In one of the dark alleyways of a big city, everything can and does happen. You may encounter bandits willing to slit your throat for money, men and women willing to sell their bodies, homeless and jobless individuals, ruined childhood memories... the natural. But in one of these alleyways, populated by nothing more than large dumpsters, a rift floating in the air threw something out and straight into one of those dumpsters. One of its inhabitants, a cat, hissed and jumped out of dumpster, running into the darkness.

"I hate my life."

Braylon sighed as he jumped out of the trash pile. Although the smell didn't cling to his clothes, they still looked like they had passed through a battlefield. Torn and filled with blood stains.

"Well, it could have been worse, I suppose."

Something crashed into the dumpster behind him as the light of the rift slowly faded away. He turned around to check what else had the rift dropped into that reality. It was something metallic and shaped like a box. At least, that was what his eyes could see. He picked it up to examine it further.

"Oh great. Just what I needed." He groaned as he threw the object on the ground. "A damn Claptrap unit. But how did it get here?"

"Must be the unstable rift that spat you out."

"I didn't see any Claptraps in that place."

"You didn't need to. It appears that the same rift was connected to more than two realities."

"It's already that unstable?"

"Why don't you ask other realities?"

He frowned. "I am not surprised. I mean, I knew it would happen... but not so soon. How am I gonna stop this threat completely if the situation is already that bad?"

The voice laughed. "You don't really think you will be able to stop it, do you?"

"But I must! I have nothing against other realities! They don't deserve something like this."

"And say, what can a mortal, whose nature has fallen, ever do against an army of beings far above him? Do you even realize in what situation you are currently in, realize how much of a farce your whole exsistence is? Your whole lives revolve around being eternal slaves to systems, careers, nagging significant others, yourselves. What, this "conservation of mass", these principles and laws and theories? Those are just layers upon layers of shackles meant to stop mortals from destroying everything they touch. The only thing you can hold yourselves on, outside Anathema´s words, are your own brains, which ironically are limitied themselves. Taking "your" bodies from you, deceiving your senses, moulding your brains, corrupting your thoughts... we turned it into a form of art. And we are enjoying every last bit of it. Even as you waste precious time, my brothers are marching upon other worlds, turning them into lifeless wastelands or consuming them completely, all because you opened that Vault. Do you really want to go against that?"

"..."

"I thought so. This is why you must do everything I say. How you do it is no concern of mine, just that you do it. Be a good dog, listen to your master, and you may get a biscuit."

Braylon growled in protest before sighing in defeat. After giving himself some time to think what he should do next, Braylon decided he would activate the Claptrap unit. If it was still possible.

Claptraps are tiny robots created by the founder of Hyperion corporation's artificial intelligence branch called Lawrence de Quidt. Also known as steward bots, these machines had the purpose to act as assistants in many jobs that would otherwise rquire a human hand. Unfortunately, Claptrap units have flawed personality chips, which in turn drastically reduces their usefulness. Being demoted to door openers, Claptraps became the best entertainment for citizens of Pandora. They were shot, subjugated and humiliated until one of them stood above all and started a robotic revolution (or robolution) that threatened to turn everything into copies of Claptraps. Some years later, the corporation mother decided to shut them all down, effectively removing Claptraps from exsistence.

But the one that he found seemed far from old or worn out like the rest of its bretheren in scrapyards. The white stripe and the cyan paintjob on the frame were almost intact, with few tiny scratches in places no person bothered to look. Even the optical device was as good as new. No dents, no wild cables sticking out, some rusted gears. It was very well preserved.

The first thing Braylon did was knocking on the Claptrap' frame. As there was no response, he turned it around and opened the grid located on its back. He repaired whatever damage he found, tossed some random junk he found in other dumpsters, closed the grid and waited. Its first response, after being alive for so long, was to tremble as if it had a robotic version of a seizure. Braylon groaned and decided to fix the problem with a well-placed kick. It jumped on its wheel, shook some more and pointed its sensor at the human.

"Thank you for purchasing your very own CL4P-TP made by Hyperion corporation. Any attempt to socialize and interact with CL4P-TP other than the ones listed in the instruction manual may result in unpredictable response from the CL4P-TP. Hyperion corporation is not liable for any damage, destruction or loss of private porpriety, or for any physical, or mental, damage dealt to the owner, including, but not limited to, nervous breakdown, uncontrollable anger and death, as a result of the unit's functions. By activating this CL4P-TP unit, you accept the terms and conditions described in this announcement given by the Hyperion corporation, and agree to hold Hyperion corporation, as well as its associates, blameless from any loss or liability caused by the CL4P-TP. Hyperion corporation reserves all rights, including intellectual propriety rights, patents, trademarks and other intellectual propriety used to create the CL4P-TP."

Braylon groaned and facepalmed. All that corporative talk gave him a headache. In a fit of rage, he accidentally kicked the robot in front of him.

"Ow! ****! Who the **** did that?!"

He blinked twice as he lovered his leg. The optical sensor's lights turned from green to red.

"I swear! Every. ****ing. Time. I try to be nice to a ****ing fleshbag but no! They need to act like a dumbass and..." It trailed off, staring at Braylon. "Who the **** are you?"

"The guy who woke you up from your slumber."

"So... what? You want me to kiss your ass? To bow down to my almighty lord and savior?" Claptrap scratched his robotic butt. "Because it's sure as hell I ain't gonna do that."

"Why did I ever decide to revive this piece of junk? Suit yourself, I got stuff to do. See ya."

"Hey! Wait!" Claptrap rolled behind Braylon, who turned around and walked away. "You're leaving me here? In the middle of nowhere?"

"Hm... That reminds me, where exactly am I?"

The Vault Hunter's head peeked out from the shadows. It appeared to be a city of some kind, with buildings that came out from the 1800s. Nevermind the architecture, Braylon was more focused on observing some of the cleanest streets he ever saw in his life. Settlements on Pandora could only wish for something like that.

Right, Pandora. He mentally berated himself for remembering that planet. It brought too much pain and suffering on everyone, not just him. Still, it used to be his home, the only one he ever knew. As much as it was a backwater and lawless place, there were also times of peace. Peace that would always be trampled by the next wave of bandits and corporations. An endless cycle of bloodshed, where peace was to the population what half-time is to team sports.

He heard the Claptrap's humming and looked down. "What are you doing here?"

"Gee, I dunno. What could I possibly do in bum**** place other than to follow the only fleshbag who fixed me?"

"I thought you didn't like my company."

"Zip it, wonderboy."

Shaking his head, Braylon stepped out of the alleyway, with the Claptrap unit following close by. After a brief argument, both of them settled for a random street to follow. Ignoring the looks of every citizen present, some of which were ranging from "voiceless horror" to "weirdoes these days", they stopped in front of a boutique as Claptrap tapped Braylon on his hand.

"What?"

"Man, you look like ****."

"Oh..." Braylon moved his eyes down. "Yeah... so?"

"W-wha... what do you mean, "so"?! I can't go around with someone who looks like they've been on snuff movie! I mean, not that I give a ****, but I thought we were incognito or something."

Braylon facepalmed. He was doing a lot of that lately.

"Alright, wait here, I'll-"

"Do I look like Lassie to you?" Claptrap pushed Braylon away and went for the door of the boutique. "Move, pleb. I'm going in, whether you like it or not."

Braylon raised his head to the sky. "Do you see this, God? What did I ever do wrong to deserve such a fate?"

"Let's see..." The voice started. "Blew up a planet, killed enough people to rival the population of the galaxy's smallest countries, destroyed a whole solar system by turning its star into a massive black hole just to kill a cosmic beast that you woke up, orbital striked a megalopolis, freed a virus into the atmosphere rather than containing it, effectively mutating every single being on the planet..."

"Okay, okay. Got the message, no thanks to you." Braylon slouched and frowned. "And most of those were done on accident."

The first thing our Vault Hunter heard when he entered was a tiny bell placed above the door, immediately followed with the generic music typical for such places. To his right was the cashier, a woman with short orange hair, green eyes and a smile that could warm the coldest of hearts. If you must ask, no. It had no effect on him.

She was clearly surprised by his appearance but decided to hide it behind a smiling porcelain mask. "Welcome to the Golden Carriage, the finest boutiques in all of Vale! What can I do for you, sir?"

Braylon raised an eyebrow. "Vale? So, we're back in-"

Claptrap jumped on top of the counter.

"Why, hello there you beautiful thing of nature. Say, if I were a tank, would you like to check my cannon?"

Braylon cringed. Seeing the cashier's face was definitely something that he wouldn't forget soon.

"Right. I'll go to check out some clothes for me or... whatever."

"Yeah, you do that."

Sighing, he ventured into the wild jungle made with so many vibrant colors that his eyes hurt. He wasn't the type of person who was crazy about such things. For him, clothes were simply something that had to be effective as well as comfortable, not some decorations. When asked why he had such a view, one of his replies would be "I am not a Christmas tree".

Five minutes later, Braylon found something that met his standards; blue camo pants with pockets for storing stuff, black shoes, two more belts with holsters and small pockets, a simple white shirt and a light brown longcoat-duster. Freedom of movement, easy-to-access to ammo and smaller guns, protection from rain and dust. It was perfect.

He heard Claptrap rolling away from the counter when the door was slammed open. The cashier yelped as a man threatened her. Wishing to know what all that yelling was about, Braylon decided to drop his clothes to the nearest mirror and walked towards the counter. He found there three men in black business suits and red glasses. Two of them had some red swords while the third, the one occupied with the cashier, had a gun. All three of them spotted him quickly, mostly because Braylon didn't even bother to sneak up on them.

"Hey, who is that?"

"I dunno."

"Look at his clothes. What the heck happened to him?"

"Hey, morons!" The guy with the gun shouted. "Don't stand there! Get him!"

"Sure, I'll do it." One man with the blade came to Braylon.

One look was all Braylon needed to realize who he was dealing with. Bandits. Either them or a bunch of wannabe Tony Montana, he thought. Just seeing bandits made his blood boil. Back at Pandora, one of the main causes of death, beside "eaten by Skag", was "shot by bandit". Even today, Pandora has brutal conditions that allows such scourge to spread with the efficiency of a wildfire. No matter how many anti-bandit groups rise or how much the Vault Hunters work, there would always be a group of survivors that would rise from the ashes of the previous tribes and gangs, forming another that would take its place, only for the process to start all over again. Needless to say, many families suffered because of that and Braylon's was no exception. So instead of panicking like everyone else would, he decided to take a different approach.

"Hey, kid." The man walked dramatically. "Be good and raise your hands where I can see them."

Braylon, calmly, picked his ear with a pinky finger. "Sure, sure."

Such nonchalant response made him angrier, backhanding Braylon to the floor. Fueled by the giggling of his companions, he turned around.

"Wow, man. I am speechless."

"Yes! You are so full of swag!"

"Shut up you two!"

Braylon got up and raised his hands, the smug grin never leaving his face.

"You two, down there!" He raised his voice enough for them to hear. "Yes, you two. You should really walk out of that door, otherwise this guy might not be able to get a nickel for his mother."

"Why you-"

Before the bandit could swing with his weapon, Braylon materialized the Holo Sabre and brought it down on the man's midsection in the form of a horizontal swipe. Everyone went quiet, unable to decipher what just happened. The bandit looked down, then back at Braylon, laughing. Seconds later, blood erupted from the volcano that was the wound, painting him completely in red. Loud pops and squishing noises could be heard as the upper body slowly fell backwards like a tree that was about to drop to the ground. With a loud thud, the bandit's corpse split in two as blood and viscera were spilled all over the place.

"Tsk. Looks like he is only half the man he claimed to be."

The cashier screamed and fainted immediately. Moments later, a six-round burst killed the one with the gun, catching the last bandit's attention towards something on Braylon's right.

"Wha-" Was all the man could say before he exploded into pieces. Claptrap came out from behind some clothing racks, a gun digistructing in his robotic hands.

"Ha! Take that fleshbags who say that Tediore weapons suck!"

Braylon stared, dumbfounded. "You had a gun?"

"Of course!" Chirped Claptrap as he opened his "mouth" and stashed the weapon somewhere in his body. "You thought I was going around unarmed?"

"No... I just... forget it." He waved with one hand.

"Woah! You cut that guy in half?! Awesome!"

"But now I am completely covered in blood."

"Bah, who cares?! Find some rags in here and clean yourself. This ****hole sure has plenty."

Braylon grabbed a few shirts and rubbed the blood off his body, then took the new clothes.

"Weren't you the one trying to woo the cashier?"

"Who? Moi? ***** please, even a dildo is too precious to waste on someone like her."

"Then what was the point?"

"I would keep the bitch occupied while you steal the **** and rush out like a mother****er."

"...you think I'm a bandit, don't you?"

"Oh nooooo, that's no-"

"Done. Now let's get outta here. I'm kinda hungry."

"Saw a fatman selling meat in a shop down the road. Wanna take a shot?"

"Sure, why not."

"When I get my hands on you I swear...!"

Claptrap waited for a moment before lowering the newspaper he used to cover himself.

"...he didn't notice us."

Braylon peeked out from the alleyway. "You sure?"

"Yes." The robot rolled his way towards Braylon, who sat behind a dumpster and dug his teeth into a piece of ham. "He was way too fast for someone his size." The only sounds that came out of the Vault Hunter were slurps, gnashing of teeth and gulping chunks of meat. "You ****ing pig."

"Mm-you... mmm... whould... be hungry..."

"Don't bother. I might get sick." Claptrap sighed as he took out a red oil can. "Lucky me, I'm a robot. And no. This is no lube. Stop looking at me funny." The duo enjoyed a brief moment of relaxation before venturing out into the city.

"So..." Claptrap started. "Where exactly are we?"

"Planet called Remnant."

"Huh... weird. My database has no information about it."

"Er... that's because... it's a backwater cesspool of the galaxy."

"I can see that." Claptrap moved left and right. "Still better than Pandora."

"If you say so."

"What we do next? Rob a bank?"

"No... no... I have no idea, actually."

"So let me get this straight. We are here, stuck, on a "hostile" planet..."

Braylon mentally shut out and distanced himself from the robot's tirade. He was trying to contact the voice, the entity that carved that symbol on his hand, to know about the next course of action. The entity, however, was faster.

"Change of plans."

The Vault Hunter stopped walking. Ignoring the robot who bumped into him, Braylon replied to the sudden change.

"Change of plans?"

"Yes. You are unable to stop the invasion completely. But you can prevent further damage."

"How?"

"By salting the earth."

"I don't follow."

"Not all realities are equally interesting to my brothers. Some contain things that are more appealing to them, because it can help them spreading more chaos. This reality is one of those points of interest, mainly because it holds something that, if used, could destroy planets. As much as I would enjoy seeing whole empires crumble, with countless mortals dropping dead, it would go against my end goals. Truly, Anathema gave certain gifts to those realities where mortals are more than capable, and willing, to repel any of our attempts to annihilate them. Where the purehearts are born."

"And?"

"I doubt that you will ever be able to use them. Not that you have to. If I can't use them, then no one will."

"In other words, you want this whatever, to be destroyed."

"Correct."

"And what is this thing that needs to be removed?"

"This reality contains a truly unique set of powers. While mortals, unable to comprehend them properly, started making up stories about certain individuals and gods and whatnot, the true story is well hidden from everyone."

"Hey, you even listening to me, fleshbag?"

"Wait."

"Long ago, there was a mortal who knew of Anathema and followed his will. It was thanks to him that humanity managed to survive in this reality. In order to express his gratitude, Anathema gave the mortal a blessing. That blessing allowed the mortal to succeed in everything he did, from curing the sick to farming the lands. Several generations later, everything went downhill, as one of the mortal's successors was personally tasked to find the core threat of the Grimm and cleanse the reality from our parasitic influence. This mortal, a coward at heart, rather than go and do it alone, despite Anathema constantly telling him that he would prevail, used others of his kind to do the dirty work for him. Every team he sent failed the task and was killed."

"What do we need to wait for?"

"Shut up."

"Not only that, but this mortal started dabbling into sorcery, something that belongs in our field, eventually using magic instead of Anathema's gift. As a punishment, Anathema removed the blessing and made the mortal unable to reach the afterlife until he completed the task given to him, so that he would be able to see the consequences of his actions. Soon all the knowledge on Anathema was lost to this world and humans fell into the pitiful state in which they are now, something similar to your reality but on a lower scale."

"Can we go?"

"I said shut up."

"Years passed and the mortal in question became depressed because of his past mistakes. One day, four mortal females came to him and warmed his heart through pointless actions. He knew that he couldn't change the past, but his actions could make the future better, so he gave them the sorcerous power to control the seasons."

"What?!" Braylon blurted out, scaring Claptrap.

"Indeed, such is the stupidity of mortals. That power passed on from generation to generation. Some used it for "good", others for evil. No matter their choices, it is still evil, since its roots came from us, but that is a story for another time. Make no mistake, no mortal is good. Not even one. If you were, then there would be no need for commandments, right?" The voice laughed. "In any case, now the sources of those powers are sealed somewhere on this planet. I have trouble sensing them all, as whoever has them probably took some measures to defend them. Your task is to find them and destroy them, one by one."

"If you don't know where they are, then how am I supposed to find them?"

"I said I had trouble sensing them all. I am still able to feel the presence of one source."

"You mean to tell me that there is one here? In this city?"

"Yes. One is definitely here. And I know exactly where."

"Then tell me."

"Find a map first."

Braylon and Claptrap walked towards a small bus station down the road, which had the map of the whole city displayed on the screen. It was divided in several sectors, each outlined and named. One sector caught his attention.

"There it is."

"...Beacon Academy?"

"Yes. I can feel its power radiating from there."

"How the hell am I going to get inside?"

"You still didn't figure it out?"

Braylon frowned, then widened his eyes as he stepped back.

"Aw hell no."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes."

"No way! I am not going to enrol in that fucking place! There is no way I am going to be a fucking student!"

"What choice do you have?"

"But I have no idea what is that academy for!"

"You have a tongue, Use it."

"**** this. If you don't tell me what you have in mind I swear-"

"Claptrap."

"Yes?"

"First, promise me you won't throw a tantrum. Otherwise in scrapyard you go."

"I can't believe this. I seriously can't ****ing believe this."

"You better do. You've been rambling about it for hours."

Night came, and with it, a whole plethora of events that would shape Braylon's future. Apart from Claptrap's incessant complaining, Braylon was able to acquire some information regarding the academy. In Braylon's words, it was nothing but a glorified Huntsman recruitment center, where the children would waste few years of their life doing and learning absolutely nothing only to get killed the moment they set foot out of Vale. But who would enrol in that academy? The blissfully ignorant of what's outside those walls or the optimists who think they could do something to change the world, only to end up like the rest of them. In short, a waste of everyone's time.

"Why am I even following you?"

"Maybe because I am the only person on the planet capable of fixing you should you need it?"

"...Meh, I can accept that."

The duo stood on a sidewalk, unsure of what to do next.

"Fleshbag, look." Claptrap pointed at a store.

"From Dust Till Dawn? What's that?"

Claptrap rolled forward. "Well, aside from being a blatant reference to a movie, methinks it must be a shop."

"Haven't you had enough of shopping?" Braylon complained. "We visited, like, twenty shops already!"

"Come on, fleshbag. Obey your master and follow me."

"One is more than enough thank you." He grumbled under his breath as they entered the building.

"Welcome, welcome." The old man behind the counter said. "What can I do for you, young man?"

"Just checking out what you have in here."

"Suit yourself."

Braylon nodded and the duo split apart, each going for the opposite side. He had to be honest to himself, he couldn't care less for what the store was selling. Partly because he was tired and partly because he was annoyed by Claptrap's rambling. The idea was to take the robot with him, so that he could always have an eye on it. There was no need to make even more problems. However, he did get curious as to why there were tubes filled with powder, each with different colors. But in the end, he got over his curiosity and moved further.

He felt someone bump into him. Turning around, he saw that the offender was a short girl in a black dress, completely unaware that he was close to her. Muttering a quiet apology, he moved away from her and grabbed a magazine that depicted various guns.

"Did you see the new sniper rifle on the fifth page?" Blinking, he turned his head to the girl, who looked back at him with a smile under her red hood. "T-those eyes..."

"Uh..." Braylon tried to form an intelligent answer. "...no, I'm afraid I didn't."

"You totally should. It has a lightweight magazine that makes it easier to reload during a fight since it fires three bullets per shot which quickly eats up all ammunition and..." She suddenly cringed. "Sorry... I'll just... yeah..." She slowly returned to her magazine.

"Wow, that was something."

As the girl put her headphones back on, Braylon heard the door opening and a conversation between the old man and another voice.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a Dust shop open this late?"

"P-please! Just take my Lien and leave!"

"Shh, relax. We are not here for the money."

And then Claptrap was heard out of nowhere.

"Whoa! You guys are the ones from earlier! Hey, fleshbag, come check it out!"

Braylon reached Claptrap, who pointed at the group of people who were dressed like the ones from the boutique. Except this time, there was a man with a bowler hat and white suit. One of the men in black suits went somewhere out of their sight.

"Look, there are the bandits and then there is the living rip-off from A Clockwork Orange. I say we kill them all."

The mooks looked at each other while the man in white sighed.

"Say, you must be one of those "Huntsmen", correct?"

"No. I am the guy who's about to kick your ass."

"Right." The man sighed again. "Weirdoes these days... alright, listen up. Take care of the kid and grab everything you can. I'll wait outside." And with that, he got out. Not even seconds later, the mook from before flew out of the shop through a window along with something red he was unable to see.

"Claptrap, step back. These guys are mine."

"No ****ing way. I was here first."

"You will get another oil can."

"Alrighty! They are all yours!"

"Awesome." He turned to the bandits. "And I won't even use my guns."

"Just kidding!" Claptrap yelled as he took out the smg and gunned down every mook in the shop.

Braylon deadpanned. "That was a dick move."

"Life is hard, deal with it."

They both heard an explosion outside and rushed out to see what was going on. There, Braylon saw the girl again. This time she held a large red and black scythe he was sure it was far to heavy for a girl that size, yet able to carry it like a weapon. She quickly threw a glance at his way, their eyes meeting for a second time, before she turned around. Braylon followed her movements and saw the man going for the roof of a building. Braylon left Claptrap behind as he went for the ladder, only to see the girl flying after a loud bang.

"Goodbye physics. Nice knowing you." Braylon mentally sighed as he was the third person to reach the roof. "Must ask her how she did that."

But he was already too late, as the man stood inside a flying vehicle of some kind. He threw an object at the girl's feet before pointing his cane at her. Whatever he was about to do was stopped by Braylon who took the energy pistol and fired at the man's shoulder, causing him to fall somehwere inside the vehicle with a loud scream. He came back up, angrier than before, and, before Braylon could do anything, fired a shot at the two of them, seemingly from his cane.

A woman came out of nowhere and conveniently stopped the bullet from harming them by casting, what Braylon thought it was, a purplish circle, which quickly turned into several tendrils that returned fire to the sender. She then formed black clouds that bombarded the vehicle with ice shards.

"Well, that's some bullshit."

Just when he thought he saw enough, there came yet another woman out from the shadows. From what he was able to see, he saw a red dress that began glowing as soon as her hands were set of fire. Braylon groaned and decided to end the comedy by pointing his gun at one of the engines and firing until it started malfunctioning, the woman almost falling out from the aircraft because of it. Whoever was the pilot made a smart decision and decided to fly away.

"...That was so anticlimactic."

The blurted response that came from Braylon's mouth made the two of them turn their heads to him. He really didn't like the funny look that the blonde with a whip was giving him.