Hello everyone! Back from a rather long hiatus to bring you another story. I understand that I have not been consistent with this but I intend to finish this story in some fashion or another. Until then...enjoy!

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Part I

Capital Wasteland

Things change when you're dying. I have these visions. Strange sights and strange ways of the world and me. This bullet like a metal mole clawing and digging into my insides as if it were raw earth. And what do you know? By Jove it found a spring of red liquid that spews generously out from me. But who shot me? It pestered my thoughts like a fly. Heh...if you've seen the size of flies these day you'd know they did more than pester. The world is one massive drug trip; men in tin suits, half naked, or in regal attire living with only one mantra: "aim and fire". They go around and around with their dingy rifles, shooting poor cripples like me. Well, I am now a poor cripple. I have the bullet to thank for that.

"Pleasure is all mine..."

Well what do you know? The bullet is articulate. At least I was shot by a polite bullet. That makes everything so much better. God forbid it was moody and inconsiderate (what it would be considerate of is beyond me). I figure I can shoot the wind with this thing. Perhaps I can learn the whereabouts and who-abouts of my assailant.

"Say...do you know who shot me?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, let met me word it differently. Do you know who shot you?"

"How the hell would I know?"

"My word! Why, you're a bullet and..."

"Exactly! I'm a bullet. I don't see the light of day until BAM and out I go! You think that it's then that I decide to sit back with a beer in my hand and say 'Garsh what a pretty place and oh, hello there! What might your name be?' I just kill people."

"Ah not quite yet you have not! And don't forget that you talk as well."

"Talking? That would be the trauma and shock of death my friend."

Egads, he is quite the rude one. But he makes a good point though. When have you ever heard of a friendly bullet?

"Maybe one that wasn't lodged into a crazy old coot like you!"

I stand corrected. More so I lie on the ground bleeding out corrected. I wish things made more sense at this point in time but alas, nothing does. Getting shot at random while on a trade route and then conversing with a talking bullet. Maybe I am in Purgatory now. Things look terrible and bleak enough in the landscape. There is absolutely no weather at all either so all of this can't be real. This would have to be the most visceral psychedelic trip I have had in ages. Perhaps I should wait it out. Wow that's a lot of blood...

(TO BE CONTINUED)

ITS YOU! I remember you! You had awesome stories! Great to see you back KumiteKid! :vaultboy: :foodndrink: :celebration:

And it is good to be back Josh. Love getting the creative juices flowing again too. Here is a bit more so do enjoy!
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Part II

And what to do of the blood. Why I have to plug up the wound. I got to tear off some cloth somehow. Let me take out my knife from my sack and...

"Get off of me!"

Oh my word. This cannot be happening again. I wasn't going to have this talk again, not while I was bleeding out. God only knew it'd be as sassy as the bullet. Alright. Take the blade and...

"Stranger! Stranger! Stranger!"

"Ok I got to step in here. That is a downright lie and you know it! I've had you for about two days now, enough to get acquainted with you. Don't be so dramatic"

"More like abducted! You took me from that trader without giving him any caps in return. You stole!"

"He what?"

"Yes Mister Bullet, he abducted me without even asking and ran away with me. He's had his way with me many a time. Cutting up giant moles and...uh it is too terrible to say. Horrible memories I say to thee. I would not even put my own worst enemy through what this man has rung me through..."

"Well [censored] mister. I'm now a bit glad that I was the bullet to stop you. Doggone thief!"

"I will NOT be talked down upon by inanimate objects! Shut up and be inanimate objects!"

Lord have mercy on me. So what if I stole it? It is not like karma is going to kill me right? I mean, at least that is what the doctor told me. Went the other day and asked him what the hell the karma meant on my pip boy device thing I bought from some Vault guy. First I thought karma was something to do with life or death. I mean it came with it but I wasn't sure what to think of it you know? Damn it all, I forgot about tending to the bleeding. Ah screw it! I'm just going to take out that damn bullet! That's what has been driving me crazy all along! Say your prayers you son of a...

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"What? Why not eh? Afraid I'm going to take you out?"

"Take me out? You are going to take yourself out by trying to take me out you moron! Might as well stab yourself if you were going to try that."

"I don't get it. I don't understand? Why are you helping me?"

"Maybe I'm your freaking subconscious you idiot!"

Ha! My subconscious would not try to kill me and then want to help me. Look at this bullet trying to be a master of disguise. Doing a pretty horrible job at that! But it was right somehow. I would bleed more than I am now. My God...I need some Jet. God forbid it starts to talk to me...

This was unique, I look forward to reading more.

All of KumiteKids stories are unique man! He had a story about a Rad Roach.

This is some seriously funny [censored]! I hope you write more.

Thanks for all the comments, anything is appreciated. Here is the next part before the alleged conclusion. Enjoy!
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Part III

So I lied about the Jet. What I did have was some Med-X in my back pocket. It was for those occasions when, you know, by chance one decides to go out of their way to shoot you and run off. Must've not gotten the memo that shooting someone is now an informal greeting. If that is what the world has come to, besides everything else, then an alien might as well abduct me buddy. I have hung up my hat and I'm done with this. But now I got to go about sizing this syringe up. Hm...

"Good evening sir, what appears to be the problem?"

Well what do you know, sounds like this syringe is a doctor. I didn't know inanimate objects could, well, anything is possible at this point. I figure I will go with it.

"Well Doc, I just so happened to run into speeding lead."

"How fast was this lead traveling? Over the speed limit I..."

"Enough to do this." I take that back. Perhaps he had a doctorate in obliviousness. Must he go on?

"I see. Do you mind if I...look at it?"

"With pleasure."

BAM! I shove the syringe in as quick as possible into my stomach. My fingers squeeze on the grips as tensely as possible, getting every last drop of the medication into my system. I liken it too when you svck on the straw of a Nuka Cola at the soda shop, trying to get all of that sweet goodness in you. That's about as hunk dory of a metaphor I can manage for my drug addiction. I know I can work on it but, you know, I'm kind of under pressure here. I'm sort of dying. But at least it will be in this peaceful quiet, no noises in my head. Thank the Lord that...

"This is quite terrible sir. It will take me some time but I'll let you know the gravity of the situation once I manage to look into this here hole of yours."

And what do you know, I now had a voice inside my tummy. Dear God I cannot fight it. I wait on the edge for the doctor's verdict. I hope he and his assistants can use their surgical prowess to fix me up or at least shut the hell up!

Part IV

So I sat on my operating table of earth and dirt, waiting for something to happen. What that something was was beyond me. Getting better was beyond me. Hoping was beyond me. The drug just needed to happen. If it wasn't talking then it needed to work for Christ's sake! Crazy things have transpired already. I just wanted one simple thing to happen. One little thing: for that damn Med-X to work. Did I say that prior? Why then, I guess you see the emphasis on me wanting to live eh? Well I take back that whole depressing schpeel about getting better being beyond me. Good lord my whole life is on the line here! I would not be taking, let alone talking, to Med-X if I did not want its assistance now would I? Of course not, a tin head could answer that one for you no problem. Then again they walk around with robots and laser beams. That's a bit more than common sense. More than what I have.

"You could say that again."

That's a bit more than common sense. More than what I HAAAAH! It was the assailant. That son of a [censored] came back to get me. Not if I had anything to say about it! I drew my weapon, preparing to strike!

"Woah there partner. Put that syringe down you junkie!"

"What did you call me?"

"You heard me: an addict! Probably don't understand what's happened do you?" I saw the rifle in his hands. I knew what he was about, trying to be the big boy in this tarnished town. Couldn't play his game.

"Well from...uh what I can muster, it appears that I have a hole in my stomach. Let me check for but a moment. Ah still there, good. And I would inquire that you were the one that shot me!"

"Pretty smart for a junkie too."

"I knew you did it! I could tell by the..."

"But you're as crazy as one of them. Let me tell you the story." He sat down next me, his posture as calm and loving like a mother telling his child a goodnight story. Do mothers continue to do so these days? Probably read them a survival guide before they go to sleep. Good enough I assume.

"I heard talking over the trail. I assumed it was a trader so I ran with a bit of fervor as I needed some supplies. But then I came to little ol' you on the side of the road talking to yourself you poor fool. I assume you just inhaled some Jet in your system and were just getting on the high. You turned around and saw me. All of a sudden you jumped out of your britches and actually drew your pistol, speaking in some odd tongue."

"And then you shot me you son of a [censored]!"

"Oh well that's the problem mister. You were pointing the gun every which way, mostly at the ground and at your chest. I saw you were in bad condition and went over to help. By the time you pulled the trigger, well, you shot yourself."

It was bull [censored] if I ever smelled it. What was his big idea anyway? Was this supposed to be a twist in a story?

"Well you were the one inhaling some Jet. You are hallucinating. Where is my gun?" All of a sudden the man retrieved a gun from his pocket and dropped it in front of him out of my reach. How convenient.

"Look man, I just want to help you out. You need help and..."

"You're going to need help as soon as I get my hands on you!" As soon as I uttered the last word he ran off like the coward that boy is. It was my time to get the son of a [censored]. This was my revenge. The least that I wanted. The gun still lay on the ground. My chance laid there in the dirt. I had to grab at it. However you want to describe it, I moved towards the gun. In record time I arrived to my destination and picked up the piece. It felt so familiar for a strange reason. I had an odd sense of control with it. I aimed down the sight, he wasn't far away. Might as well of been asked to shoot a tortoise. Pull back the hammer, finger on the trigger, and click!

Click. Click. Click!

"Stupid piece of crap! Damn he got away! Oh my Lord!"

"Stop right there. You are the piece of crap here! How could you forgot our history? Everything that we shared together? Do you even remember the first time you held me? How could you talk to me in that tone? What do you have to say for yourself?"

I could only laugh as I laid back into the dirt. How was I going to talk myself out of this mess...

THE END

Ah, Kumite is back.

Sorry I did not comment earlier, it is delightfully unique just like most of your works and it's like a breath of fresh air. Thank you for sharing, my only complaint would be that it was a tad bit confusing at times, but it did not distract too much from the story.

Keep it up, says I. I actually enjoy reading your fanfics cause I never know whats going happen next and that's just beautiful.