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Sorta automatic (Ada And Codsworth)

  It was always good to have a couple of extra pairs of hands around the red rocket especially those who simply couldn’t tire. You were thankful that you had taken a course in electrical engineering and robotics before the bomb dropped because you imagined any books about the robots were just used as kindling and you’d have probably had to have started from scratch. Either way, you were currently sitting at a desk, working on an old friend that you had known before the bombs hit which was your robotic servant, Codsworth, just making sure that you made more routine adjustments to her as you would screw on another, less rusted with age part to her body. You had to admit she was probably the easiest of your machines to fix up and recruit to your side, the fact that you had rapport with her from before the apocalypse being a pretty good reason but another being was that she had managed to live throughout the entire apocalypse without being aware that it was actually going on which led ...
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Getting Groovy (deadite puppeteer)

  A cold wind blows as the angels cry, your eyes glancing up into the sky to see that it was a bloody red, the clouds coming together to form a cyclone above you as you ran. It seems that the day had finally come and the dead had finally risen, clawing their way out of the dirt and chasing after you with you not only having to deal with them but having to deal with demons as well. Still you had managed to escape the cavalcade of demons and deadites that were around you, running off into the forest with a shotgun in hand, getting ready to blast anything and everything that came your way. Sweat dripped down your body as you held the gun in your hand, flexing against it as your harsh grip caused the mechanical components to dig into your skin. You looked behind yourself and into the foggy reaches of the forest, seeing as trees twisted into the red abyss that was above you, the occasional crack of lighting revealing more of their aged forms, the roaring of thunder keeping you aware of ...
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Work of art (Celia)

  Your taste buds had a dreadful habit of tasting what was in the air which was unfortunate due to the fact that your nose was often blind to the subtle things. You had grown to know the taste of petrol, of which was warm and wet, as well as things like burning wood but the one that you were most fond of was paint. It tasted dry on the tongue, almost dehydrating in the same way that chalk was although you rarely had the chance to smell it but today was one of those lucky days that you could. You looked down at the paints you had around you, mostly consisting of ink blacks, stellar blues, a pale white and golden shades of yellow before looking back to your canvas and then to your muse who had found herself laying on your sofa, one of her legs perched into the air and the other laying against the arm. You let out a hum to yourself as you would move back to the painting, the woman’s skin being rather meticulously detailed, various shades of blue melding together across it as you’d gla...
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