Chapter 1: Hunters

The snow blew past the window with such force it rattled the very foundation of the building. It was far more often to see this than the desert lands, as seven years of the planets rotation consisted of snow storms, while only three were hot and dangerous.

"Have you found it yet?" Asked the crew worker, talking to his boss regarding the current dig site they had established. They were searching for something valuable, valuable enough that everyone had to carry at least three guns.

"You will know when we find it," stated the Boss, a man in his late seventies; a grand achievement on the harsh planet. His snow white beard covered much of his face, and his eyes sagged a bit as they strained to glimpse at the dirt and clay below him. The shovel in his hands made the hurt with every maneuver of the earth, the blisters worsening as time went by.

"Never thought I'd miss that damned desert terrain," stated the worker. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, taking a puff. "Only thing that keeps me going is knowing we're almost done."

"Not almost," stated the boss, a sound of hope in his voice. He turned to face the worker, who in turn looked at his boss. "We're done, my lad!"

"We've done it?" He walked over and looked at what the boss was holding. It was a small triangle, no bigger than a standard grenade. All around it were markings of an unknown origin to the untrained eye; to someone who could decipher them, it was child's play.

"We've done it indeed, Markus." He stood, holding the triangle out in the air. "After months of searching, we've finally found-"

His speech was cut short by a sharp sound of bullet colliding and passing through flesh. Within seconds, the crew worker and boss were on the ground, dead.

A smile drew across the snipers covered face. He stood, slinging the weapon across his back and advancing. His eyes covered with heat sensing goggles, he proceeded with caution, making sure he was truly alone. Drawing a pistol and entering the tent, he took the triangle from the Boss and smiled once more.

"Hello, beautiful," he stated in a raspy voice, lowering his face bandana from his mouth. "So this is where you've been hiding, eh?"

He laughed for a brief moment before leaving the tent, taking a few credits and some food with him. It was all he would need for the time being. He had gotten what he had come for.

The first of five key pieces to the Last Vault Door.

So, the legend of the Vault is what you wish to know, eh? Well, sit back and grab your popcorn, because this story just got a bit more interesting than the last time you heard it.

200 years ago, back when Pandora was still somewhat new and still had that new planet smell, a bunch of Vault Hunters, known now as the Lucky Ones, came to Firestone, each with the same goal in mind, as was the goal of everyone back then; Finding the Vault.

Well, they sure found it, but it wasn't what they had hoped for. They had hoped for fame, fortune, and eternal glory; they only got the last part. You see, when they opened the Vault, they found something no one knew what there. The Destroyer as we call it is a being from another dimension…or I should say that it WAS. They defeated the beast, and in return, had the Vault seal on them. They learned the Vault was originally a prison for The Destroyer, and that they were the only ones who could kill it, led by the false hope of a Vault of Alien Technology and endless glory.

This, of course, didn't quite settle with the locals. They kept fighting over the access to the Vault, in an effort to wait out the next 200 years, in hopes that the Destroyer was simply a guard for the real treasure, and that the Lucky Ones were simply too slow in killing it.

Those who fought more than likely died. Those who even went near the area would end up dead. And for what? A massive explosion to completely destroy the Vault door.

Now, with the Vault gone, people have gone back to their original lives. Trying to brave the harsh land that is Pandora. I myself am a trader of weapons, helping those who have no other means of defending themselves. I get by, if only barely.

Now, before I get ahead of myself, allow me to say these three things:

One) My name is Yuslav. I trade guns and ammo, as well as the occasional mission for cash.

Two)The Vault DOES have treasures hidden away, but one must access it first.

Three) Another 'door' exists.

BORDERLANDS: IN SEARCH OF HISTORY

Her eyes opened with a start as a man howled with pain outside. She grabbed her shotgun and ducked under her cot, ready to face whatever was to come. Her barely covered body dangerously exposed her, and with the recent amount of Psycho and gang activity around here, she couldn't risk injury.

Her shotgun, which she called Lulu Bell, was a custom built version of the Vladof SPR43 Raging Death, a model that has been in commission for hundreds of years for one simple reason; it kills good. Hers had a custom built scope that measured heart rates of victims, loaded with incendiary rounds that not only lit the skin of those hit on fire, but also the internal organs and even bone marrow, packing one hell of a hurtful punch.

As for whom she was, Joliet was a weapons expert. She could disassemble and reassemble a weapon of almost any make in pure darkness in an hour tops. She knew every nook and cranny of the weapons she used, and only found ways to improve them by doing so. She could make a pistol into the best sniper rifle around, without even attaching a scope or extending the barrel.

As for Joliet herself, she was about 5'9". Long black hair ran down to the middle of her back, and an eye patch covered her left eye. She always makes up a new story as for how it happened, so no one really knows how it happened. She usually wore dark clothing, making it easier to hide at night. She had plenty of belts (across her waist, arms, legs and even chest) stocked with extra ammo, and never left without her trusty weapons bag, which was simply an entire bag full of spare guns and parts, as well as a few provisions like food and water. Her hazel eyes often threw people off, easily being the most attractive feature she possesses.

As she lay under the cot, barely dressed and slightly shivering from the cold, she wondered why no other noises had been heard. She slowly got up and walked to the door of her hut. It was opened by a finger print reader, so only she could get in. As she stood against the wall next to the entryway, she pressed her thumb to the panel and the door swung open.

Before it was even halfway up, she was in front of it, shotgun ready for blood. What she saw wasn't what she had been hoping for.

"Damnit, Varen!" She exclaimed, seeing her fellow hunter lying in front of her hut. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I was trying to find my way back to my hut," he stated, accepting the hand she offered to help him up. "I stubbed my toe on something and howled in pain. The winds took me off my feet and I fell in front of your hut."

"I'm sure that's the reason," Joliet stated, walking back inside her hut and closing the door.

"I just can't catch a break," Varen stated, walking towards his hut. "Get caught looking in on a girl in the shower ONE time and you never live it down."

Varen was a skinny person, one you might not expect to be a mercenary. He always cracked jokes, even on the job, and was handier than even the finest marksman with a pistol, though he preferred SMGs. His black goatee covered the entirety of his chin, and the large helmet covered the rest of his head. His bald head was never without a hat or helmet, and no one really minded that. He had a massive burn across the side of his left face from a mission that went wrong, and the hats/ helmets usually covered it well.

A Skag was right next to him, walking alongside him without even thinking of attack. A Skag was a large dog like beast with natural armor plating all around its body, as well as an interesting mouth structure. While the lower jaw was like anything else, the upper jaw was separated into two, so whenever it opened its mouth, it looked like the upper half of its mouth split its face in two.

This Skag in particular was named Buster, and Varen had raised it from birth. It was his constant companion, at home and on missions. He had specially designed armor for it, if only to make a second defense for the natural plating it already possessed.

"You think that's fair, Buster?" He asked the Skag as they walked on. The Skag made a gurgling noise before shaking its head. After years of exposure to humans, it had learned to understand them quite well.

"Didn't think so," he said to himself with a smile as he neared his hut. Outside the hut, however, was another man, leaning against the door.

Raxus wasn't the kind of guy you'd want to cross. He was an expert with a sniper rifle or anything that required long distance shooting, and had proven himself to the Crimson Guard within his first five minutes. He had risen through the ranks and become one of the best, only to be bored with it and go free lance.

His apparel wasn't exactly fit for that of winter storms; no sleeved skin tight vest covered his upper body, while a pair of shorts that wen barely past his knees covered the legs. A helmet rested on his head with a single glass visor across his eyes, making it impossible to see them. He wore combat boots to cover his feet, and they were probably the warmest item he wore.

He had been raised in the winter areas all of his life, and had had his body grow adapt to the cold. It was heat that was occasionally the problem. During the three year turn of the desert, Raxus would often spend most of his time underground.

"Get some sleep, he stated to Varen, pushing himself off of his hut. "We meet the client tomorrow."

"So you DO speak!" Varen joked; Raxus barely ever spoke.

Raxus, as if to prove that point, sneered slightly and walked towards his own hut.

"What? No kiss goodnight?" Raxus flipped Varen off before entering his hut, no doubt to get some much needed sleep.

"You really don't want to piss him off."

Varen turned to see Krain, the cyborg they had along with them, standing in the doorway to their hut. After a freak explosion, half of Krain's body was damaged beyond repair. He barely managed to survive the cybernetic transformation, whereas his family hadn't. He's added features to it over the years, all in the hopes of finding out who was responsible for his transformation and the death of his family.

"And why is that?"

"Because that guy could kill you with a spitball from fifty yards if he really wanted to."

"He doesn't scare me."

They entered the hut and lay on their individual cots, Buster resting on the floor next to Varen.

"What do you suppose this job this Yuslav guy has for us?" Varen asked as Krain was polishing his minigun arm attachment.

"No doubt he wants us to kill someone," the cyborg stated, expecting the gun carefully. "That's usually what people want these days."

"Shame this place went to shit after the Vault went under."

"I still think it's there," Krain stated, putting the gun on the floor. "We just have to find out where."

"Keep dreaming, Lug Nut," Varen stated with a chuckle. That thing is long gone, along with all its secrets."

Krain smiled and closed his eyes. "Only time will tell."