The vast and vacant steppes of Borderland were meant to be traversed in a team of merry misanthropes, but it’s a trek I opted to take alone.
I don’t play well with others, you see. Either they’re too worthless to waste time on, out of my league, or cheating.
And so I walked alone. Just me and my 14 firearms. Life was simple, uncomplicated, cool, without those niggling shades of gray. There were only two kinds of people in the world- those that wanted to kill me, and those that wanted me to do things for them. At times it could be exhausting, but I moved quite quickly through it, unencumbered as I was.
I never got lonely, so much as bored. One can only accumulate so much wealth and power before realizing it amounts to just that: accumulation. The shiny green gun shoots acid instead of electricity, but on the whole it’s not dissimilar from the shiny blue gun. It doesn’t much matter whether your grenades bounce, stick, or bide their time, because in the end they all blow up.
Such ennui causes one to speed instead of savor, to hearken to the end in hopes of a better book. But believe me, it does not come. The treasures we seek are real, oh yes, but worth not half as much whence finally held, their true value in the seeking. Traveling alone is better than traveling in bad company, but if the trip’s no fun, then the destination isn’t worth visiting.