Disclaimer: I don't own Borderlands and all that shizam. I just like to play in their sandbox.

The shade underneath the looming overhang provided little relief from the sweltering heat. It had taken weeks to accustom to the extremities of the temperatures of Pandora, when nightfall brought the genuine threat of hypothermia and sunrise made the horizon hazy and blurred. At the moment, the sloping curve of the mountain only served as a pitiful break, the sun's scorching rays reflecting off dull sands to touch every crevice and corner of the land.

You wondered when the operation was going to get started, having stood stationary far longer than desired. Calloused fingers absently traced your pistol in its holster, hung from your belt in a comforting weight only the presence of weapons can bring, the press of it and your shield against your hipbones calming your anxiousness somewhat. Roland was murmuring fervently behind you to the other two, who were no doubt listening about as intently as you. A quick glance back confirmed your suspicions, and the urge to sigh at the sheer ludicrously of it all rose within your chest as you shuffled your feet in the dirt, impatient.

You didn't understand why Roland even tried. There was an inkling of a fear somewhere deep in your conscious that he dreamed of some super team for the four of you and an even greater distress that the other man's plan might already have been in motion. You wondered if you were getting soft.

Lilith stared through the dark skinned man, her eerie yellow eyes unfocused and glazed as if she was fascinated by a reality that no one else could see. You suppose that the simile was spot on considering her lineage but the thought didn't interest you enough and passed by without any further scrutiny.

A familiar weight landed on your shoulder silently, its weight forcing your shoulder back in a sway. Lethal talons dug painfully into the tender flesh of your shoulder, the pin pricks of pain felt even through the protection of the tough leather, made especially thick for your baby girl. A soft croon was voiced in your ear and your hand came up to scratch the underside of Bloodwing's beak in a caress that would make one, if they didn't know you, believe you to be kind hearted and benevolent. The bird went silent once more, leaning her feathered body against your temple in blind trust that perpetually both baffled and humbled you.

"You want me to just run in?" Brick demanded, eyes staring intently at Roland, glittering. His slowly spreading grin dripped with playful malice, if there ever was such a thing.

The four of you didn't have a distinct leader –a pecking order would turn ugly quick with tempers like yours- and followed Roland not because you looked to him for orders, but that he generally had the best ideas. Or perhaps it was because the rest of their little group were simply too lazy to concoct a strategy- another idea that you didn't care enough to think about, though it was more probably the latter. It was a partner ship of sorts that had been borne only from a copious amount of time and still hung fragile between the four of you, no one used to camaraderie of any kind. You still waited for someone to pack their bags and leave, finally let them see their back as they left forever, though even that was a trust of sorts.

A bead of sweat dripped down onto your chapped lips and you brushed it away absently. No point in listening to Roland speak with a feverish passion that you never quite understood, his eyes alight with the prospect of working as a functioning unit. While the missions varied, your job stayed unchanged- secure the high ground, find optimal refuge, and provide cover for the others. When the mission objective was complete, join the others and haul ass back to New Haven.

"Mordecai?" Roland's voice was sharp, his eyebrows high on his sweat beaded forehead in silent chastisement at your inattentiveness. "You understand your position, you are heading south to the northwest tower. Eliminate the sentries posted in the southeast and southwe-"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it," You interrupt him, holding his gaze through the tinted lenses of your goggles, not wishing to stay holed up underneath this damned rock for any longer than you must.

The former Crimson Lance soldier's lips thinned in the face of your dismissal, thick eyebrows tilting downwards at what he perceived as a great disrespect. Turning back to the other two, he stared at them both in turn, his eyes once again earnest. "Stick to the edges of the camp, it's not far but everything we have is dependant on how many we can take out before the alarm is triggered." His eyes rested on Lilith for a tense moment and her full lips twisted into a scowl. "Keep the element of surprise."

The siren let out a derisive scoff, glaring at Roland as she rolled her shoulders back in defiant confidence. "Don't give me that look, we all know the one you should be worried about is Brick."

The big man in question turned his head to look at her, not in the least bit offended. She offered him a sickeningly sweet smile and you pitied the man for not being able to see how bloody transparent it was. Then again, perhaps he did and simply couldn't give a damn care as to what the woman though of him- it wasn't like she thought highly of anyone, herself excluded.

Roland frowned and leaned back on his haunches, frustrated. "No, he's not coming in until we've taken out enough that we don't need the advantage anymore," he retorted, huffing in exasperation. Lilith's mouth opened in a silent 'oh' and the soldier's frown deepened into a scowl as he jabbed a large finger on the worn map that lay between the four of them.

"Weren't you listening? You're heading to the warehouse in the south east quadrant of the camp, where you will find the stolen shipment of Hyperion-"

"Whatever, I get it." Lilith waved a hand flippantly and you could practically feel the vexation from Roland at being interrupted once more. The irate soldier breathed in deeply and stood, crossing his arms against his broad chest like a barrier against his annoyance.

"Alright then, team. Let's get to it, move out." You ignored his use of that dreaded word and turned silently, Bloodwing launching off your shoulder. The force of her flight pushed your shoulder back in another jerk but you continued on, unconcerned- she would return when you needed her.

Your heavy army boots sank slightly into the ground, a mix somewhere between dirt and fine sand. It made walking hard and jogging near torture, but the four of you kept at a steady pace, ignoring the loathsome heat that pressed down upon you.

The bandit camp wasn't far. Just behind the small mountain where you and the others had rested earlier lay the compound, triangular in shape with a tall watchtower at each rounded point. Even from outside the bent iron palisade you could see heads bobbing as the sentries posted on each tower moved, bored and overheated in the noonday heat.

Roland signalled for a stop and you crouched behind one of the giant slabs of rock that lay half buried in the sand, having fallen from the piteous mountain behind you decades before you ever set foot in the Dahl Headlands. Its surface was weathered and rough, tall enough to evade the eye of any particularly vigilant watchman, should there be any, but situated directly in the path of the sun's rays so as not to cast a shadow, much to Brick's, who was to be resting there for the signal, distress.

"Pierce's mission brief says there is a separate entrance in the palisade round the back of the camp. Us three, " Roland began, gesturing to you, Lilith and himself, "We will enter there." He looked at Brick closely, making sure the big man understood completely.

You found it hard to believe the large fighter didn't mind being treated as if he was touched in the head. That wasn't to say you didn't act the same towards him, or that you didn't understand the importance of not having a massive beast of a man charging into the compound at the wrong moment, alerting everyone inside with his ridiculous roaring when you and the others hadn't secured your positions yet- it had happened before. Simply that you weren't convinced he was as ignorant as he led you to believe and that was dangerous.

Brick nodded, once more completely unfazed by Roland's patronization. The soldier gave the other man one last stern look, before darting off without a word, as he was prone to do. You and Lilith exchange a glance full of mutual exasperation before taking your proper positions around the soldier, you guarding the rear and Lilith darting to the front as the point.

A paint chipped door, precariously close to falling off its hinges marked the back entrance. Only two heat exhausted bandits were posted on each side of the door, both obviously more occupied with their conversation than guarding the entrance, their hands gesticulating animatedly what appeared to be a tale of one of the bandit's last rendezvous with the fairer sex.

You heard Lilith snort derisively behind you. The incompetence of bandits' security was so extreme that the three of you didn't just hunker down and leave you to pick them off, instead opting for the far less subtle frontal assault.

The dying screams of the men were chilling, their thrashing bodies igniting into impossibly hot flame from just a brush of Lilith's fingers, the brilliant glow of the burn leaving dark spots in your vision when you looked at it a moment too long. You opted to keep your eyes firmly fixated ahead and ignored the barbarous grin the Siren sported, her endless amber eyes alight with malicious glee. Briefly, you contemplate the sanity of the woman, not for the first time, but the thought was fleeting and unremarkable.

The auburn pistol in your hands felt uncomfortable and you scowled, wishing for your own pistol, which lay in the beat-up runner back at the mountains overhang, its scope melted from a blast a week ago. The heat of the explosion melted the casing enough that you agreed to take Roland's spare, but the irritation at the fact was not slighted in the least.

Once through the entrance your sight was fixated on the northwest tower, your feet moving on instinct to the edges of the camp, leaving your team without a word. You met no one on the way there, most of the compound's inhabitants taking refuge from the torrid midday heat inside the skag skin huts. Ducking behind an empty barrel, you scanned the ramp that led up to the tower, finding only one man ambling his way down the steep gradient, whistling an irritatingly cheery tune.

You supposed he must have done something abysmally cruel in his past life, because you were feeling impatient. With fluidity that came from years of practice you glided forwards, knowing you had only seconds before his initial surge of adrenalin wore off and he would call out for his comrades.

The bandit started at your appearance and he raised his pistol, shifting into an amateur stance that made you grit your teeth. Ducking down low you dart underneath his raised gun hand, swinging your own arm around his. Holding his elbow in the hollow of your armpit, your hand simultaneously grasping a fistful of his leather vest, securing his dominant shooting hand to the side of your ribs.

The bandit only had time to register what had happened and make one feeble attempt to escape before you lifted the admittedly rather sorry looking Tediore pistol you had borrowed. The mouth of the gun pressed on the underside of the man's jaw, and his eyes widened, in fear or shock, you didn't spare a moment to decide.

You pulled the trigger, and all the muscles in the body tensed and relaxed. You let go of the limp man, and flicked your wrist, drops of blood that had landed on your gloves flying off into the dust. The bloody gun went back in its holster and you remind yourself to give the barrel a good wipe down before you return it to Roland else he have a coronary.

You slink stealthily up the ramp, careful to keep your steps light so as not to alert the rather negligent sentries at the peak of the tower. Moving sideways, keeping your back against the wall you padded toward the entrance to the sentinel's roost, ears straining to listen for anything that would indicate their awareness of your presence.

The wall against your back was warmed by the incessant heat and the feeling seeped through your working leathers. The sharp bones of your shoulder blades brushed against the heated steel and you take one deep, silent breath before throwing yourself through the wide frame of the doorway. Your hand automatically reached behind you to wrap around the short handle of your blade, soothing your racing heart in a way that made it only beat faster.

The sword was about the length of your forearm, and it made no sound as it slid out of its scabbard and sliced through the air. The impact of the its razor edge cutting through the first guard's throat was minimal and you glided into a new form with finely honed finesse, parrying the blow from the remaining sentry who hadn't thought to pull his gun from his holster in his surprise. The blood splattered the floor in a graceful arc, only seconds having passed but a life already having been taken

"Dirty merc," the man growled, pushing his unshaven face towards you and locking your blades in a contest of strength. His hot breath washed over your face and you grimaced, disengaging the deadly embrace when you felt your arm muscles quiver from the man's superior power and leverage. Rolling to the left, you swiped your blade arm out in a semi circle, driving your opponent back several paces as he was forced to avoid a cut hamstring.

Your pistol was in your hand, the safety released, and two bullets flew. The first one clipped his shoulder but the second hit home, imbedding itself deep in the brigand's chest. The man jerked back with the impact, looking down at his wound in something akin to macabre fascination.

Your face is impassive as the bandit's shaking hand tentatively touches the hole that lay just beneath his jutting collarbone. His falls to his knees and lets out one last shuddering breath before collapsing completely and going still. You turn away from the quiet scene, and the prayer falls from your chapped lips in whisper; "Dios me perdone." The words no longer invoked the same sort of reverence in you that it used to and were spoken from mere habit, conditioned from a childhood lived lifetimes ago.

You dropped into a crouch, gazing out over the barren compound with hard eyes. The silence was unnerving, an ominous kind of quiet, so soft that one could hear the proverbial pin drop if they tried hard enough.

The frail railing around the crest of the tower had no fencing, merely a rusting metal bar circling the platform, a meagre precautionary effort to avoid a bone breaking fall to the rough gravel below. Though the lack of fencing saved you the trouble of either taking aim from a crouching position over the railing or through the often thin gaps of fences, it provided no cover. Your heart raced at the danger of leaving yourself open in such a way and you took a breath, lowering your stomach to the floor and stretching your long legs out behind you

You lifted the heavy gun off your back and settled it on the dusty floor, brushing away the dirt as if not to sully the sanctity of the gun. Its pearl stock marked it as Atlas, and another grimace of distaste ran through you at the thought of the multi-planetary corporation. Nonetheless, the scope on the gun was exceptional, and the smaller magazines were a small price to pay for the obscene power it boasted of, capable of punching through shields with a well aimed shot.

You shift, trying to quell the faint tremors that ran through your muscles at the brief spar with the bandit. One twitch would throw off the aim by a good meter and a half at this distance.

Cursing your lack of a bipod, you breathed in deeply, settling the stock of the sniper rifle in the pocket above your shoulder and supporting the barrel of the gun with your left hand. You rested your cheek briefly against the cool metal, settling into the position as you loosely placed your sight on the watchtower to the far right.

There was only one man in the sentries roost, and a quick swivel to the left revealed the same for the last tower. You felt the sharp beat of your heart against the dirty platform, pulsing in your chest and your hand went up to adjust the sensitive dial on the scope, turning it gently with calloused fingers until the first sentry came into focus.

The compound wasn't especially large, each tower about one hundred yards apart, child's play for someone as skilled as you. You pressed your cheek into the cool metal more firmly, relaxing your muscles as you sank down into yourself. The green tinged lens swallowed all but the periphery of your vision, the information your HUD barely visible on its outskirts. This was an art, and a sort of energy rushed through your veins as your heart slowed.

You settled the crosshairs on the center of the oblivious bandit's head, and your tongue darted out to wet your chapped lips, tasting blood. These moments were something beautiful and if you had any sort of an artistic nature, you would have tried to capture the moment in its visual form, but it would have been a work never complete, the sensation it provoked was painfully elusive, perfection far too high to aim for, pun not intended.

It was as close as you could get to being a god without ascending to the heavens themselves. Unbeknownst to the man who was drifting lazily across the green lens, you were the one who decided whether he lived or died today. It was a mere twitch of your fingers, and the bullet in the chamber right now would punch through his shield, his skull and his heart cease to beat. He was so weak on this planet made of granite, you found the irony of how the top predators of the food chain were so deceptively frail bitter as you preyed even upon them and their brethren.

You didn't consider yourself a deep man by any means and this was about the depth of your ponderings. Nonetheless, the moment was special to you on a profound level so the notion was something you allowed to stay, though there was an itch at the back of your mind that told you it was unwise and likely detrimental to your fragile mental health.

A rock on the platform was digging through your working leathers to poke at the sensitive skin on your stomach. You let out a tired grunt as you lifted your torso up marginally to remove the disturbance- there could be no distractions. A tuff of air that washed over your back had you tense before the ting of talons clinked on the metal platform, Bloodwing crooning her greeting in your ear.

She went silent immediately and the game was back on as if you never left. Your breath was as slow as it could be and the crosshairs bounced softly in synch with you heart, an irritation you had no desire to fix. Another deep breath entered through your lips and you emptied your lungs, your finger squeezing slowly over the trigger, pulling straight back in a smooth motion as familiar as the rise and fall of your chest.

The bandit's head floated onto the intercept of the reticles and you released the hammer. Red mist fills your vision as the recoil was absorbed through your shoulder and down throughout your toes, the vibration leaving tingles that caused your skin to prickle. The man drops and you fluidly shift to the southwest tower, the alarmed sentry already in your sight as he lurched off his idle position on the wall in a jerk after seeing his comrade abruptly fall.

Another quick jerk of your finger, and he falls too, blood splattering the far wall as he staggers backwards a pace and a half before dropping. You inhale deeply, the oxygen sweet as it refreshed your straining lungs.

"Sentries are down, you're good to go." You voice always sounded horribly rough over the ECHO communicator and you wished for a glass of water to soothe your parched throat, the arid air you sucked in drying out your mouth horribly. Static filled your ears for a couple seconds before Roland's voice crackles to life, sharp as if you were one of his former soldiers.

"Well done. Keep in position and your sight on the huts. If anyone looks our direction, drop them."

You forgo the scope and gaze out over the compound with your own eyes. Lilith was already darting towards the rusting storage containers, her body tense for an attack even as you checked and rechecked the leather huts.

Roland wasn't far behind, standing guard over the woman as she worked the container open, all three mercenaries wincing at the loud grating noise the panel made as it slipped open.

You watched the lithe siren pocket any of the guns that looked interesting, admiring the smooth arch of her back with disinterested ease. Lilith was easy enough on the eyes but you preferred your women not completely batshit crazy- Roland was a damned fool, gazing forlornly at her like a wounded puppy whenever he thought she wasn't looking.

The woman discarded gun after gun, ignoring everything that wasn't close range or flashy enough for her sensitive tastes. Your seasoned gaze immediately locks onto a promising incendiary sniper, its barrel long and crimson, and the ECHO communicator flickers on once more, your voice buzzing through, eager and gruff.

"Grab that last one for me, Lilith." The gunswoman gives no outward reaction of acknowledgement and treated your request like white noise, though her hand darts back to pocket the heavy gun.

"Nine o'clock." There was a note of urgency in Roland's voice and you curse softly, irritated at the smirk you see on the Siren's face before you swivel away. The man's head drifts across the crosshairs and you pull the trigger straight back into your chest, satisfied with the spray of blood and soft thud as his body his the ground.

"Pay attention, Mordy," Lilith's voice was saccharine, laced with a sharp unmistakable edge of venom that made you inwardly bristle, Bloodwing crooning softly beside you, shifting uneasily on creaking metal platform in response to your agitation. Resolving to ignore the both of them, you kept your eyes on the crude leather huts, blinking some sweat away, the scopes plastic ring beginning to feel slick against the skin of your eye socket.

The compound rested with an eerie quiet as Lilith disposed of the rest of the guns. Heat permeated through every pore of your skin and the concept of lazing around in the pathetic overhang behind the small cliff seemed like a far off paradise beyond your reach.

The extreme temperature gave everything a glossy sheen, and even to the farther corners of the camp, vision outside the scope of the gun was fuzzy and blurred. Bloodwing was becoming more vocal in her discontent and chirping furiously in your ear and rubbing her beak against your temple in a fit for attention, reeking heavily of blood, so strong you could half taste the metallic tang of it.

You felt a chill ripple throughout your body in an unseen wave and you tensed, mind already classifying the feeling as safe even as your finger rubbed against the smoothed metal of the trigger. You didn't bother to take your gaze away from the crowded huts to know that the Siren had destroyed the guns, firing a blast of heat so intense from her clenched fists that the casings of the guns simply melted and caved in.

"Lets get the hell out of here," she muttered through the ECHO system to you and Roland, her breaths coming heavy in exertion.

"Agreed," Roland's voice was low and even you could hear the concern it held. You doubt Lilith appreciated it.

"Aren't we calling Brick in?" you asked, suppressing the urge to glance at the front gate in trepidation, mind imagining the hulking figure crouched behind the boulder as he waited the command to unleash hell. The berserker would not be pleased to have been left out of the fun.

"It's hot," was Roland's only answer and you shrugged, uncaring. You weren't the one at fault. You briefly considered advising the soldier to buy Brick a drink in order to mollify the beast of a man –decent liquor mind you, not that piss he usually bought the group- but the image of Roland's cheery shoulder clap for the concern he would no doubt infer from such a statement halted any vocalization of the thought.

The pair on the dusty compound ground jogged for the front gate, no longer wary of being seen. Lilith lagged behind, her scowl fixed on the former soldier in front of her as he slowed down to her fatigued pace. You saw her lips move in an undoubtedly caustic comment to the big man, her words not heard by you through the ECHO communication.

With a grunt you hauled yourself off the dusty floor, joints cracking audibly in protest as you scowled at the thin layer of dirt that littered your abdomen and thighs. Bloodwing hopped from one foot to another, expecting some action from your apparent relocation, chirping in quiet excitement.

"Hush love," you told her softly, hefting the heavy gun off from where it lay on the floor with a great heave that left you dreading the next morning when you shoulder muscles would exact their revenge for their poor treatment. "We're leaving."

You turned and a quick cursory glance around the corner in order to affirm that no one was coming for their next shift on the guard tower. You quickly sprinted down the slope, trying to keep your footsteps light under the weight of the gun on your back, wincing at the resounding shudder the thin ramp emitted upon each footfall, the momentum of the jog too much to resist the heavy pull of gravity and consequent sound.

Your ears tuned in on the flutter of wings, the beats powerful as your companion launched back towards the cliff's overhang where the old runner was parked. You understood her frustration at the lack of excitement and resolved to drive by several skag dens in compensation on the way back to New Haven.

Breaths were forced out of you lungs in heavy bursts as you made you way to the front gate, meeting no inhabitants of the camp. The strain of carrying the heavy gun, her steel heated slightly from the rays of the sun was starting to affect your body, sweat trickling off of your brow to carve a trail downwards. The salty fluid hit your eyes and you blinked away the sting, not having a free hand to swipe the irritation away.

Soon you were far from the compound, your pace slowing as you reached the others, gathered behind the large bolder with a disgruntled looking Brick. You saw Roland moving his hands, as if brushing off the larger man's complaints, his own bulking frame looking as harried as you felt. Lilith stood behind him a little farther away so as not to be grouped with Roland in Brick's bad book, her posture slouched and haggard, a far cry from her normal prideful straight back, nose tipped to the sky in silent disdain.

This heat was oppressive. You felt its heavy hand weighing down on you, and even the air tasted no longer as sweet as before. Pandora's days lasted no less the ninety hours and this was its fortieth, though you were glad to see you weren't the only one still having trouble adjusting to the suffocating dry fire.

Not bothering to wait for your companions you continued past them, hearing the annoyed bickering between Brick and Roland halt before soft footfalls began padding behind you in the burning sand. The cliff overhang immerged from its fuzzy haze as the distance decreased and you stepped into the blissful shade, the temperature only marginally cooler, but you would take what you could get.

The runner would take several minutes to run smoothly, having sat out in the heat as it had. You saw Lilith snatch her hand back from its surface, the soft skin of her palm already an angry red of a severe first degree burn made from the scalding metal of the vehicles shell. You ignored the manic grin she then wore as she placed her palm calmly back on the steel hood, oblivious to Roland's ensuing concerned glance, though he said nothing. Smart man.

You placed the heavy Atlas in the gunner's seat, avoiding the roll cage that released heat that you could feel even through the thin leather that clothed you from head to toe. Ambling over to shade once more you plopped yourself down on the sand, absently waving away the curious flies who buzzed across your field of vision, feeling an inherent dislike of the pesky things which clouded your sight.

Brick settled down next to you with a thud, and you could feel the tension that emitted from him, your own muscles coiling uneasily in response. The silence between the four of you was a far cry from uncomfortable but seemed too precarious for your tastes, too much of a delicate balancing act to be truly tranquil.

You closed your eyes with deep breath, making sure not to have them loud enough to invite the attention of any of your companions. The background noise fascinated you more than reality at the moment and you let its great sweeping wave wash over you as your eyelids fluttered shut, blocking away the glaring sunlight. You shut out Roland's consternation at the rather enthralled look the Siren sported, Brick's pensive tension, bound to explode in a violent fashion as he was prone to, the shrill shriek of Rakk perhaps a couple houndred meters away as they fought back against a bored Bloodwing.

The moment lasted longer than usual but the big man beside you shifted and Roland called out. You stood and hopped into the runner, grimacing at the usual heat.

My first Borderlands venture. I'm not a gun expert, so everything about Mordecai sniping in here could be completely wrong. Also, I took some creative liberties on the Vault Hunters and their personalities. Lilith is more crazy, Roland is a sappy team player, and our favourite, Mordecai is more apathetic and for convenience's sake, Spanish. Before I played the sequel, this was how I pictured them so I stuck with it -'onwards my motley band of demented Vault Hunters, onwards!'-. Brick, however, I have no idea how to write; this is, and always will be him.

Now who here likes the first game better than it's sequel? (Barring Handsome Jack, because he is the best antagonist ever.)