"Welcome to the Kliener-Rich underground wing! For the rest of your stay you will be referred to as-'
The CL4P-TP had to check his clipboard.
'-13-G'
The CL4P-TP started pushing numbers on a keypad, 134.
This wing seems to be really outdated now that I notice it. LED lights, keypads, worst of all the Hyperion colors are black and red. What have I walked into...
The CL4P-TP sat me down in a room that resembled my daughter's pediatrician's. The bot left and a few minutes later a man in a labcoat came in.
'Testing will begin shortly. 13-G, do you mind needles?'
I began to say yes before he said "Good." and walked over to a supply chest. He took our a large syringe filled with purple liquid. I recognized it as slag. Did they seriously try to trick one of their own miners?
I ran for the door but it was locked. I quickly remembered 134 as the code the bot put in.
ACCESS DENIED
It could not have been louder. That's when I felt a pain in my leg and fainted."
That's what we should say.
I'M CONDUCTOR OF THE POOP TRAIN!
"So if you couldn't tell what the slag did, it made me strong and seperated my violent side (and made it more powerful) from my peaceful side.
MEAT BICYCLE!
YOU ARE READING
Borderlands Origins
FanfictionBorderlands Origins is the begginings and life of each vault hunter. It will be mixes of confirmed and suspected origins.