Author's note: This series is made with fans of Borderlands in mind. I highly recommend watching several videos relating to the game before reading, to get an idea of the characters, their appearances and personalities, and to know what the hell I'm talking about. Those videos are as follows:

Borderlands 2: Doomsday Trailer

Borderlands 2 Wimoweh Trailer

Borderlands 2: Krieg- A Meat Bicycle Built for Two

Borderlands 2 Opening Scene Cinematic

Anyway, that's enough of my blubbering. Just watch those four videos before reading.

Chapter one: Salvador.

Be Salvador.

You are Salvador. As so many others born and raised on Pandora, the giant spherical deathtrap, your last name was lost to you and everyone else. You left your hometown, Ovejas, and the anti-imperialist resistance, in search of a Vault. But right now, you don't remember any of that. You have a concussion, as you just jumped from a moving, exploding train.

It takes you a minute, or ninety, to come to. Your instincts instantly kick in and you pull both your guns, Vladof machine guns, pointing them around, finger itchy on your triggers. You establish that a threat is not present and de-digistruct them. Digistruction sure is helpful, you think to yourself.

But now is the matter of discovering where you are. You pick up a blood-crusted echo-recorder off of one of the dead train riders. Looking over the extensive map, you discover that you are just south a place known as Liar's Berg, which seems to be inhabited. You decide quickly to get there fast, because you are nearly freezing.

As you trudge through the snow, your progress is halted significantly by your stunted height. The snow just seemed to pile down. The storm showed no sign of stopping, and you needed to get inside. Or at least find a damn coat! Your teeth chatter, but your blood boils. Handsome Jack had just tried to kill you, but he would have to do better than a ton of dynamite to off you.

That Handsome bastard is going to get what's coming to him. When you meet him, you're going to rip off that smug mask and wear it for yourself! All that rage is starting to warm you up. Angry thoughts, Salvador, think angry thoughts. It really isn't that hard.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement. Now, nothing on Pandora wants to be your friend, especially not in the frozen wastes. Your guns are out and ready before you can blink, and your fingers are ready at the trigger. However, the movement had stopped, and whatever was making it seemed to have disappeared. But, it is better to be safe than sorry. You decide to investigate.

Be the movement.

You are now the Bullymong. You are an ugly, terrible, four-armed creature. You prefer cold environments, and hate humans invading your territory. You saw a short man walking and you can already feel the need to rip him apart invading your mind. You go to charge him, but he pulls out two guns. TWO. You may not be very smart, but you know enough to know that two guns are not to be trifled with. You hide.

Soon the man begins walking toward you, so you know it is fight or flight. Fight it is. You jump up, roaring to alert your brothers. Seven other Bullymongs leap from their caves and charge at the stout man.

Be Salvador again.

You are Salvador. Again. You grin madly at the Bullymongs charging you. Your fingers squeeze the triggers and lead flies from the gullets of your weapons, imbedding itself into the flesh and muscle and bone of the monsters. They howl in pain but keep coming. Four drop, four to go. You keep firing, but a loud click tells you that your ammo has somehow run out. "Screw it," you say, "I'll fight with my fists!" You throw down your guns, which deconstruct into random data, as your knuckles contact with one of the creatures' forehead. The sound of shattering is heard, and the thing lays motionless.

The death of five Bullymongs was not enough to stop the other three. They still attacked mercilessly, but this was just fuel for your joy. Your fists pound through the monsters until they all lie dead. Without a word, you turn and roll away on your spurs, humming "In the Hall of the Mountain King."

It wasn't long before the sun set. Traveling in the tundra was cold, but at night it was even worse. You gather up some flammable train bits that had flown this far, brake some bullets that had magically appeared in your inventory, and make a fire. You curl up next to it, your blubber and flame keeping you warm. You didn't sleep that night, and your finger never left his trigger. You hear roaring in the distance, and can see the glow of several other fires far away.

You fall into a daze. Half asleep, your thoughts wander to your home town. Not like it was a pleasant place. Nowhere on Pandora was pleasant. Your time there wasn't very joyous either. Well, to you it might have been, but most would disagree. You never had a girlfriend, or much of a family, or any friends. Hell, you barely knew people's names. You were, however, a soldier.

You were in the anti-imperial resistance, and you fought Hyperion with everything you had. This led to prolonged steroid use though out your life, which led to your stunted stature. It is also why you are so angry all the time. But, it did give you the ability to hold any two weapons in tandem. You once held a rocket launcher in your left hand and a sniper rifle in the other. Effective? No. Fun as hell? YES.

You were also quite the fan of torture. Not like you enjoyed it being done to you, no. But you did love doing it to other people. You found out about this Vault that has already given you so much trouble when you tore the legs and one arm off a Hyperion scout. The memories of his screams make you feel all warm and fuzzy.

Wait, no, that's not the memories. Your leg is on fire! OH SHIT YOUR LEG IS ON FIRE PUT IT OUT PUT IT OUT!

After several minutes of dancing in the snow like an idiot, you put out the fire. Where were you? Oh, right. Torture. You didn't particularly hate Hyperion, but they were are particularly handy outlets for your unending rage.

You rise with the sun, the night being largely uneventful. By now the distant fires were nothing but tails of smoke. You could be suspicious, but bandits don't usually come this far south. But still, better keep an eye out. After walking for just a few hours, you can just almost see the outskirts of Liar's Berg.

But before you can take another step, you turn 180 degrees and point your guns in two directions, targeting the five people who just walked up behind you.