A/N: We're 5 years prior to Borderlands, or 10 years prior to Borderlands 2. This fic has been long in the writing. And I mean long. Really. Rated T for occasional swearing, implied threats, and other tension-related situations.

Enjoy.

1: Proposition

Ganam Matronic wasn't much to look at. Pale skin that suggested he was no native of the planet, weathered to a slightly leathery texture by the few times he'd ventured out into the Pandorian sun. Salt and pepper stubble stretched from crown to chin via a weak jawbone, the grey hairs premature but not by much. Small shoulders, stooped from years of labouring at a desk and lacking any great musculature. He had the physique of a man who had neither known desperation nor excess. He looked, on all accounts, distinctly average. He'd found it was an advantage. People always underestimated the average looking. Maybe that's why this person had walked so casually into the bunker he used as both workshop and home.

"We're closed."

Ganam didn't look up from his workstation, although his right hand did twitch towards the pistol he kept in the drawer below. There was no need for that yet. The footsteps behind him had the heavy, authoritative thump of boots that were used to walking all over people. While this wasn't exactly a good sign, in the outback of The Dust anything that wasn't the thundering rampage of bandits, or the escaped Dahl psychos, was more than preferable. It wasn't often he got to do business with people in full possession of their wits these days.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise."

The voice was soft, male and had a barely perceptible undertone of insincerity that made Ganam's neck hair stand up on end.

The voice sighed.

"It's just I... I have a problem and I thought that the best bionic technician this side of Eden-5 would be the one to come to." He sighed again, melancholy oozing from the sound. "I... I suppose I could approach someone else..."

There was a shuffling sound of boots scuffing against the dusty concrete floor as they made towards the door.

"Wait."

Ganam pulled himself out of his stoop, spine popping as his vertebrae released hours of built up pressure. He lowered his tools slowly, laying the bronzed picks carefully into the cradles that ran the length of the workstation. They glittered in the harsh spotlight that illuminated only where he worked, leaving the rest of the crumbling subterranean bunker in thick shadow. Ganam looked over his shoulder and squinted, unable to see his visitor clearly through the combination of gloom and myopia.

"Why come to me? S'not like I advertise."

"Oh, did I come to the wrong place?" The stranger's tone suggested he knew he hadn't. "It's just I was told to seek out a Mr Matronic. Best of the best, they said. Find him in the back of beyond on Pandora. If you're not him, I apologise for bothering-"

"No. That's me alright."

Ganam couldn't help himself; he was immensely proud of what he did. Not his guns, although they were fine pieces of work. No, his crowning glory had been custom bionics. Technological enhancements of the human body had been his specialism, his reason to live. He'd almost made a name for himself, writing theories on how they could be used. Even started a little practical work. He'd taken to calling himself a bio-mechanic rather than a gun maker. His father had taken a dim view of this.

Matronic's Munitions had been in the family for generations, the secrets of the master weapon smith passed from father to son. Custom built from scratch, every Matronic's gun was as unique as the owner due in no small part to the patented bionic interface between man and machine. The gun was only usable by its intended owner. Ganam Matronic's life had been set to go the same way as his forebears until an accident augmenting a corrosive weapon left him missing a sizeable chunk of his left hand.

The sudden disability had acted as a wakeup call to the young Ganam. He'd watched his life flitting by, pacing a workshop full of workers and ruled over by an overbearing father who wanted him to go on to manage the company. He'd been good at what he did, but it just hadn't been what he wanted. It wasn't until one morning staring at his ruined hand that he had an Idea with a capital I. What if the Matronics bionic technology could be more than just a security feature on an expensive weapon?

Ganam rubbed the almost imperceptible join between his hand and the synthetic flesh of his mechanised fingers thoughtfully.

"What's this problem of yours?"

"Well, Mr Matronic, you see..." The visitor strode forwards, stopping just short of entering the light.

"I'm in need of a new face. And I'm told you can be the one to make it happen."

Ganam coughed, although it could have been a chuckle. He lifted his magnifying goggles further from his eyes to try and get a better look at his uninvited guest. He couldn't make out much. Male. Tall. Strong shoulders with a light built that suggested wiry strength. Too well dressed for your usual Pandorian, all yellow and white shirt that screamed target practise should any bandits catch sight of him. A briefcase of scuffed skaghide carelessly dropped by his feet, old and shabby in contrast to his clearly better kept attire. Casual stance, thumbs hooked in his belt as if to point out his unarmed state.

Idiot.

"Well, that's quite a problem. But you know what?" Ganam spat into the dirt, squaring up his shoulders in a way he knew the bandits found intimidating despite his size. "I ain't workin' on that kinda shit for cheap. Complex stuff, hooking up custom bionic parts to a human nervous system. I'm gonna need serious payment, assuming you survive."

The man said nothing. Ganam looked him up and down with a sneer before turning back to his work station, making a dismissive hand gesture over his shoulder. He reached for a set of pliers off to his left, synthetic fingertips closing carefully on the rubberised grip. He was about to mutter something about time wasters to himself when a sound made him freeze.

The man was clapping slowly.

"Oh, that was good. You try the tough guy act on all your customers?" He sounded amused. "I don't doubt it's complex and all that. It's just that it's more a case of-"

There were three quick footsteps, followed by the sound of something digistructing close to his left ear.

"-assuming you survive."

Gun-metal caressed Ganam's skull. The sonofabitch was quick, he'd give him that. He caught a glimpse of the yellow and white striped gun. Hyperion pistol. Not known for single shot accuracy, but at point-blank range that was no comfort. From the size, he estimated a magazine size of about 6... No, make it 8 bullets. More than enough, even if he magically managed to dodge a few. To top it off, it was making a soft cracking noise. Electrified. Even better.

No, this guy wasn't the usual customer at all.

"Did you know Ganam - and I can call you that now, right? - Did you know that I am extremely capable-" The gun tapped the mechanic's stubbled head lightly, just below and behind his ear. "-of ending this business transaction any time I see fit?"

He paused.

"And by ending, you do know I mean pulling the trigger, right? I'm never sure about you bandit types understanding the power of subtlety for dramatic effect."

"Whatever. I do now." Ganam was proud to note the lack of concern in his voice as he stayed staring ahead, the man's shadow looming large on the concrete wall. He was used to having guns pointed at him, albeit not usually this close and not without a fully charged shield unit. They were usually brandished by some madman. But he'd worked with those kind of madmen before, knew what it was they wanted. He wasn't so sure about this one.

The mechanic's brain felt as if it were in overdrive, methodically running through the possibilities. Knowing full well he wasn't getting any younger, he didn't much rate his chances of either fighting his unexpected captor off or escaping. The alternative left an unpleasant taste in the back of his throat. His eyes flickered towards the open door automatically, betraying his thoughts even as he discounted the possibility.

"Oh, I wouldn't be doing that if I were you."

This unusual man didn't miss a damn thing.

"Y'see, I got this prototype loader all made up special. Left him outside." He continued, menace in his voice that lurked beneath the pleasant tone. "Programmed him myself too. You'll have to let me know if there are any bugs. You know, in the AI coding. Might kill someone he's not supposed to, that sort of thing."

Swallowing away the acrid taste of bile, Ganam narrowed down his options. Fight, flight... Or acquiescence.

He licked his dry lips.

"So... I make you a new face, I keep my life."

"Well done." There was something condescending in the elongated vowel sounds. "I knew you were a smart one when I first set eyes on you."

The gun lifted slightly away, no longer pressing against his scalp. Ganam resisted the urge to itch.

"OK then. I'll need something to go on." Ganam thought fast. Keep him talking. Get him out of here.

"What would you like your new face to be like?"

The man paused, the heavy shadow he cast on the wall tilting its head in a parody of deep thought. His voice when he spoke echoed wistfulness coupled with manic desire.

"Handsome."