#i was gonna do a maddening run but i decided against it after the bandit fight last chapter

[crows-of-buckets]

It's been so long since I've replayed fe3h on normal mode you get so much exp holy shit

[hunidlo]

Call of Fire

CHAPTER 4 - The Stranger

Rating: M

Word Count: 3.5K

Pairing: The Mandalorian x F!Reader

Warnings: slow burn fic, language, a lot of angst and tension between the main protagonists

Summary: You don’t like him. At all. Simultaneously, he manages to aggravate you with his silence and terrify you when he decides to speak occasionally. Yet, in hyperspace you have some time to get to know your mysterious chauffeur a little bit more.

Previous Chapter  //  Masterlist  //  Next Chapter

***

You wake up to see the Mandalorian kneeling beside you, holding your shoulders and shaking you. He’s surprisingly gentle.

You’re lying on the floor and the last thing you remember is getting to the cockpit of the Mandalorian’s ship and him telling you to buckle up after the strange ship attacked you.

“Um, what happened?” You touch the sore spot on your head—the consequence of how you knocked yourself out when the laser blast hit the ship and threw you against the wall. “Ouch!” You sit up with your back against the cockpit wall. There’s a small bump on your head—a brand new addition to your collection of bruises and wounds from the day before—and you can tell that the split lip the bandit gave you is now bleeding again.

“You didn’t listen to me … that’s what happened,” the pile of beskar beside you says. “If you had strapped in—”

“Okay, okay …” You wonder how many times he has criticized you for something in the course of the past two hours. Three times? Four times? And now he’s getting on your nerves again. “What happened with the ship that was shooting at us?” you ask, trying to deviate from the topic of you disobeying his order.

“No longer a problem … shot it down,” he announces matter-of-factly. “How’s your head?” he continues, leaving you no time to ask more questions such as Who were they? or Why did they shoot at us?

“It’s fine,” you say. It’s spinning and my face hurts but it could be worse, is what you mean.

You look around the cockpit. You have only a very hazy memory of the last time you were on a starship—it was fifteen years ago just before your parents left you with the villagers on an unknown planet. It’s quiet, you think. For some reason you expected the ship to be louder. Stripes of white light are flashing behind the viewport. The phenomenon looks familiar and makes you assume you’re probably in hyperspace, meaning far away from the only place you remember calling your home.

When you turn your attention back to the Mandalorian, he seems to be studying your bruised face, his helmet cocked to the side a little. He is quiet, gradually making you more antsy, the longer he keeps glaring at you without moving or saying anything.

Just when you think you should say something to end the silence, a gloved hand comes up and towards your cheek. Your instincts tell you to jerk your head backwards to avoid his touch, partially afraid of it causing more pain to your beaten face, and partially taken by surprise of the unexpected intimacy of his movement.  

Immediately, you realise that he most probably didn’t mean any harm. But it’s too late now … 

Seeing your reaction, he clenches his hand into a fist and lowers it again to rest it on his thigh, bowing his head down.

Before you can open your mouth and say something he stands up and strolls away towards the ladder to the cargo hold.

“Are you taking me to Hoth?” you quickly ask after him.

He does not respond to you, swiftly slides down the ladder, leaving you alone in the cockpit, still sitting on the floor.

You wonder whether he always deals with uncomfortable situations by silence and solitude, and you eventually come to a conclusion that he most likely does. Apparently, expressing what he thinks or wants to do with words doesn’t come naturally to him as it does to you, and you realise that he probably spends most of the time by himself and isn’t used to talking to other living beings very often.

You get to your wobbly feet and follow him down the ladder. 

You feel an immense need to rest now.

Shit, your backpack!

Where did you leave your backpack? Ah, yes … your hideout behind the crates.

You sit on one of the crates, take the bottle of water from your backpack and drink like you have spent the last two days on a desert planet. 

The Mandalorian is cleaning his blaster at the workbench acting like he hasn’t noticed you joining him in the cargo hold. He sure does a great job ignoring you when he wants to. 

“So …,” you interrupt the insufferable silence, “how long until we get there?” Despite trying hard to hide it, you are still a bit scared of him and are not sure what his intentions with you are right now so you tread lightly, testing the waters first with a simple question.

“A day ... “ the Mandalorian starts after a beat.

Oh, that’s shorter than you—

“... to Navarro,” he finishes.

Wait, what?

“Navarro?” your voice is more pitched than you originally intended. “We should be going to Hoth?”

All sorts of questions are now emerging in your head like Why is he taking you to Nevarro? And what the hell is Nevarro?

He doesn’t say anything for a while, so you continue but decide not to deviate from your initial request. “My parents are rich, you know?” you lie, trying to negotiate with him—motivate him to give you what you want. Mandalorians are mercenaries and bounty hunters, right? So he would definitely not refuse an opportunity to gain some credits, you assume. “I’m sure they will be more than generous if you delivered me to Hoth as soon as possible.”

“We don’t have enough fuel to get to Hoth,” he says dryly without looking at you.

Evidently, your tactics are not working.

“But, we have a deal—”

“No, we haven’t.”

Oh, come on! You’re losing your patience again. 

“I need to get to Hoth!” You stand up and give him one of your infamous frowns as if being stubborn has so far got you anywhere with this indomitable metal oaf.

“Hoth was a week away from your planet. I need to refuel first,” he’s indifferent to both your demand and the way you just raised your voice at him. “Plus, the ship needs fixing, one of the engines suffered damage.”

Maybe he’s not making it up after all.

“Fine …,” you sigh in defeat and roll your eyes. You’ll go to Nevarro with him, let him fix the ship and then you can continue to Hoth. It’s not like you are in a hurry, right? You waited fifteen years, surely you can wait a couple more days. “… Where do I sleep?”

He doesn’t reply with words, just lazily waves his hand around the cargo hold. Take your pick, is how you read it.

Is he joking? He must be joking.

“There’s only one bed.” You assume it’s his, and you’re sure as hell the hand gesture wasn’t an invitation to his bunk. “Where’s the other one?” You quickly scan the hull again and see nothing resembling a second bunk. 

“Does it look like an inn here to you?” Only now does he turn his visor to look at you.

No, it surely does not, a venomous comeback runs through your head but you know better than to utter it out loud so you just sigh.

So he wasn’t joking, he’s gonna let you sleep on the floor of his dirty fucking ship. How rude. 

On the other hand, well … he’s sort of right. You don’t want to admit it but if you’re being honest … What were you expecting? Bed and breakfast and a bedtime story? Deep down you know you should be grateful that he hasn’t kicked you out of his ship yet. He lets you stay and eventually might even take you to your parents—although you are not so sure about the last part. After all, you yelled at him, threatened him with his own gun, and broke into his ship. Twice.

Then again … you are not going to admit it so yeah … he’s rude and you don’t like him one bit. 

He’s obviously fed up with the conversation and is about to leave for the cockpit but you don’t feel like being finished yet—

“I’m dirty,” you blurt out. 

Shit, that didn’t sound right … 

He stops in his tracks, turning his visor to rest his look on your face again. It seems you have caught his attention. You can almost sense him raise his eyebrows and smirk as he cocks his head.

“I mean … I need to take a shower and wash my clothes.”

The silence that comes after almost everything you say to him is maddening.

After a moment—when he’s finally done scrutinizing what you said—he simply points his finger towards the ‘fresher at the end of the hull.

“And-um …,” you mumble, looking at your toes now, “I don’t have anything else to wear so …”—you already suspect what you’ll get for an answer before the question leaves your lips—“I was thinking you could lend me some clothes until mine get dry?”

…

“Asshole,” you mutter when he’s halfway up the ladder having no decency to reply to you before he turns and leaves. He probably hears you but decides to pretend he hasn't.

Later in the ‘fresher, you frown at yourself in the mirror. Fuck! Your face is a mess, and so is your hair and clothes. The bruise on your face is starting to change its colour from purple to repulsive yellow, and opening your mouth is a challenge on its own due to the sharp pain shooting to your jaw every time you try. When you're finished inspecting your numerous wounds, one by one you detangle the twigs from your hair, then take off your muddy clothes and wash them in the washbasin.

The shower is definitely the highlight of this day. For a moment, you just relax and enjoy hot water running down your tired limbs and washing away the events of the past couple of days. Even if you doubt the feeling will last. 

Okay, now … soap.

You cautiously sniff the content of the bottle that you’ve found on a shelf in the shower, just to be sure you have the right thing. From what you’ve seen, it could well be some oil for the Mandalorian’s armour or whatnot. To your surprise, it smells fresh, masculine, and a little bit like forest. 

“That grumpy bastard sure smells nice under all that beskar,” you smirk to yourself as you pour a decent amount of soap in your palm.

But when you get off the shower … oh, no … 

… there’s only one towel—his. You haven’t thought of that before.

Well, desperate times, desperate measures.

***

You decide to hang your wet clothes in the cargo hold, hoping they would get dry soon. 

A dull thud comes from behind you, making you jump scare and turn around.

The Mandalorian is standing motionless under the ladder to the cockpit, his visor boring into you.

“What?” You cross your arms on your chest perfectly aware that you are currently wearing just your underwear and his towel wrapped around you. “I told you I had no spare clothes.” 

He doesn’t seem to be bothered with your reproving tone though. His visor moves awkwardly slowly, following your silhouette from your feet up to your face where his look lingers for a beat. Then, without a word, he passes by you to get to the workbench. 

After a moment of searching in the boxes on the top shelves, he shoots his hand backwards, clutching a black long-sleeve shirt.

"Cover yourself," he commands with his back turned to you. He sounds almost angry.

"Gladly," you snarl back and snatch the shirt from his hand.

You turn away from him to put the shirt on. It’s not quite as long as you’d like but it’s better than nothing—and it smells just like his soap—so you’re not going to complain about it. 

When you turn back—still not decided whether or not to thank him—you find yourself facing the blackened visor of his helmet. He’s close. How did he get this close without you noticing? In his hands, the Mandalorian is carrying two neatly folded blankets, a pillow, and some sort of ointment—most probably intended for your face. He extends his hands just a little, and the simple gesture—being the first pure expression of kindness so far—stuns you. Maybe he isn’t as hard-hearted as you initially thought.

He tilts the chin of the helmet to the side as if thinking hard about something. 

“Do I smell … Did you use my soap?” By the tone of his voice you can tell that the brief moment of softness has just ended and he’s back to being his usual cold pissed self again.

“Well, I didn’t have time to pack mine, did I?” You allow your mouth to get loose. “I like it though,” you smirk when he turns the visor to pierce you with his look again. “... smells good.”

The silent faceless look is still so hard to read for you. 

The hand by his side twitches and for a split second you think he’s going to reach for your face again.

You don't know why but this time, you would let him.

He doesn’t though. Instead, he turns and walks away from you, across the hull to his bunk. 

“You have something in your hair,” he says matter-of-factly as he’s clambering into his bed, before the hatch shuts behind him.

You stand there dumbfounded for a second before you reach in your hair … 

“Nice,” you exhale, pulling out a twig with leaves from your wet hair.

***

Zullu is standing in front of you.

“You’re special,” the voice echoes to you through the void.

There’s a shadowy figure behind her.

“Zullu!” you cry out. “Watch out!”

Zullu falls to the ground—motionless.

The same figure is now standing behind you. They extend their hand and lay it on your shoulder and shake you vigorously.

“No!” You jolt awake and sit up breathing heavily, looking at the Mandalorian who is crouching beside your makeshift bed represented by several crates that you pushed together and put a blanket on them.

His hand is still on your shoulder while your hand is currently squeezing his arm to the point that it’s definitely hurting you more than him.

“You were screaming from sleep,” he says when he sees your confusion and you both let go of each other. “... Woke me up,” he informs.

Perhaps, you’re still too emotional from seeing your best friend die in front of you again to think rationally but his rather innocent announcement bewilders you.

“I’m sorry, my nightmare disturbed your slumber,” you snarl, words dripping with sarcasm.

You can’t help it, for some reason you just wish to elicit a reaction from him, other than the usual silence—the omnipresent, insufferable, deafening silence which he evidently enjoys so much but has been driving you crazy. From the moment you first saw him, you just have to keep guessing what he’s thinking and feeling—and you’re done with him being this fucking enigma for you all the time.

However, he’s apparently not willing to give you the response you want because he just wordlessly climbs up to the cockpit—the loudest sound in the quiet hull being the angry thuds his boots make on the ladder rungs.

You sit on your bed—head in your hands—frustrated with your own irracional behaviour. 

You should probably go and apologize to him, you think, realising your overreaction was bloody stupid. Then again, maybe it will be wiser to let him cool down a bit before you try to approach him.

***

You can’t sleep.

It’s been a good two hours since the Mandalorian left the cargo hold in the middle of the night and you have been unable to fall asleep again.

Should you go after him? … What should you say? … What is he doing up there, anyway? goes through your head making it impossible for you to rest.

You finally get up and clamber into the cockpit. You carefully approach the Mandalorian who is sitting in the pilot’s chair. 

When you’re close enough, you notice that he’s resting his helmet on his shoulder—he’s sleeping.

He looks so peaceful now with his hands folded on his chest, his legs outstretched and crossed under the control panel. You wonder whether his neck hurts when he wakes up after sleeping in such a position with his helmet on.

God!—you realise—you haven’t seen him without his helmet. Actually, you haven’t seen him taking off any part of his armour. Zullu’s grandmother used to talk about the Mandalorian armour, but never said anything about who they were under their impenetrable gleaming beskar shells. That realisation makes you wonder what he looks like under the helmet.

Against your better judgement, you hesitantly wave your hand in front of his visor to make sure he’s passed out, take a deep breath—mustering all your courage—and start gingerly lifting his helmet.

You are able to lift it by mere inches before a hand shoots up and catches your wrist, keeping a tight grip on you almost painfully. You immediately let go of the hem of the helmet.

“What are you doing?” His voice is quiet, tone dead serious. If he wasn’t irritated before, there is no doubt he’s mad at you now.

Fuck. Fuck! You have overstepped, you’re sure of it.

His next movement is swift and sudden. Before you can come up with a reply or do basically anything, he’s towering above you and cornering you against the control panel. He’s so close that you can feel each of his furious heavy breaths as his chest plate presses periodically against your torso with every inhale he makes.

You gulp thickly, not daring to move a muscle. You got the reaction you so desperately wanted from him and now you regret ever irking him.

“Don’t ever do that again!” His voice is impossibly low and threatening.

This time, it’s you who doesn’t speak.

He quickly let’s go of your hand and backs up a little when he feels your body slightly flinch under his deadly stare and sees the glimpse of fear in your eyes.

You use this opportunity to rush from him as fast as you can, leaving him where he stands in the cockpit.

You would be able to hear the Mandalorian sigh if you weren’t trying so hard to push back a whimper as you climb down the ladder to the hull.

***

You slump into your bed and stay there until morning. 

You hate him. You should have never come to his ship. Each wave of remorse about leaving your village is choking you until you seriously consider paying someone to fly you back as soon as you get to Nevarro.

But … you can’t go back. Apart from not having enough credits, there is nothing waiting for you there. You need to keep going—find your parents and figure out how you were able to kill that bandit with just your mind. You have to do it for yourself, and for Zullu.

Interrupting your train of thought, the Mandalorian appears in the hull. He’s quiet. He approaches you and slowly lays a tray with something that looks like processed food in front of you without saying anything or looking at you.

Is … is this his weird way of apologizing?

He sits down on one of the crates in the hull in front of you, pulling out his rifle to clean it.

It is an apology, you realise. And you feel like it’s your turn now.

“I’m … I’m sorry.” Your voice is thin and almost inaudible. “I’m sorry, I snapped at you, and I’m sorry if I … offended you.”

He doesn’t look at you, just nods almost imperceptibly. “And I’m sorry if I hurt your hand,” he says eventually.

“It’s okay,” you say and rub your wrist. He didn’t really hurt you but you think it’s quite considerate of him to mention it.

“So what’s up with the helmet?” you hesitantly ask. “Don’t you ever take it off?”

“No.” 

“Why not?”

“This is the way,” he says simply.

“I … apologize, I didn’t know.” You didn’t. How could you? You never met a Mandalorian, you only heard the stories and Zullu’s grandmother never mentioned that they don’t show their faces.

“It’s fine. Just don’t try to take … don’t do that again.” he says quietly but definitely, and you somehow know you are not supposed to ask anymore.

You silently nod to let him know you understood. 

You eventually eat the food he has given you and watch him quietly tinker with his rifle.  

You still don’t like him but feel that somehow this brief conversation cleared the air between the two of you meaning you are finally able to relax a bit in his presence.

Neither of you say anything for the rest of the way to Nevarro.

The silence—however—doesn’t feel as thick and suffocating as it did before.

***

Previous Chapter  //  Masterlist  //  Next Chapter

[snappedsky]

Borderlands: Skies the Bodyguard 3

Skies and the crew get to Opportunity and run into someone interesting.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Chapter 9

           Two technicals speed through the Dust, beneath the night sky. Piled into one are Maya, Axton, Salvador, Zer0, Gaige, and Krieg. In the other is Lilith, Mordecai, and Brick with the Crimson Raiders trained skag, Dukino, hanging out the window, his maw open in delight.

           They soon arrive on something suspicious: a mound of destroyed machinery, still smoldering in the sand. It’s barely recognizable as a vehicle. They pull over and Dukino sniffs the destruction, whining as he looks around in confusion.

           “She destroyed their vehicle,” Lilith declares, “she’s trying to keep us off the trail.”

           “So what now?” Gaige asks.

           They watch Dukino’s odd behaviour for a second. He keeps looking from one direction to the other, like he can’t decide which way to go.

           “Looks like she could’ve gone towards the northeast or southwest,” Axton observes, “guess we just gotta pick a direction.”

           “Ellie’s place is over that way,” Maya points out, “maybe she saw something.”

           Everyone agrees and gets back into their vehicles. They arrive at Ellie’s in a few minutes and walk into the junkyard. The large woman greets them right away.

           “Hey, guys,” she chimes, “how’s it goin’?”

           “Could be better,” Lilith replies, “Ellie, have you seen anyone suspicious lately?”

           Ellie gives her a blank look. “Yer gunna have to be more specific.”

           “We just found out Skies the Bodyguard is still alive,” Mordecai clarifies, “we’re trying to find her.”

           “Ah, so the skag’s outta the bag, huh,” Ellie sighs, “yah, I knew already.”

           “What do you mean, you know?” Maya questions, everyone looking at her incredulously.

           “A while ago I found someone passed out in tha desert,” Ellie explains, “I brought ‘em back to the garage and didn’t realize she was Skies until she told me. I was ready to kill her but…”

           “But what?” Maya asks, “did she attack you?”

           “Nah, the exact opposite. She didn’t try to fight back or resist. She just sat there and…waited. And-I dunno. I couldn’t do it. She just looked…broken.”

           “Tina said that exact same thing,” Brick muses.

           “Well, she ain’t broken now,” Axton points out, “and she kidnapped Claptrap.”

           “And that’s…bad?” Ellie questions.

           “It’s the principle of the matter,” Lilith says, “Ellie, did she come back recently?”

           “Yah, not long ago her new friends came lookin’ for a car,” she replies.

           “And you just gave it to ‘em?” Salvador asks incredulously.

           “They needed help. And I trusted her friends, not her,” Ellie clarifies.

           “Did they say anything about where they were going?” Lilith asks.

           “‘fraid not. Just that they were going to Sanctuary for help.”            Everyone sighs with defeat.

           “Okay, well, there was still that other direction her scent went,” Gaige points out.

           “Yeah, let’s go,” Axton nods and they start to head out.

           “Lil,” Ellie calls after them, grabbing Lilith’s attention. “If I was wrong about letting Skies go, I promise I’ll make her pay myself.”

           Lilith hesitates with what to say for a second. “Don’t-don’t worry about it, Ellie. I don’t blame you. I know you would’ve killed her if you thought it was right.”

           Ellie nods and Lilith leaves with the others.

           They return back to the destroyed vehicle and continue on towards the southwest. Soon, Skies destination makes sense as they arrive at the train station.

           “Lynchwood,” Lilith grunts, “of course.”

           “Ay, the trains have power,” Salvador observes as everyone gets out of the vehicles.

           “How did that happen?” Axton asks, “last time we were here, the whole town was dead.”

           “She must’ve restored power somehow,” Maya muses.

           “Least now we don’t have to walk,” Mordecai grunts as they climb aboard the train.

           “Let’s hurry,” Lilith orders and they ride the train to Lynchwood.

           Meanwhile, Skies and the others have just fast traveled to Opportunity. They appear one by one in a bedroom, which at one point was probably lavish and opulent, but has since been destroyed and looted.

           “Nice place,” August comments drily.

           “Too bad we missed the party,” Sasha adds.

           Skies leaves silently and approaches the window in the destroyed den. From here, she can see the destruction that was wrought upon Opportunity after Jack’s death. The buildings are all intact but many of the windows are smashed and even from this distance, evidence of past gunfights is clear. It looks nothing like the golden beacon Jack dreamed of.

           Skies stares out solemnly until she senses Vaughn approach.

           “You okay?” he asks.

           “Yeah,” she replies and turns away. “Come on. We gotta go into the city. I don’t know what’s in there, so be ready for anything.”

           Everyone draws their weapons and start to leave when Claptrap cuts them off.

           “Wait!” he says dramatically, “I would like to say something.”

           “What, you need permission?” August scoffs.

           “Skies saved me from a skag attack earlier today,” Claptrap announces, “this has forced me to rethink my opinion on her. Therefore I have decided, she is no longer my enemy and as thanks for saving me, I will protect her with my life!”

           “Oh um,” Skies stammers, flabbergasted, “that’s…okay. Thanks…?”            “Now, let us continue with our quest!” he declares before rolling away.

           “Hey, nice,” Vaughn smiles, nudging Skies as they follow. “One of the Crimson Raiders has accepted you.”

           “Yeah,” she sighs, “guess I gotta start somewhere.”            They leave the tower and cross the bridge to the city proper. It’s eerily quiet; not even the growling of skags can be heard in the distance.

           “Oooh I hate this kind of silence,” Skies groans as she covers her ears, like that’s gonna help. “Reminds me of the time I spent alone. Maddening. Suffocating. Somebody say something to drown it out.”

           “You seem to be doing an okay job,” August comments.

           “I can’t believe how empty it is,” Sasha remarks, “I thought this place would be crawling with bandits.”            “Yeah, it is odd,” Vaughn agrees.

           “The controls for the bridge on the other side were destroyed,” Skies explains, “it wasn’t mindless destruction either. It was clean, like they knew what they were doing.”

           “Maybe the Crimson Raiders want to keep people out,” Vaughn suggests.

           “Maybe,” she agrees, slightly unconvinced.

           Skies leads the group to Opportunity Square, to a building that used to be locked with a keypad. The door has long since been destroyed, allowing the group free access. Inside used to be a surveillance room but that too is ruined.

           “This isn’t gonna work at all,” Sasha says angrily, gesturing to the broken monitors.

           “Relax,” Skies grunts and goes up to an empty wall, placing her hand against it. A large scanner appears that scans her whole body before a secret door opens up.

           “Whoa, cool,” August comments.

           “This lab can only be accessed by mine or Jack’s bio-signatures,��� Skies explains as they go down a set of dimly lit stairs. “That’s why I know it’s safe. No one can get in here.”

           They enter a simple room with a large computer against the right wall, a couple of cabinets and shelves, a table, and a fast travel station across from them. But none of this is what stops them in their tracks. What does are the clothes sprawled out around the floor and the pile of fresh fruit on the table.

           “It…looks like somebody’s been living here,” Vaughn muses.

           “That’s impossible,” Skies argues, “no one should be able to get in here but me.”

           “This drake fruit is fresh,” August points out, “this hasn’t been here since Jack died.”

           “But…” Skies trails off, rubbing her head in perplexity.

           “Whatever, no one’s here now,” Sasha says impatiently, “let’s just find Fiona and Rhys already. Claptrap, can you hack the computer?”            “No problem,” he chimes and rolls over to the monitor. Sasha, Gortys, and Loader Bot follow him while August, Vaughn, and Skies mill about the room.

           “Vaughn, seriously?” August groans as Vaughn bites a piece of fruit.

           “What, I’m hungry,” he shrugs.

           Skies ignores them as goes over to the clothes. She picks one up: an old Hyperion sweatshirt with rips and stains. Everyone on Helios had a shirt like this- even her.

           “But it definitely looks like his size…” she mutters.

           “Bad news, guys,” Claptrap says, catching everyone’s attention. “Server’s down.”

         “What?” Sasha barks as she stares at the large blue screen. “Skies, you said this would work.”

           “Aw son of a taint!” Skies snaps, throwing down the shirt. “I was really hoping Jack would have this place on a separate server. Shit, shiiiiiiit!”

           “What now?” Vaughn asks.

           Skies groans loudly, clearly agitated. “Well…there’s one more place we can go. I know it’s on its own server but…augh, it’s a pain in the ass though, for so many reasons. I really, really didn’t wanna go there.”

           “Well, we got no other choice,” Sasha points out.

           “Yeah,” she sighs, “okay. The only- well, not only but a major problem is that we need Jack’s voice and bio-signature.”

           “Aw, man,” August groans.

           “Maybe we can put together a voice modulator,” Vaughn suggests.

           “No problem,” Claptrap chimes, “I am able to customize my voice and I have many instances of Jack speaking in my memory banks.” He’s silent for a second before speaking again, sounding exactly like Jack. “How’s this?”

           Everyone stares at him, bewildered.

           “Perfect, right?” Claptrap asks.

           “Good god, that’s unsettling,” Skies cringes.

           “But it should work,” Vaughn adds.

           “Yeah,” she agrees, “now we just need his bio-signature. Maybe we can find something in his old office or at Lynchwood.”

           “Gross,” Sasha comments.

           “Let’s go, team,” Claptrap declares.

           “Please change your voice,” Skies begs, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I like your normal voice better.”

           “Aw thank you. Er, I mean.” He’s quiet again before speaking in his default voice. “Thank you!”

           “Alright,” she sighs and turns to the door. “Let’s go back to Lynchwood-.”

           She stops as she turns the corner and comes face to face with Handsome Jack.