Chapter Text
“And how many nights will that be, lady?”
“Just one, please. With a working lock.”
The man looked her over, taking in her exposed left arm, webbed with a blue, twisting design. She left it exposed partly for the intimidation factor (which meant everything in this land), and partly because it got downright physically uncomfortable to cover it. “Pff,” he said, “ain’t you one’a those, whatcha call ‘em… like that one lady who opened the Vault that time. Sirens?”
She looked over her shoulder at the few patrons in the lobby. “Yes, I am.”
“Ain’t know much ‘bout your type but anyone stupid enough to sneak up on ya deserves exactly whatever witchcraft you throw at ‘em.” The innkeeper crossed his arms when she continued to stare him down. “Fine, howsa ‘bout this. You show me exactly what you can do with those fancy powers of yours. I’ll throw in an extra lock for twenty bones. One I know works.”
The Siren rolled her eyes. It was a ripoff, but this inn smelled clean, looked clean, and lacked drunk loiterers. By all accounts, a mansion. “Fifteen, and you throw in a radio and any books you have on the history of Pandora.”
The innkeeper scratched his short, patchy beard, then leaned under the counter. He produced a small, dented radio and a dog-eared paperback with the title “Pandoran Geography – A Brief Overview”. At the Siren’s raised eyebrow, he slapped another book on top. This one lacked a cover entirely with only the words “Skags to Riches” written on the first page, but made up for it by being a doorstopper. “Better make this good. Those the only two books I got.”
The Siren picked up the radio and books, and tucked them away in her storage deck. She inhaled deeply once, twice, then turned around and held her tattooed arm out in front of her. She felt heat and electricity course across her skin, purple-black energy dancing around her fingertips. She jerked her arm up, and the dartboard on the far wall lifted into the air, encased in an orb of energy. The Siren’s eyes narrowed, and she clenched her hand into a fist. A cold sweat broke across the back of her neck at the effort, but, with a groan of metal and snap of plastic, the board crumpled into compact lump. She turned her back to the innkeeper, the dartboard still floating in the air. The few patrons in the lobby had gone silent.
The innkeeper slid a heavy combination lock and a room key over to her, eyes wide. “Y’know what? You can keep the damn books so long as you cause no trouble and you’re outta here first thing tomorrow. I ain’t want any bounty hunters knockin’ down my door lookin’ for ya. I run a good establishment, wanna keep it standing long as possible.”
“Trust me, I don’t intend to stick around.” She took the lock and slid a couple bills towards him. “Thanks.”
A number three scratched into the key led her to a room at the end of the second floor hallway. Like most buildings outside of old mining towns or military establishments, the room looked like it had been constructed of reclaimed sheet metal and prayers. However, the plumbing worked when she tested it, the water was nearly clear, and the bedsheets weren’t stained with god-only-knew-what. She slumped down on a rickety metal chair, and pulled a few objects from her storage deck. Her new books went on the bed, and an ECHO recorder went on her lap. She sighed and hit record.
“Maya here again. Day four on Pandora. Harder to find information on Sirens than I thought. Everyone here knows about one, but I haven’t gotten a name yet and… I suspect she may be dead. Information on Vaults is just as sparse. Sounds like all anyone really cares about is what happened after. The Eridium, the slag, and Hyperion.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m too scared to head into any major population centers to hunt down academics. Keep running into bounty hunters, creeps, and worse. Most people stay back, but… some don’t. Almost got outnumbered in the last town. If it weren’t for my powers and the Maliwan I bought for way less than it’s worth, I’d be toast. Got a couple books from the innkeeper in this place called Ragged Peaks, who knows, maybe I’ll learn something. But… looks like I’ll be hunting skags for cash again tomorrow unless something comes up. Really need to get a decent hunting rifle for this—“
The ECHO Comm on her wrist beeped. “Sorry, message coming in on my comm. Talk to you again tomorrow, diary.” She tapped her earpiece and looked at her wrist screen. One new message.
From Hyperion.
Her heart seized, and she tapped open. The voice message played in her ear.
“Dear adventurers, bounty hunters, and other folks of grand repute: if you’re hearing this, congrats! Either I—Handsome Jack—got your emails begging me to let you in on this sweet Vault action, or I came across your resumes and thought, well, now there’s a real go-getter. I’ve got a lead on some very interesting Vault-y prospects out in the Frozen Wastes, and I’m looking for a team of Vault Hunters to investigate. All you gotta do is hit the accept button on your Comm after this message finishes et voila, train ticket destined for Southern Shelf, digistructed before your very eyes. Tailored to your nearest train station, as per the GPS in your comm. Opportunity of a lifetime, folks, and you will get paid. Handsomely. It’s in the name, you know. Anyway, I’ll meet you on the train, should you choose to accept. You’re accepting, right? Seriously, don’t be an idiot. Hit that accept button. See you on the train, pumpkin.”
The message beeped, signalling the end.
Maya leaned back in her chair and exhaled in a long whoosh. Hyperion’s interest in Vaults had piqued her own interest, and shortly after landing on Pandora, she had sent of a short inquiry about the nature of Vaults. Four days passed, and she thought she would receive no answer. But to get a reply such as this—an invitation to investigate a possible Vault… she hit accept without a second’s hesitation. A ticket appeared in the air in front of her face, and she took it. The time read high noon, at a station her comm indicated was about an hour’s walk from the inn.
“Hyperion passenger train, express class. Cool,” Maya said. She tucked the ticket in her pocket, then left her room, headed to the quick-change station in the lobby to buy herself a parka and a pair of boots.
~~~
True to her word, Maya left the inn first thing that morning, to a very grateful send-off from the innkeeper. Without a Catch-a-Ride station in the area, Maya resigned herself to filling every water bottle she owned and setting off into the desert. Even early, the sun threatened to roast her. She wished it would roast the skags and rakks. She stopped in an abandoned gas station for the shade, and for a break from the divebombing rakks. A few very dry and very chewed partial skeletons lay to one side of the main room, and she tried not to think about them as she sat down on an old storage crate. She cracked open her Pandoran Geography book to where she’d left off last night, on a section about a recently dried-up ocean that held rumours of a hidden treasure. Just rumours, of course, but she smiled at the thought anyway. To go on a grand adventure, riding across the bed of an ancient ocean amongst forests of dried coral and the fossilized shells of giant Pandoran sealife, all in the search of some mysterious and powerful artifacts… it sounded like something straight out of one of the adventure novels she so loved to read back at the abbey. That library might have been the only thing she truly enjoyed in that place.
She checked the time, grimaced, and marked her page. At this rate she’d still be extremely early for the train, but better that than late. She wiped the thick layer of dust from a cracked mirror in the gas station’s old office and looked at herself. Nothing special, but I do what I can, she thought. Apart from her naturally vibrantly blue hair, silver-white eyes, and tattoos under her eyes, all the weird and unavoidable signs that put a neon sign over her head that said “Siren here! Turn me in for a bounty!” she was as plain as the next person. She smoothed down her hair and reapplied bright blue lipstick that matched her tattoos. Sweaty, exhausted mess she might be, but she’d be getting on that train looking the best she could.
Entirely as expected, she hit the train station an hour early. Also entirely as expected, not a single soul staffed the platform, and no amount of wrenching on the doors budged them. She groaned and huddled in the narrow sliver of shade by the wall as best she could. With her geography book and the radio she completely forgot to return to the innkeeper, she occupied herself even in her discomfort. Every now and then, she heard a rustling from inside the station building, and kept a hand on her Maliwan… just in case.
In time, a bell sounded indicating that the train approached. “Finally,” she whispered, and stood, stretching the kinks out of her shoulders and back. She exchanged her book for her ticket, and turned it over in her hands. Did she hand it in to someone? Put it in a machine? Sometimes I think everyone on this planet thinks I’m an idiot. Never rode a train, never cooked meat, never thrown a grenade. As the train drew closer, she turned to watch it arrive…
… and saw something—no, someone—sitting on the ground, by the tracks, not far away. Someone who stared straight at her.
Her eyes widened. Is that a Psycho? She thought. She had thankfully little experience with the least sane of Pandora’s bandit population, but between the gas mask decorated with the Vault symbol and the disregard for clothes even in this blazing sun, all the hallmarks were there. However, where Pandora’s Psychos were wild underfed men who travelled in packs like demented wolves, this man was alone… and huge.
She watching in a mixture of wonder and caution as he pushed himself to his feet. Someone had the bright idea to mix a bodybuilder with an ape, then starve the resulting disproportionate abomination—that’s the only way she could make sense of what she was seeing. No ordinary human looked like that—not that she was any judge of what was “normal” for humanity.
Her hand moved to her Maliwan as he approached. The train was still in the process of arriving, and she wanted no trouble, but she also wanted to get onboard in one piece. I’d rather be staring down a skag. More predictable, less vicious, and you’re shooting an animal in the face, not a human.
The Psycho reared up and shook his axe in the air. “I’m the conductor of the poop train!” he screamed, and flipped her off with his free hand. Maya dropped to a crouch on instinct, scowling. Better him than her. She dropped down from the train platform and opened fire. Small miracles—the Psycho didn’t have a gun. He scrambled wildly under the Maliwan’s hail of electric bullets until he spotted a rock just big enough for him to shelter behind. Every time he poked his head out, Maya let loose another barrage of fire, backing up towards the train between shots. She just needed him to stay there long enough for those doors to open…
“Strip the flesh!” the Psycho yelled, standing and brandishing his axe.
“Stay down or stay dead, asshole,” Maya muttered, pulling the trigger again. He dove back behind the rocks with speed unbefitting of his size.
He peeked around again. “Salt the wound!” he screamed, and Maya opened fire again. He ducked back behind the rocks, and Maya scowled harder when her clip ran dry. He was just smart enough to not leave cover, and she was smart enough to keep her distance—she was just wasting ammo. She tossed the old pod aside and wound a new one into place, watching the Psycho as he stood, but didn’t move closer. She glanced over her shoulder at the train. Doors still closed. Dammit, come on. She turned her attention back to the Psycho just as he wound back the arm holding his axe.
“Turn around, pretty lady!” he screamed, and threw. Maya jerked to her left—but the axe soared well past where her head would have been. She heard a scream and a sick thud. Whipping around, she saw the axe buried in the skull of some bandit: still standing, but certainly dead. She watched, stunned, as the Psycho charged straight past her like a raging elephant, retrieved his axe, and swung it like a baseball bat into the stomach of another bandit. He seamlessly moved onto another, cackling like a madman the entire time.
Holy shit. I could have been dead right now, she thought, looking at the dead bandits’ wicked claws. One of the mutant Rats of Pandora. What the hell…?
The Psycho down another rat with a sick, gleeful cry and kicked it aside. When he turned to the final rat on the platform, it cowered at his feet. He leaned down and screamed at it. “I’m gonna put my pain into your soul!” he said, and the Rat merely fainted. Maya didn’t blame it. The Psycho turned to face her, single eye wide. She blinked at him, but a frantic movement from the train station caught her attention before either of them could speak.
“Shit!” she hissed, and threw her arm forwards. She caught the Rat just as it leapt. Encased in an orb of swirling purplish energy, it floated harmlessly away from the Psycho, shrieking its displeasure. The Psycho spun around in alarm, then glanced over his shoulder as Maya walked towards him. He said nothing, only stared, but Maya knew that look. Free a trapped animal, and it gives its rescuer that look before it runs—a look of surprise and dumb gratitude. Its rescuer could have left it or killed it in its weak moment, but no, it was given freedom instead.
The Psycho did not extend the same mercy to the trapped Rat.
Maya released her phaselock, dropping the corpse to the floor so the Psycho could retrieve his weapon. She holstered her gun, and relaxed her hands from their fists, tried to slow her pounding heart. The Psycho kept his back turned, breathing heavily, but she remained patient. Suddenly, he whipped around, pointing jerkily at her. “I powdered my cockatiel for the ribcage slaughter!” he shouted, jabbing his axe in the air, but then let his arms fall back to his sides.
Maya considered that for a moment, then smiled. His tense posture relaxed slightly. Alright, I’ll call that progress, Maya thought. “I owe you my life, but… You know, I was attacking you. Why did you help?” she said.
The Psycho stared at her, his fists opening and closing, his neck straining. He looked to one side and rapped his forehead with his fist, growling. Finally, he said, “Cowards! I bathe in their filthy entrails!”
Maya nodded. “You could say that again. Well, thanks. I don’t know how to repay you. I don’t know if I can.” The Psycho grumbled something under his breath, and dropped his head to stare at his restless feet. “Okay. Can you tell me your name? If you have one? Mine is Maya.”
He shifted from foot to foot, growling deep in his throat. Behind her, the train doors slid open and a loud bell rang. The Psycho jumped. Maya looked over her shoulder at the train, then back at him.
“Choo-choo! Poop train leaving the station, blue lady!” he said, and pointed over her shoulder.
“Yeah, that’s my ride,” she said, and felt a sudden wash of guilt. He wasn’t threatening before, was he? Jeez, I really am an idiot. Maybe still a little bitter about being flipped off, though. “Look, I really have to go. I don’t know if I’ll be back, but… Thanks again. Really. I’m sorry for shooting at you.” The train bell sounded again, twice. “Look, uh… Take care of yourself? If you can? Don’t let another rat get the jump on you, I won’t be there to phaselock it.” She chuckled and stepped on the train.
“Destroy all those who oppose you!” the Psycho shouted as the train doors closed.
Maya chuckled and shook her head. “I’ll do my best,” she said to herself as the train began to move.