knocking another coffee mug full of pencils onto the floor in the process. He shrugged it off, and attached it to the magnetized metal. He had a rule; he could never be five feet away from any of his weapons in a "Safe Space" at any given time, even in his own home. Which was why every five feet he went there was a random weapon mounted on or leaned up against a wall. Or just laying on a table.

God he loved guns.

He carried the helmet in his one free arm, and walked down the metal steps that led to his front room. Large computers beeped and booped as they operated in separate corners of his home, with a large center console in front of his bobble head stand. The little blue suited blonde haired fucks nodded at him with approval. Michael nodded back in confirmation of his awesomeness.

Wait.

Was that even a word? Awesomeness? Well, he was going to make it a fuckin' word if it wasn't, because it described him perfectly. How else to you describe a guy with a rockin' beard that toppled the enclave, committed mass genocide against mutants, irradiated animals, raiders, and even fucking aliens? Not to mention all of the robots that he'd taken apart before with nothing but a metal pipe. Who does that shit in the wasteland besides him?

Oh, that's right.

No one else.

Michael was the best killer in the Capital Wasteland, and fuck anyone else who thought otherwise. Jericho called him a goody two shoes or whatever. Fuck Jericho. Jericho hadn't seen half the shit Michael had seen, and he hasn't killed even half the amount of living things that Michael had. That vapid cunt.

He shook his head, and decided to put on his helmet, maybe that would help with the headache with its polarizing visor. Nice and secure.

He looked around, and frowned when he noticed that he couldn't see Wadsworth.

"Waddy boy? Fucking hell I swear if you tried to break out again I'll fuckin' break you down for parts. I mean it this time." Michael said, cracking his knuckles.

He noticed out of the corner of his eye that there was a green glow around the corner. He furrowed his brow at this, because the only thing around that corner was an irradiated sink and a fridge full of food and a freezer full of decapitated fingers. He blinked, and saw that it was still there.

He sighed, and walked over to the source of the green light. His Geiger counter wasn't going off, so it was either broken or that sickly green light wasn't irradiated. Which was retarded, everything is irradiated. A lot like Michaels sense of humor.

When he rounded the corner, his eyes widened with surprise when he saw Wadsworth partially sticking out of a giant orb of green light. Only one of his metal limbs was sticking out of it, and Michael gripped onto it tightly.

"Not today Waddy boy! I have a bunch of pencils I spilled upstairs! Your shiny metal ass isn't going anywhere!" Michael shouted.

No matter how much he tugged however, he could not pull the machine out of the light. In fact, it was like the light was sucking him into it as well. His hands had sunken in after it as well, and Michael frowned.

"Fuck it, sorry Wadsworth I ain't dying because of you." Michael stated, attempting to remove his hands from the portal.

He let out a silent scream when he realized that he could not get his hands free.

"No! No! Fuck! Fuck! Dogmeat! Goddamit dog fuckin' get someone!" Michael shouted to his hound.

He heard scratches at the door, and would have face palmed if his hands weren't stuck. He must have put the dog outside to use the bathroom while he was drunk and forgot to let him back in.

"Dammit boy do smart dog shit and open the fuckin' door!" Michael shouted.

His arms were now elbow deep in the portal, and it was starting to tickle.

More scratching at the door.

"At least shit on Jericho's mat one more time for me boy!" Michael shouted.

He heard a bark of agreement, and Michael smiled. His shoulders were now consumed by the green portal and- wait.

Why did he assume it was a portal? He didn't know shit about this thing! Sure, he could still feel his arms and all that, but that didn't automatically make it a portal. Where the fuck did it go if it was one? Was he getting abducted again? If so he didn't mind, that just meant he had to do the same thing before and kill everything, which coincidentally was also his policy on… well everything.

Killing stuff just worked out for him; ten times out of ten. Those retarded green aliens fell for the whole 'let's pretend to beat the shit out of each other' gag. Sure, they were aliens, but they were advanced enough to know that would lead to them getting the shit kicked out of em.

Okay.

So best case scenario, it was a portal that lead to god knows where.

Worst case scenario, it's a sphere of annihilation that only destroys what's inside it when the whole thing is in it.

Either way he wouldn't be seeing home in a while. Which also meant that when he got back, his fuckin' house was going to reek of dead raider. He wasn't looking forward to that.

…

…

…

Louise began coughing her lungs out, her ears still ringing with pain from her summoning spell. Black smoke clouded her vision, and soot stained her clothes. Her long pink hair that she had spent most of the morning brushing was now ruined, matted down with the aforementioned soot and sticking up in random places.

"That's the Zero for you!" She heard Kirche's sultry voice shout.

Stupid big titted bimbo.

Eventually, the smoke cleared, and she blinked her pink colored eyes. Laying on the ground flat on their back was either a man clad in snow colored plate armor, or some kind of steel golem. Louise let out a sigh of relief; this was actually… somewhat acceptable, especially if it was a steel golem! She cocked her head slightly when she saw some sort of six limbed metal ball floating above the steel golem. The three limbs on the top held glowing orbs that seemed to observe its surroundings, as if they functioned as eyeballs.

The bottom three limbs were tipped with tools. One of them was a metal pincer, another was some sort of contraption with a small flame coming out of the tip, and the final one was a circular saw blade. It floated in the air because of what appeared to be a central propulsion system, which made the air under it become depressed from the force.

The multi-limbed thing slowly approached her, and leaned its central eye close to the pinkettes face.

"Hello young miss! I am Wadsworth, a robotic butler. Might I inquire as to where I am?" It asked her in what sounded like an educated voice.

Louise backed away from the thing.

"Um… what?" Louise asked it.

The thing remained silent for a moment.

"Mr. Colbert do you recognize this thing?" Louise shouted back to her balding teacher.

The man in question adjusted his glasses, and stared at it.

"I've never seen such a thing before… perhaps I could find something on it in our library." Colbert responded.

"Not a language I have ever heard before, that is for certain!" The machine shouted in its weird, slightly annoying language.

Louise shook her head. Only one of these creatures could be her familiar, so why did she summon two of them? She placed a hand on her chin.

"The floating one isn't really alive, I can tell. You can't make that one your familiar Ms. Valliere, but the man on the ground over there is, look at his hand." Mr. Colbert stated.

Louise looked at the hand that her teacher had pointed out, and saw fleshy fingers poking out of a weird metallic glove. On its forearm was some sort of contraption that glowed a sickly green light. So it was a knight in armor! Which meant that he had lips…

Lips that she had to kiss.

Her face grew red.

"What's wrong Louise? Go claim your prize." Kirche taunted.

Her long red hair covered on half of her face, and her white shirt was barely big enough to hide her assets. The black cloak the Zerbst wore brushed against the top of the green grass, held in place by a single yellow pin over the top of her chest. On the pin was etched the symbol of a star. Every student at the academy wore similar garments, save for the first years, which wore brown cloaks.

Louise ignored the tan skinned harlot, and walked over to the knight. At least she summoned someone that appeared to have combat experience; she might have died if she had summoned a commoner with no skills whatsoever. The armor was dented, scratched, and looked burnt in some places, meaning that he could have even fought with some sort of fire mage at some point.

She let out a silent scream with the realization that this might be some sort of nobility. Would she even be allowed to have such a person as a familiar? What if he himself had a familiar? What if that floating ball staring at everyone was his familiar? What would that make it?

She shook her head once more. Either way, he would be her familiar; he would dress her, clean up after her, and brush her hair if she demanded it! She kneeled down next to the knight, and placed her hands on either side of the metal helmet. The thin black visor showed nothing on the other side of it, not even the slightest glimmer of eyes. She gulped, and tugged on the helmet.

It didn't come off.

She tugged again, her face reddening with the effort. She briefly gave up, and let out a breath.

"Try twisting and then pulling zero!" She heard Guiche Grammont shout.

She turned her hateful gaze towards the blonde.

"Don't call me zero you puffed up pillow biter!" She shouted.

Guiche's jaw dropped, along with several others around him. She turned away from them once more, and this time, twisted the helmet, and pulled. The helmet came off easily. The first thing she saw was his hair.

It was black as night, and reached down to his shoulders. It was very oily, as if he hadn't cleaned his hair in a while. Surrounding his mouth was an equally black, bushy beard (She would have to have it trimmed later) which was also oily. He smelled of dust and blood, and Louise gulped once more. He wasn't that bad looking at least; if he trimmed that hideous beard down he might be really handsome.

She leaned down, and locked her lips against his. Louise paused for a moment, and then broke off the kiss, standing back over the man. His flesh began to glow red, and steam rolled off of his exposed flesh. Suddenly, the familiars eyes shot open and he sat up screaming. Everyone flinched back away from the sound, and he glared at everyone with cold blue eyes.

"What the shit!?" He shouted. "Fuckin' what!?"

He looked to his feet, and patted his foot on the grass experimentally.

"Holy fuck! Waddy boy look its grass! I bet Dogmeat'd love to shit on this stuff!" He shouted. "Hell, I'm half tempted to take off my armor and lay a load down myself in front of all of these… all of these…"

He paused.

"Is this a joke? Kids? Some bald old guy?" He said.

He stared at the stone center building of the academy, and tilted his head. He turned to look at the other buildings that were connected to the center tower via stone walkway, and he looked to the sky.

"Shit doesn't look fuckin' irradiated at all." He said, looking down to the odd device on his wrist.

He fiddled with a few dials on it, and his jaw dropped.

"Not even background radiation? Did this place just skip out on nuclear winter?" He said.

Louise frowned, and walked up to the man, crossing her arms at him. He matched her annoyed glare, and to the onlookers, it appeared as if lightning was flashing between the two of them. She was so much smaller than he was, he towered over her. Her guess was that he was six foot four inches without the armor on.

"Is there a problem kid? Lose your fuckin' mommy or somethin'? If not, get the fuck out of my face." He stated, his frown deepening.

Louise didn't need to speak his language to understand that she had been insulted. She could tell that this was going to be a very… ugh… 'great' relationship.

What did you think?

Leave a fucking review and let me know you rotten cunt.