Pandora was as it was always; disorganized and chaotic. With Hyperion's crusade of carnage being waged against the Bandits at the hands of Handsome Jack, things were even more hectic and dangerous for those who were either not strong enough to fight, or those who struck out alone to see how they would go…they were often the ones found dead first: either from being killed by the fauna, slain by the various Bandit factions, or experimented on by Hyperion for twisted means.

The motto of Pandora was one to never forget; no rest for the wicked.

"So…the boss is ask'n for…him?" A Marauder asked another, as the Technical was parked nearby a river, with the roars of Stalkers in the distance and the iconic gunfire that always sounded on the planet. The sky was a violet hue, and the few stars twinkled, the Hyperion dominated moon illuminating the landscape and the slim and few creatures that roamed, as the four bandits disengaged their Acid Blood colored vehicle and looked up towards the cave resting on the hill, where their boss asked them to go. Not a single one of them wanted to do this but it was either this…or telling their boss that they didn't want to do the job aaaand pay for it.

Having one's ribcage used as a sex toy was a fairly good reason to not FUCK up.

"S-So, why are we out here? Who the fuck're we gettin'?" The Marauders did their best to make conversation even as they walked, all of them feeling like there were crosshairs on their head that grew more and more precise with each step they took up the hill, to reach the dark, grim cave.

"I think he goes by like…a fuck tonna names: Headhunter, Beastmaster, Twinkle crusher…"

"…dude…that last one's made up."

"Ain't it all made up? Hell, why should we even do this shit?!"

"Because this guy's a Bloodshot like us; a bandit. All we gotta do is convince him all good n' proper and he'll come help us with that whole issue with the other factions encroaching into our turf! I don't want those stinkin' Slabs gettin' ideas!"

"Wait, SSHHHHHH…you hear that, Dave?" All four of them came to a stop, and waited around at the mouth of the cave. With all of them silent, they could very clearly hear the noise…hissing…low hissing. One of the Marauders, armed with a Vladof Assault Rifle stepped inside…and was rewarded with a sudden bone spike through the leg, eliciting a cry of pain from the man and forcing him to drop his gun, clamping both hands down to the wound and attempting to rip the bone spike from it. The others all attempted to lift their firearms in a panic, aiming them about frantically.

"Calm down." A chrome-tinted voice spoke, as they all slowly backed away, seeing a visage in the darkness, as it slowly made itself more and more visible.

He stood tall and proud, even with his slightly lithe form, his armor clearly reflecting his banditry lifestyle, with the faded blue pants Marauders tended to wear, along with a crimson red brace around his right shin, both feet encased in grey sneakers. He wore the same sort of jacket, but of a lime color, and with the entire left sleeve ripped off from something, as his normal arm had a black, fingerless glove on it and with the sleeve rolled up to expose skin, showing he was of African American descent. He wore tan torso armor that the Sawtooths were iconic for, and a belt around his chest with various things adorning it…some looking suspiciously like fingers. He wore the mono-eyed Killer Marauder helm, with the iconic twin horns, as a single emerald eye stared at the intruders, as the other was concealed via a slab of ivory metal, as a lengthy machete rested on his back, encased in a sheath made from deep noire colored leather. The most iconic thing was that his left arm was made of jagged, scrappy metal; a deep copper color with obsidian black metal claws tipping each finger, and there was the faint, scratched out Hyperion logo there, giving some insight to how he got the arm. Overall, he seemed like a keen mix between a focused bandit, and an uncontrollable madman.

"What is it? You disturbed my research…and pissed off Gabriel."

"Gabriel?" One of the Marauders nearly crapped himself when they all watched an unsettling sight uncloak behind the man; a Badass Stalker. Its skin was a vibrant violet color, as its wings were a sharper green hue, as the beast had orange stripes across its back. More interesting, was it had an emerald collar around its neck, showing ownership. Even then, the Stalker was larger than the others most've seen about Pandora, but it still remained smaller than the legendary ones; it was about waist level on all fours.

"Holy shit, I-I was right! Y-You're the Beastmaster!"

"I'm not the Beastmaster…that's not my name." His metal arm waved, and the reptile was cloaked and gone, leaving the man before the other bandits. "It's Cyclops; we discussed this at the Bloodshot meeting last week, the one where I also asked for more professional greetings and less intrusions into my home."

"Shit, sorry…also why'd you have your…em…pet, stab a spike into Earl's leg?"

"Gabriel was annoyed. Now, what the fuck do you want? I told the boss and all else to leave me to my research, and encroaching on it makes me a little less likely to help in the future, especially if he wants to be a dumb fuck and directly ignore and forget my demands and warnings." All of them had to still their tongues at Cyclops' outburst; sure, it was blasphemy to talk shit about the boss but…when one was speaking to a man who had learned to command Pandora's severely hostile fauna to his benefit, it was better to just stay silent and not give him an excuse to feed them to his pets.

They heard the stories; not a single bandit in the Bloodmounts knew how he did it, but all knew it'd be wise to never piss him off, considering he could eliminate a severely dangerous threat passively, and could just so easily switch the fauna to attack the major bandit faction. One of the Marauders stepped forward, clearing his throat and extending his hand, depositing a note on yellow paper that the twisted beastmaster slowly read over.

"…Slabs in Three Horns…unexpected; I'd think their King would avoid sending his men there despite the frequent deaths and scalping for those bounties in Lynchwood but, he lacks general care for his men."

"So…you'll kill 'em, right?"

"I'll go after them and see what happens; Murphy's law is a good reason why I don't always bet on things." Cyclops slowly turned, gradually receding back into the darkness of the cave, taking the note with him, but not before lifting his robotic limb, the fingers giving dangerous glints with the moonlight's glare on them. "It's why this happened. None the less, have one of the others bring the usual here, and I'll handle the job." And with that, he was gone, and the Marauders were all rushing down the cliffside, returning to their Technical as the one who was injured continued to swear profusely while tugging the spike from his leg.

"Mother fucker…I shoulda just shot that fancy pet of his, then we'll see who sounds so fuckin' cool—"

"Hey now…it's never smart to talk shit on Cyclops…especially when we're still at his peak."

"Psh, he ain't got super hearin'! What's he gonna do, send a pet after me—" The others all screamed when a ball of searing fire smashed against that Marauder's head, as it rapidly burned away, his bloody, headless corpse slumping against the car. Their focus all turned to the attacker…some sort of…demented Rakk. They didn't know the word properly because the creature looked like a Rakk in many, many regards, but the stark contract was it actually possessed bird like legs, the beast currently standing on them as it used its wings as support, giving it the appearance of a dragon of some sort. Its hide was a light copper color, with a tan underbelly, and along its back it had vibrant red markings, as its head was adorned with what looked like backwards facing spikes, the entire Rakk looking around the size of a full-grown person, and not some sort of massive terror. The defining feature was the collar around its neck, sporting the simple name of "Raguel". With its task done, the beast spread its wings and flew off, its master's bidding done.

"…a badass for a badass." One Marauder hummed, wincing as the beast flew off suddenly. "Maybe we should be like…really worried there's someone like him runnin' about Pandora…even if he's a Bloodshot. Never saw a Rakk like that before and it's takin' commands from him, apparently."

"It's not like the others'll come out to the Highlands and get Cyclops on their side; he's with us…though…not sure why he keeps asking for those random Loader fuel cells and some non-perishables."

"…I like beans too."

"Well so does he…and he also asked for Ranch so dibs on not going to find fresh shit like that."

His metal claws juggled the note between his fingers as he walked, aware of Gabriel walking within close distance to him, even while cloaked. His hobble wasn't that far; even he wasn't savage enough to sleep out in the middle of a cave. His sneakers made light scratch noises when he stopped, staring up at the small, mostly metal house, with a cloth sheet as a door. A silent motion with his normal hand made the Badass Stalker relent and he stepped into his home, the light clicking on as he walked towards his… "office" really the home was just one big room, with an outhouse on the side for bowel movements and the like, while the inside of the house had an aged wooden desk with an even more aged rolling chair, a worn-down cot, and a recliner, with a small TV in front of it…even deranged bandits needed to unwind. The note was set down on the desk, and he plopped down as well, reaching both hands up slowly to tug his helm off and set it to the side, rubbing his human hand over his features. Despite how…intimidating he tried to be, he wasn't really all that old, appearing in his early twenties, with messy black dreadlocks, and just the faintest bit of hair growing on his chin. What was most defining was that he was lacking his left eye; eyeball and lid included, and all that stared was an empty socket, with muscle and bone visible around the area…almost as if his eye had been blown out by something or someone. The wound was long cauterized; it was almost an indicator as to why he was called Cyclops.

None the less, his single remaining eye looked over the note more, paying attention to details as he multi-tasked as best he could, plucking a Dahl Pistol from the desk corner and reloading it before setting it down, humming to himself.

"…shit gun, but it'll do." Without the helm, he even sounded more youthful, though with a light baritone voice. His metal arm clamped around a Jakobs Sniper as well, hefting it up and slinging it to his back, while the wide barreled pistol was slid into his pocket. The helmet was slid back on, and Cyclops was up once more, moving to the door and opening it slowly, chest rising ever so slowly, before a shrill whistle left his lips.

The howl of a Skag greeted him, and in a flash, one stood before him, another Badass, no doubt as well, given the size. It had the typical look of one yes, but where one'd expect grey armored hide, this one had teal colored hide, and wore the same armor of that of an Armored Skag.

Cyclops had been doing some…observing, regarding the rats and their mounting of Skags, though he used a less harsh method of taming them.

"You're ready to ride, Michael?" The Skag's only reaction, roaring sharply, as Cyclops turned his head to the Stalker. "Vanguard the cave and make sure no one I don't approve of comes in. If the Vault Hunters show up, run…I don't wanna lose you or any of the others in here." Gabriel didn't nod, but Cyclops could tell the beast heeded his word, as he climbed onto the saddle resting on Michael's back, patting the Skag's head and feeling the beast turn, rearing up once and roaring before breaking into a sudden sprint, leaping right out the cavern's mouth and dashing off. The moon continued to bear down on him and his ride; that was for the best…it'd make it harder for the Slabs to know he was hunting them. He wanted this done quick, and then he wanted to be gone; the longer he remained the more risks he ran with either three things happening: Hyperion learning of his existence, the Crimson Raiders learning of him, or the Vault Hunters hearing about him.

Not a single one was appealing in the long run.

Cyclops rolled his shoulders as he dropped to a knee, on a cliffside in the Three Horns Valley, the cold chilling him but not all together bothering him severely. He hefted the sniper up and peered his single eye through the scope, narrowing it as he adjusted the lens with his hand slowly, focusing the image and showing him the sight of the sawblade-headed Bandits working to set up shop in what was once the Windbreak Camp…power play from the Slab King but, one that'd be unfortunate in the long run.

Cyclops' gaze settled on a single, isolated Slab Marauder; his finger moving slowly to squeeze the trigger, and in a flash the enemy bandit's head exploded into that beautiful skull confetti many on Pandora came to love. He could hear distant screams on ECHO Communicators, and so they were aware of someone hunting them; with that he slid the rifle back, rising to a standing position before leaping down, extending his right leg and slamming into the ground…yet he remained unharmed, standing in a small crater.

"What the fuck?! You some sorta super bandit?!" His cycloptic gaze was on the Slab Bandit who spoke, and he responded in the best way, moving his metal arm to slow tug up his pantleg, enough to show the sneaker…and the metal leg, of the same design as his arm, with the faded Hyperion logo scratched off purely to leave the letter there…fitting.

"Nope, just someone the Bloodshots send when the Slab King fucks up." When bullets peppered his shield, Cyclops ducked behind cover, pulling the pistol out and vaulting over cover, metal arm on the makeshift stone cover as he open fired at the saw headed foes, watching a few fall to the ground, blood spurting from their wounds. He could hear more, and he refused to relent, rushing over to pry a Tediore SMG from the corpse, watching another Slab Bandit approach who had the pleasure of being grabbed and turned around sharply, held close to Cyclops as he used the bandit at a meat shield…one that was soon peppered with shots from his allies with no general concern for his safety. The corpse was riddled with bullets, and Cyclops discarded it before wincing as he watched his shields fall into disarray, watching them flicker out all together as the sign to take cover, but not before chucking the SMG at the nearest bandit and watching him panic when it exploded. As the gun reformed in his hand, Cyclops focused and thought out his next move…when he was out there earlier, he counted at least five Slab Bandits left…he could risk it.

His chest rose, and his lips pressed together; the shrill whistle being nigh ear-splitting…but he knew he'd come running.

"Hey, that a Skag-?" One of the Slab bandits barely had time ask before being barreled over, slamming into a wall and sliding down slowly, as they all turned their focus to Michael, the Skag letting out another bellowing roar before the bullets flew…and not one peppered his hide.

In fact, they were all stopped, by a shield.

"Holy fuck, this weirdo don' gave his Skag a shield!"

"What sorta fucker wastes time on arming 'ne of these varmints a shield?"

"Someone who wants his friends alive." Cyclops smacked one of the Slab Bandits with his arm and peppered another with the Tediore SMG and lobbed the spent gun at another, watching him explode into gore that Michael wasted no time in moving over to lap up, even in the midst of combat. Cyclops let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in all this time; whenever he brought in one of his flock for combat, it always terrified him…always scared him with the notion of one of the foes he fought getting smarter and using a shock weapon to eliminate their shield and…take them away from him.

No!

He shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts, just in time to hear the warning barks of Michael. Cyclops turned his entire head, and felt a ton of force hit him when a Bandit Technical rammed into him, the cycloptic bandit adhering to the hood of the car as the driver applied more gas, as the one manning the gunner seat slowly turned to give him the scenic view of a Sawblade cannon about to fire at him, as the two in the back raised their own firearms. Cyclops's heart hammered in his ears, but he had to fix this; he knew how. His metal talons dug into the hood of the car as leverage as he put the full clip of the SMG into the gunner's head, watching his corpse slide out the car and roll across the frozen ground, no doubt to be fed upon by Rakks or Bullymongs. Pulling up, Cyclops planted his knee onto the obsidian car's hood as he grabbed onto one of the bars of the car, pulling his metal arm free, and lifting it, fingers slowly curling into a fist, as he kept his gaze away from the driver's horrified face, as his arm started to violently quake and emit a screeching noise, an exhaust vent opening along the side of it to vent out an astronomical amount of heated air…and then his arm snapped down into the hood of the car, violently denting it inwards as his fist smashed right through the engine block of the car. He pulled his arm back out and planted his foot down, the unfortunate bandits being given the same sight from before, as the exhaust vent opened along the side of the metal leg as the same piercing noise filled the air, and Cyclops exploded off the hood of the car, just in time for it to crash into a wall and explode, killing all of the passengers and driver…while Cyclops slammed into the ground, teetering for a second, as he soon fell to a knee, huffing and panting.

"Fuckin'…Overdrive…" He stood up slowly, hearing Michael approach and whimper a bit, no doubt concerned for his master's wellbeing, to which Cyclops merely pat the Skag's head, chuckling. "I'm good, boy…let's get home before anyone else decides to show up, though we'll need those cells…these ones're spent." Though he was unable to use his cybernetic arm and leg, Cyclops still managed to crawl atop Michael's saddle and pat the Skag's head, the silent command to start heading back home to the Highlands, where his home was.

Hopefully by the time he got home, the supplies he asked for'd already be there; he wanted to try a recipe with beans and ranch…sounded nice to watch the sunrise with.

Fuck, hopefully they brought some tea too…sounded bitch'n.

"What information do we have about him?" Roland asked, looking over the ECHO Recording sent to him by one of the newer Vault Hunters, Zer0, regarding an anomaly in the twisted bandit hierarchy, as Lilith, Gaige, and himself were present to see the footage of one bandit from the Bloodshot faction slaying several others from the Slab faction. "How and why can a simple bandit behave like one've us, a Vault Hunter, in terms of power and skill?"

"Not sure; from what I see he's just some guy with metal parts getting lucky," Lilith mused, leaning back in her seat and rolling her eyes. "Gaige, ya got anythin' about how those limbs work? I don't give a shit about the whole animal affinity thing since it doesn' really bother us."

"Sor…ta…" She muttered, rubbing her chin slowly. "They're reverse engineered Hyperion tech but it's like…someone went above 'n beyond with 'em and made them super limbs."

"Super…limbs?" Roland asked, clearly having a hard time deducing if that was even a real thing. "So, his robotic limbs are…augmented in some way?"

"I think; see here?" Gaige pointed to a particular part, where the cybernetic limb was entirely exposed, including the exhaust vent. "I think it has an internal battery that, once it reaches full charge, has to vent all the excess heat before…doing something like that. The most my arm can smash through is concrete…his through solid metal, and with that leg he can launch himself high as FUCK into the air, but it seems to require cooldowns between intervals to prevent from damages, though that's probably not the peak of what his robotic limbs can do. But in all seriousness, it looks badass as hell though" The Ex-Lance rubbed his chin in thought, mulling over the situation present. While this guy wasn't on Hyperion levels of danger no, it was problematic that he was a Bloodshot; a faction who sought to take Sanctuary by any means necessary. If they had someone like him on their side, then they'd be able to twist Pandora's wildlife into bastions of destruction.

He'd seen some fucked up shit enough when he used to be a Vault Hunter; if the bandits were able to turn things like Threshers, Stalkers, and even the Badass fauna to their aid, they'd be in some serious shit.

"We'll have to prioritize between Hyperion, the more savage bandits, and this Cyclops person; have one of your friends check out his home in the Highlands, and see if it's possible to draw him to our side. I don't want him dead nor pissed; we can't work with either."

To Be Continued.

(Newer experiment I'm conducting; one for Borderlands 2 due to me finding the game again in my Ps4 Library and gaming with my younger cousins. As a result, I'm more surprised I haven't seen concepts like these before. None the less, I was slightly unclear of the setting so apologies there; Cyclops is heard about…shortly after the neo-Vault Hunters discover Sanctuary and return Roland there; this gives me plenty of space to work with while also having Cyclops intertwine his own campaign with the main quest-line of Borderlands 2 and create new paths and story branches. As you know, some elements in a canon storyline do change with me behind the wheel, so accept this in advance. I did the best I could to give Cyclops some reasonable flaws so he's not…overpowered; even for Borderlands standards. You'll learn of these flaws and weaknesses as the story progresses; some will be obvious and others fairly surreal. Point being, it'll be weird and fun. To Borderlands fans, if you want to suggest OCs, I can see what I can do as I'm curious to see what something like that'd look like in this sort of situation. Until next time, stay safe, and happy Late 4th…I suppose.)