Why hello there. Welcome to my magical word wonderland. Honestly, this exists cause I was playing Borderlands 2 and felt like it'd be interesting story fodder. So, enjoy. Or not.

I do not own Borderlands.

Chapter One: Three Vault Hunters Walk into a Cave...

Shit. Everyone's freaking out. What's going on? What the fuck do I do? I run out of my bunk and into the corridor, and I see it. Everyone's dying. There's just this one guy, this big black guy, and he's blowing them all to bits. My father's in front of me now. He throws me back into the bunk and tells me to stay there. It was just a flash, a second, two max, but everyone is just fucking dying. I can't move. Dad must have paralyzed me. There's no way I'm this scared. I've never even been scared. Fuck, what am I doing? I ask myself the question over and over, but nothing can make me go back out there.

Five minutes later it's over. The guy came through, took what he wanted, and left. I burst back out, and there are bodies everywhere. What the fuck? What the fuck? What did we ever fucking do? There's dad. Thank God he wised up and played dead. I touch his shoulder. No response. He's not playing. He's gone.

I woke up with a start. That fucking dream again. That was the day I snapped. No, not like the psychos. Well, maybe a little like them. Like everyone else that survives to adulthood around here. I snapped into Pandora. It's a fucked up world, and that day marked my realization of that simple fact of life. That was three years ago, when I was still a preteen. The day after was the day I looted Ziva, named for the girl I stole her from, loaded her up with some spare shells, and went on my first trip Skag hunting. Only bagged one that day, but I came home, and that meant I could do it again the next. And the next. And the next.

I heaved myself out of bed, strap Ziva on, and head into the Tac Room, familiar faces grinning at me from all around. Derek, who was out yesterday, but got back this morning to assess the damage, was very pleased with me.

"It's good to know I left the Cellar in the right hands, Ed." He slapped me on the back and continued, "The rest of these sorry sacks tell me you did a mighty fine thing when them Bloodshots came calling."

I looked up at Derek with a smirk. "What is it about this damned rock that makes it 'a mighty fine thing' to kill a man?"

Alan was never really the brightest, but he liked to chime in anyway. "Oh, you killed more'n one man. Reckon they left behind a good twenty or thirty when they picked up on th' fact that you wasn't havin' any o' their shit." Nods of confirmation came from the other two. Mike hadn't really said anything. He rarely does. Greg's silence was a bit odd, though.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, well the Cellar isn't what she was, but damned if she isn't worth putting up a fight. Now, if you boys will excuse me, Ziva wants to taste some Skag meat. Tactical meeting adjourned?" Without waiting for an answer, I headed out.

Good pull. Another forty or so Skags and twenty-something Bullymongs meant those populations were both under control, and a few of my fellow bandits who got too cocky or too greedy had been left as corpses to ensure that nobody fucked with the Cellar. Such was necessary to maintain our little sliver of peace in this hellhole some call a planet. Sundown was coming, and I was satisfied with the day's work, so I headed back.

Immediately, something felt wrong. There was no one at the door. It's just a tin sheet thing that keeps the cold wind out of the cave, but there's always, always someone out in the chair. What was going on? As I push the door out of the way and walk in, I find out: there, walking back towards me, stepping over bodies, was a blue-haired woman with tattoos on her shoulder. Our eyes met. Two seconds later my shock pistol was drawn and a round had been placed straight into her shield generator. She'd need a new one.

I didn't have time to gloat. That SMG she pulled out looked nasty. I rolled behind a barrel. Not much cover in the Cellar. Turned out I was right. Where I used to be there was a hissing noise and smoke was coming from some green shit in the rock. Corrosion? Really? Fuck. I was gonna need to be careful.

Pistol holstered. I get a firm grip on Ziva, think about praying, and then remember that nothing sane enough to listen to a prayer could possibly have put this place here. I jumped out, pinpoint the bitch's new position, and fired a shell at her chest. Fourteen rounds found their marks. Fourteen bullet wounds lit up in glorious hellfire. I still had the upper hand. She raised her caustic SMG. Looked like a Dahl, taking a second to examine it. I just stepped to the side. Her arms weren't responding well. Fuck, if they were, with her body literally going up in flames, I'd fucking let her kill me right here. She turned to me and gave me this look. I was raising Ziva for the killing shot when she pointed her hand at me and made a fist. I lost my balance . I managed to get the trigger pulled, but my aim was off. As I was picked up by some weird black sphere, I realized I wasn't dead. I had hit her and she couldn't aim correctly at me. For fuck's sake. I love you, Ziva.

The fucking black shit dispersed eventually, and I was dropped onto the wet rock floor. After getting up and regaining my composure, I get the pistol back out and point the crosshair directly at this girl's forehead. "Care to try that again?"

That was it. I had won. She raised her hands up in defeat. I was getting some kind of high from it. I felt great. Then this massive guy just had to walk in and spoil it all. "Hey shithead bandit. You really think messing with Vault Hunters is a great idea?"

Vault Hunter? The fuck would a fucking Vault hunter be doing here? "Okay, a few things, asshole. One: I'm not a bandit. Nobody here was a fucking bandit. Don't lump us in with those good for nothing Bloodshots. Two: She fucking came here. She fucking slaughtered everyone I fucking know. I didn't 'mess with her.' Three: What the fuck are you going to do about it?"

Apparently I had gotten cocky. Before I saw him move I was on the ground. It wasn't until a second later that I realized he hadn't moved at all. There was a guy in some weird suit on top of me. He was pointing a sword at me, so I didn't feel the need for sarcasm at that precise moment.

Unexpectedly, it was the bitch who killed everyone that spoke up. "Wait, Zer0! He's not like the rest."

Nothing from the guy with the pointy metal stick. Instead, the big guy responded, "And just what makes him so different?"

"Well for one thing he can formulate sentences properly without sounding like a slightly lesser evolved version of Scooter's sister. For another, you haven't seen the kid use those things he has strapped to him."

"Oh? And just what is so great about a punk who can't even take out someone who's been fighting his ilk for hours?"

"Lots of stuff. Like the fact that before he got here, my shields hadn't even been fully depleted once. Look at me now." When Mr. Musculature gave her a look of skepticism, she gave him back an exasperated sigh and tossed the shield generator from her hip into the middle of the room. "That was his first shot. His pistol was holstered less than a second before he took it. He had no idea I existed a second before that."

The four of us, me straining to be able to, what with a guy on top of me and a sword at my neck, stared at the object of the girl's speech. Her shield generator sat in the middle of the floor, with a bullet dead at its center and a nearly symmetrical web of cracks around it. It was very obviously not an accidental shot. I felt a swell of pride, then remembered my situation and fell back into sulking.

Luckily for me—or unluckily, depending on your viewpoint—this seemed to impress at least one other person. The meathead made a clicking noise with his tongue. "Think you could do that, Zer0? Get off him, I guess."

As the weight shifted off of my body, a monotone voice, almost like a recording, sounded, "I could do better/ My skills still remain unmatched/ The boy is good, though."

I stood up, taking the shield generator as a trophy and stuffing it in my bag. "Was that a haiku?"

The girl—Maya—replied, "Yeah… we still don't really get that either."

Soldier Boy decided fun time was over. "Alright, little shit. As of now, you're a prisoner. You come with us. We're taking you to Roland."

"So let's get this straight. I've been captured by some bitch that killed tons of my closest friends, an asshole that could not possibly be any more of a stereotype, and a just-fucking-strange Japanese murderer in a wetsuit?"

"Deal with it."

This was going to be a long day.

That was fun. I like this so far. If you do too, shoot me a review and give some feedback. Thanks and good day!