AN: Zer0, Borderlands, and all of the creatures in its universe are obviously not of my creation. I never felt the desire to write in Borderlands after the first game, but the characters of the second made it much more compelling. This story will have Zer0 as a focus. It will follow the game more or less, but will most likely have things I've added in as well.
Also of note, I'm horrible and have left off a story in the Elder Scrolls that will take precedence over this until it is finished. So updates should be expected to be a tad slower, but hopefully the chapters will be long enough to be worth the wait (excluding this first introduction). I will not abandon this story, though, since Zer0 is just too much fun! His thoughts will not all be in Haiku, but I plan to make his attitude and personality that he shows to those around him as close to the game as possible.
Please, if you're reading this, leave a review. Positive, negative, indifferent, all types of feedback help!
The universe we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but blind, pitiless indifference.
- Richard Dawkins, evolutionary biologist
Blood flowed out from the crumpled form of what had been a man with the speed of a fresh wound. Zer0 watched entranced as the startling red stream began to pool into dark puddles on the saturated carpet, the precious fluid slowly growing thicker and cooler with time until it oozed more than ran. In the current climate, the postmortem changes only took a few hours as the body's biochemical processes began to shutdown or act erratically without the checks and balances of the brain on nerves and the nerves on the genes. It was an intoxicatingly beautiful process to watch when time allowed, giving even a boring, unchallenging kill some small satisfaction that it would otherwise lack.
Taking a final look at his target, he couldn't help but smile under his dark helmet that masked his face from the world. This human had been a politician, a man of significance by the standards of his race, but in the end he was no more significant than a bug. What did fame, fortune, or power matter if life was so easily taken without a fight or without any ability to stop death? Was not life the greatest marker of significance that existed? If all biological creatures existed only to eat, mate, and pass on their DNA, would that not mean that either the creature that existed the longest or the creature that was able to spread their DNA the furthest would become the most significant creature in existence?
Yes, he thought blandly at the idea that had become a firm belief over the course of his own existence. Those that are able to survive longer are more significant than those that cannot. And I can control that ability.
He stopped his thought there. He cared little for thoughts of some sort of god, fate, or otherworldly purpose and he did not want to waste the energy questioning if his skills and abilities meant anything beyond that he was better able to live than those he was paid to kill. His life, having been tested repeatedly through the challenges of various jobs, was more significant than those he had faced. And in that he was satisfied, perhaps even happy. But he longed for something more difficult than what he had recently been hired to face. A weak opponent did little to affirm his consequence in the universe; only the strong and difficult did that. For, in the end, the greater the challenge posed of his opponent or enemy the greater was his significance when his blade or bullet found their mark.
But he was no challenge and I – I have grown bored.
Clenching his fists, he felt the black synthetic leather of his gloves bite into each of his eight fingers. It was a familiar feeling that quieted his mind for some unknown reason. Perhaps it was the comfort the material of his armor gave him when moved against his flesh. Or perhaps it was the reminder that the black, grey, and white suit made of small, fused together pieces of bullet-resistant material was not actually a physical part of himself and that he, like those he killed, was biochemical and dynamic in nature rather than a product of programming and synthetic engineering.
But whatever the reason, he was able to push the lackluster kill from his mind as he moved towards the window and leaped out towards the neighboring rooftop. Dawn would be coming quickly and there was no reason to linger in the politician's luxurious home. The money he earned from the hit was enough to allow him to take his time in seeking out a new job, one that held some difficulty to test his skills and life with. Already he had a few leads for new work. Some even meant finally traveling to a different planet. Perhaps, just perhaps, he would find his challenge there.