A/N: Greetings, people of Pandora! Pike here. This story is about my OC, Cashel. (yeah, he's a dude)

Heyoo.

Disclaimer: I do not own Borderlands.

A lone man in his early 20s sat in the dim room, his hands bound in handcuffs. He was waiting for someone, anyone, to explain to him what was happening. He knew it was bad to be in this room. He saw traitors in this room. He was no traitor, he did nothing. Did he do nothing? He wasn't so sure anymore.

Finally, a very muscular man entered the room and sat on the chair in front of the lone man. He was holding a clipboard with a pile of paperwork on it. The man flipped through the pages while his eyes were moving back and forth, to the papers and to the lone man.

"So, Mr. Gillan," The lone man cringed at what he called him. He was usually addressed as Captain, not Mister. Did he lose his rank? What made them demote him? A million questions ran through his mind. His eyes widened at some questions and the muscular man had to snap his fingers to grab the lone man's attention again.

"Mr. Gillan. Mr. Gillan? Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah.. Sorry.."

The muscular man nodded, "Let's get to work, shall we? You returned here very victorious, Gillan. Do you remember?" The man flipped through the pages of the clipboard as he spoke. The lone man was getting nervous, what's in those pages? Why is he telling him I was victorious? I remember what has happened. My team and I returned here from recon. Some men were held as hostage by some bandits. The bandits asked for a ransom, we didn't give them anything but bullets. Some of my men died and it was depressing. The one mystery of the whole recon was why his men died. His men barely got injured, so why did they fall to the hands of some rookie bandits?

"Yeah, I remember." The bounded man nodded.

"What happened to those men who died?" the man holding the clipboard asked directly.

Mr. Gillan stared at his hands while balling them. "I.. I don't know." He looked up. "I don't know." He repeated more confidently.

"Why's that?" the muscular man cocked an eyebrow at him. Mr. Gillan opened his mouth to talk but immediately shut his mouth. There was a silence then the muscular man began speaking again. "You were the leader. Why don't you know?" He asked again.

The lone man can't say 'I don't know' again. No, he couldn't because he knew why.

"I-I guess I wasn't paying attention." He replied shamefully, burying his head into his bounded hands.

"Weren't paying attention? Are you sure?" He asked suspiciously. "Those men who died, I remember you shouting at them last week. Are you sure it's because you weren't paying attention?" He pressed.

"Shouting at them? Lieutenant Carlson and Corporal Fledge. I shouted at them.. They're dead..?" How come he didn't know about this?

"Don't act stupid, Cashel." He spat. "You know they died."

"No, I didn't." Cashel protested.

"Who do you think died in your team, Mr. Gillan?" He cracked his knuckles.

Cashel opened his mouth but no words came out. He never thought of those non-existent soldiers who died in his team.

Silence filled the room. The muscular man grew impatient and stood up. He started circling the table, "Who do you think killed those men?" He asked in an experienced toned.

"Bandits." The young man replied plainly.

"Bandits?" The bigger male asked doubtfully.

Cashel just nodded.

"Are you sure?" The older man asked again.

He nodded again.

The older man just sighed. "It's not very helpful when you're lying."

"Lying? I'm telling the truth!" The younger man's eyes grew wide.

The muscular man scoffed and shook his head. "My sources claim otherwise."

Cashel stood up suddenly, looked the older man in the eye, "Your sources are wrong."

"Are they?"The older man asked again.

"Yes."Cashel replied confidently.

"Will it change your mind if my sources were your team?"

Silence filled the room again. Cashel contemplated at what the older man asked. He trusted the team with his life. Maybe the sources were right. Maybe the bandits didn't kill his men. But what did? He slowly sank back down to his chair and focused his eyes on his feet.

"What.. what did they say?" He asked quietly.

The older man smirked triumphantly. "They told me," He began in a serious tone. "that you were the one who killed them."

"W-what?! No, no, no. I didn't kill them!" The younger man tried to convince.

"What is your evidence?"

"Me! I'm the evidence! Believe me!" He pleaded.

"Right now, you are nothing to me. You are no evidence. For all we know, you might be lying." He stated harshly.

"I'm not lying! I swear my life!" He pleaded once again.

The older man ignored him. "You have no evidence," He stood up and gathered his things. "This is over; you are to be kicked out of the army. You should approach your Commander and return all the things he gave to you for identification of the army. After that, approach the General." And with that, he left

The younger man was scared out of his life. His own team claimed that he killed two men and he is to be thrown off the army. What good is left in his life? He set his gaze on the floor as two men escorted him to his Commander.

As he entered the Commander's quarters, he saw the look of the commander at him. He looked absolutely disgusted. He took all of the ex-Captain's military stuff and the two men escorted him out of the Commander's room and to the General's quarters.

On the way there, they passed by the quarters of his team. They were all laughing merrily before they noticed him. They all shook their heads as he passed by. The ex-Captain frowned deeply at them and looked away shamefully. He focused his eyes back to the ground and carried his body to the General's quarters. The walk to the General's quarters was excruciatingly long. It seemed like an eternity when his tired feet finally reached the General's door.

As they entered the room, they saw the general looking outside. The environment outside was filled with sand. It looked like a wasteland. The escorts pushed him inside and the lone man fell to the ground.

The general turned his gaze to him and closed his eyes. He shook his head and returned his gaze outside.

"I always hated doing this." The general sighed to himself. He turned around and started walking towards the young man. He looked at him in the eyes and roughly brought him to a door. The general opened the door and a harsh breeze entered the room. It suddenly dawned to the young man what was happening. He held his head down and balled his fists, angry at whatever the hell he did to get thrown off the army.

The general sighed again. "Any last words, soldier?"

The young man nodded and put his right foot forward.

"I didn't do it."