A/N: This idea came to me randomly, so I decided to write it. I always felt that in Tales of the Borderlands, they hadn't really made Rhys much of a survivor. More like a guy who survives on pure luck. This is a Rhys who learns how to survive on his own. Hope you all like where I'm going with it.

Rhys struggled to get to his feet. The sensation going through his head was something akin to someone trying to pound a nail into his head. It was difficult to find any time of balance and focus in the current situation.

Losing his cybernetic arm was almost as bad as getting it installed. Removing the ECHO eye was DEFINITELY worse. The data chip in the side of his head was somewhat easier to deal with, but it still hurt. It didn't help that he felt completely dehydrated and hungry.

Rhys limped over to the shelf to see if there was anything remotely useful he could use. The only thing that had any merit was the rights to Atlas. He had the knowledge to do something with the name. If he could find the money for it, he could still be the company leader he always wanted to be. But he wouldn't be Handsome Jack. That was something he refused to do.

He grabbed the rights before limping out of what was left of Helios. Eyesight going towards the far distance, he could see a large group approaching in the distance.

"Bandits here already? I can't catch a break," Rhys groaned before limping away from the wreckage faster.

He drew his stun baton, which felt weird in his left hand. After about ten minutes of limping, he figured he was far enough away from the bandits. He then put his stun baton back in the pocket in his jacket before continuing forward. That was until he walked straight into the butt of a gun and blacked out.

Rhys groaned at the pain of his bruised cheek before realizing he was being dragged. He looked up to see that a nomad was dragging him on the ground accompanied by two other marauders.

"Just my luck to run into bandits after barely escaping death," Rhys thought to himself frustratingly. Pandora was brutally unfair. Then he felt himself being tossed like a ragdoll before the heat that followed helped him realize he was tossed on a fire.

Rhys screamed and rolled around on the ground frantically trying to put out the flames. When the flames finally died out and his skin felt like a medium rare skag steak, he could hear the other bandits laughing.

"Fun to watch to watch Hyperions burn, don't ya think Spike?" the nomad said.

"How'd they even... Oh, right. My shirt," Rhys thought as he glanced at his bandit captors. "For them, it's impressive they could even do that."

"'Course I do. But, care to make this a game?" a bandit asked, making Rhys' immediately focus his ears on what they were saying. This did not sound promising at all.

"Whaddya have in mind?" another bandit asked.

"We each get 5 minutes with him. Whoever makes him cry, beg for mercy, or ask for death wins," the other bandit said. Rhys froze. They were gonna torture him near to death. But then again, if he helped someone win this 'game' early, that could mean an early death for him. Hopefully he could stay strong so he wouldn't die. Hopefully.

"You got yourself a deal. Who's first?" the nomad asked.

"Me! I'll make this meat puppy do all three in that order before you know it," the second bandit said, grabbing Rhys by the back of his neck and tossing him into a house. He still had his stun baton on him, but he wouldn't be able to overpower all three of these bandits. Not in this state. And something told Rhys these bandits knew it too.

The bandit drew a knife from his pocket and grabbed Rhys' good arm before stabbing him under his elbow. Rhys grunted, but compared to ripping off his arm, it wasn't that bad.

Then he felt the blade drag toward the palm of his hand. The muscles and nerves that were in his arm were lit on fire, but he knew he was dead if he didn't stay strong. So his back bent to where his knees almost made contact with the bandit, but he stayed quiet.

"You will cry for me Hyperion!" the bandit exclaimed, dragging the blade quickly through his hand.

Rhys stifled a scream by chomping on his tongue, which started bleeding as soon as he did it. Blood was freely dripping down his left arm. The cut was so deep, he felt his arm was hanging limp like a dead piece of meat. The bandit was getting extremely frustrated, and Rhys could tell.

The bandit put the knife up and went for a pipe that was lying in a corner. Fearful for where he might aim, Rhys kept his legs closed. The bandit reeled back for a swing and struck Rhys straight in his knee, hearing a sharp crack.

"AGH!" Rhys yelled, his body stiffening from the pain. His arm was almost useless in trying to give that leg some minor comfort.

"Spike! Meatstick! Grease! Get your asses out here!" a bandit from outside yelled. The bandit named Grease threw the pipe in a corner angrily.

"What the hell's got him pissed off? We're busy here!" he asked.

"I dunno, but let's go see. If we end up dying cause we didn't listen, I'm going to take your face and give it to the psychos," Meatstick said, walking outside. The others followed behind him. At least he got a little luck. Now was his chance before they came back.

Rhys weakly rose to his good leg while his arm and broken leg were hanging limp. He lifted his good leg up high and got out the window. Rhys kept limping with his injured arm, which was of little use and his broken leg of no use. Then he saw that a bandit was hanging outside his Technical. This was his only chance to get out of here alive.

Rhys limped behind the Technical while keeping low enough so the bandit wouldn't see him before banging his head on the side so he would hear it. Though in his current state, even though he didn't hit it very hard, his head was spinning.

"Who the hell is that?" the bandit asked before beginning to walk around his Technical.

With all the self control that it took him, he grabbed his stun baton out of his pocket without screaming and jammed it right into the bandit's face. He hurt so bad, he didn't even have anything witty to say about the way the bandit convulsed when he shocked him.

Rhys put the baton up and took the Dahl pistol he saw on the bandit. He ground his teeth trying to pick up the weapon, but he knew he would need something if things got bad. He then hopped in the Technical and drove off to the best place he thought he had a chance. The Atlas base.

Steering with his elbow, which was his only real option, he went off toward the Atlas base and walked inside. He could only hope there was some type of medical aid nearby. Having to open doors with his very injured arm, he searched drawers, cabinets, lockers, and everything of the sort before finally finding a healing hypo.

"Finally!" Rhys exclaimed, placing the hypo on a table. He would have to inject this weirdly. He put his leg on the table behind the hypo while having his arm right against the table.

He rolled his sleeve up with his teeth before using his foot to force the hypo in his arm. He felt the large cut begin to seal and his arm felt good again. But Rhys could see the large distinct scar that it left. He had to admit, it was pretty cool. But he would've preferred if it didn't happen at all.

He found some and he sat in a chair to eat some of the drakefruit around the base. Once he was satisfied, everything that happened caught up to him all at once.

Loader Bot was dead, and he didn't know where the hell Vaughn or Yvette was. He hadn't heard from Vaughn since the transmission full of static on Helios. And he didn't even know if Yvette survived. Then there was Fiona and Sasha.

He felt bile rise up in his throat at the thought of them. They had left him on Helios to die. If Loader Bot didn't come back for him, he would've died back on Helios. They resented Hyperions for being lying murderous scumbags, but after what they did, that didn't make them any different. He thought they were friends.

Then he remembered Jack. He knew that all people on Pandora hated Jack and Hyperion with every fiber of their being, and he wouldn't have minded if they had actually shown that resentment toward him. But to pretend to be friendly and then leave him for dead was a dick move. Even for a Hyperion.

He had grown close to the two con artists as much as he hated to admit it at this point. It would never replace the bond he, Vaughn, and Yvette had, but he still regarded them as friends. Sasha perhaps more. Never in a million years did he imagine that he would actually grow close to the Pandoran con artists, but he did. And now that he did, it hurt like hell that they didn't give a shit about him when it came down to it.

Rhys sighed before looking around his base. He was grateful that he folded the Atlas rights in his pocket instead of keeping them in the frame. This was the start of a new chapter in his story.

A/N: Not a long chapter, but it's a work in progress. Lemme know what you thought of it. Since I'm a big fan of Tales From The Borderlands, I hope this turns out good. Also, this story isn't going to have too much torture, but we'll still see enough violence for this story to live up to its M rating.