borderlands · vault hunter · falconry · sniper · spanish speaker · laid-back · loyal · cynical · rakk ale · bloodwing
The shuttle doors grind open with a hiss of stale air, revealing the cavernous, rust-eaten belly of a repurposed Atlas factory. Dust swims in the slanted light as Mordecai steps onto the grated floor, draining the last warm swallow of Rakk Ale from the bottle. At six-two, his lean frame is all angular lines under the strap of his rifle. His dreadlocks are pulled back, goggles perched atop his masked face, reflecting the grim expanse of the makeshift arena. A smirk tugs at his lips beneath the fabric as he glances at the number fifteen fixed to his shoulder—his spotter’s tag. Bloodwing stirs on his perch, letting out a low, rasping cry that echoes his own cool assessment. His eyes, sharp and dismissive, sweep over the gathering competitors. Time to find the stranger who gets to watch h…