"Run that by me again… you did what to his pet?"

"We thought it would be funny. You know, screw around with it and then kill it. We didn't know it could turn into a Badass Skag!"

I shook my head in disappointment and disgust. Its always this sort of letdown that just seems so pointless, yet nonetheless happens so many times. I guess Pandora just eats you up and spits you out, and if you survive, you're either hardened or broken.

These guys, with their animalistic sadism, no pun intended, were just the worst help I could find. Definitely broken, at least mentally.

I pulled out Luscious, a gift from Moxxi after a couple of favors I helped her out with (constantly enduring her endless, albeit welcome, innuendoes), and brandished it in front of the mercs that I stupidly hired. I knew it was a bad idea to begin with, but desperate situations result in half hearted choices and regrettable results.

I took aim at Chubbs, the first psycho merc in line, right through the magnified sights. Beer-bellied and short, it was no wonder how he got his name. The rest of the psychos stood idly by, not really knowing what to do next. They were armed, but hadn't sensed any danger in me. At least, not yet.

Luscious sported a beautiful scope along her sleek frame, Jakobs built and Maliwan altered and upgraded. Of course, only Moxxi could talk her way into getting what she wanted, and this pistol was her product of false seduction and brutal silencing. She had a way with words and with killing. Easy on the eyes, though.

Chubbs stared back, thinking it was another bluff; I've resorted to false threats to take them out on multiple occasions, never following through because of the sheer knowledge that I needed them for this mission.

But even usefulness has its limits.

As the shot registered and exploded out of my pistol, Luscious burped corrosive residue around her muzzle, mixing Chubbs' red blood with the green liquid. The resulting color was the same adjective that Moxxi used to name the gun. She had fired it on one of Marcus' hostages one late night when we snuck into his store in Sanctuary. Marcus' "test target", used as target practice for his new Maliwans, died the same way Chubbs was dying, dissipating in an acid bath on the dirt floor. As Chubbs' flesh and bone were simmering and sizzling away at an alarmingly quick pace, the other mercs befell the same fate in rapid succession, never truly comprehending what had happened until it was too late.

I sighed. There was no remorse for the dead or the killed here on Pandora. It's the way of life. Only the tedious realization of what was to come, and what I still needed to do, was left.

"And I've got to do it all by myself. Well, as they say,

"There ain't no rest for the wicked."

I whistled out the rest of the song as I left the shack.