Alex stood near Scooter's workshop, slowly taking a drag on his cigarette, lost in thought. He deliberately pushed away any images of what Scooter might be doing with his new machine. What worried him far more was the fact that his three little princesses had already managed to cause plenty of trouble on Pandora, leaving chaos and headaches for the locals.
One example was poor Scooter, who had spent a whole year building his "baby" piece by piece, sleeping beside it and treasuring every detail. Anya, Nyarko, and Jinx had somehow stolen it and left behind nothing but a wheel. And that was just one case. Add Tina into the mix — their new friend with an explosive personality and a love for chaos — and the four of them together could bring about a full-blown apocalypse.
Alex knew Tina's story all too well. Her parents had fallen victim to the betrayal of a scumbag named Flesh-Stick, who sold them out to Hyperion for experiments with slag and other deadly substances. Tina had watched with her own eyes as her mother and father were killed. The only reason she survived was because her mother had hidden a grenade in her dress. Since then, madness had become part of her nature, a defense mechanism against the pain of her past.
Alex didn't know if Tina had already avenged herself on the traitor. If not, Flesh-Stick would eventually cross paths with him, and then he would learn the full meaning of suffering. But if he was already dead — then the matter was closed. Only the girls could answer that question, so Alex decided to postpone the talk with Tina until he could carefully find out more from Anya, Nyarko, and Jinx first.
"Alright, to hell with it…" Alex muttered under his breath and lifted his gaze to the fairy drone Navi hovering nearby. "Maybe some help from the audience?"
Dozens of holographic messages lit up before his eyes."First, fix the mess our daughters caused," repeated in various forms from most of the women.Another set read: "Forget it. It's their own fault."
Alex snorted. After weighing his options, he chose the first — to track down the people his princesses had managed to cross. And first on that list, unfortunately, was Moxxi's bar.
He sighed heavily. It was obvious that Anya, Nyarko, Jinx, and Tina couldn't possibly have walked past a place owned by Moxxi. And since they had been there, the bar had probably barely survived. Establishments like that always drew a certain kind of crowd: treasure hunters, mercenaries, bandits, and those who came not just to drink but to admire the barmaid — the owner herself.
Climbing the creaky steps, Alex stopped at the entrance. From inside came loud music, laughter, and arguments. He lit another cigarette and pushed the door open.
The air inside was thick and heavy — a cocktail of cheap alcohol, stale smoke, and sweet perfume. Alex grimaced; his sharpened senses picked up every detail. And among that stench, the perfume stood out sharply — far too expensive for a place like this. Without a doubt, it belonged to Moxxi herself.
The bar was drowned in neon lights, glowing even in the daytime. The walls, tables, and stage all vibrated with music. Alex glanced around. At one of the tables in the back, he spotted a familiar face: Sir Hammerlock. A scholar, hunter, and researcher known across Pandora. Before him sat a nearly untouched mug of beer, and he was deeply absorbed in his notes, ignoring the noise around him.
Sensing eyes on him, Hammerlock lifted his head and met Alex's gaze. From beneath the brim of his hat, the scholar studied him carefully. Alex gave a slight nod, signaling goodwill. In response, Hammerlock smiled and politely returned the gesture.
The newcomer's presence immediately sparked whispers among the patrons. Strangers rarely came to this bar. And when they did, they were usually Vault Hunters — and always in groups, never alone.
Alex quickly scanned the bar, paying more attention to the patrons than to the décor. He was trying to figure out whose life his four little gremlins had already managed to ruin. A quick look around revealed nothing, but Alex wasn't discouraged. He knew perfectly well: the moment he mentioned he was the father of Anya, Nyarlko, and Jinx, people would come running—some with fists, others demanding compensation… or both at once.
Shifting his gaze to the bar counter, Alex spotted her — the one and only, legendary Moxxi.
The counter was massive, made of dark wood, scarred by time, scratches, and knives, but polished to a shine by countless elbows and spilled drinks. Behind it, shelves were crammed with bottles of the most improbable colors — from toxic green to murky violet. Above them hung a mirror that seemed to absorb more light than it reflected. On the counter itself lay dirty glasses, cigarette butts, and even a couple of spent casings, clearly left behind after a recent scuffle.
Moxxi stood behind the bar, slowly polishing a glass, her attentive, appraising eyes never leaving Alex.
He decided to take a seat. Choosing a spot away from the drunks who had already passed out with their heads on the counter, snoring in rhythm with the music, Alex sat down, ignoring both the noise and their presence.
"Hello, sugar. Want something to drink?" Moxxi asked lazily, still wiping the empty glass.
"Something stronger," Alex replied calmly, pulling the overflowing ashtray closer to himself.
"Of course, sweetie. For such a handsome man, I always have the best," Moxxi smiled and placed a glass in front of him.
Alex gave her a faint smile in return, watching as she turned to the shelves of liquor. Rising on her toes, she reached for the top shelf where fancy-looking bottles were displayed. He saw through the trick right away. Classic move: pour cheap swill into a fancy bottle, then charge a fortune for it. But he didn't interfere, simply observing.
Moxxi had fair skin and black hair with a greenish tint, styled with a straight fringe. Her face stood out with vivid makeup — red lips, blush, and expressive eyes. On her head sat a violet top hat with a black ribbon, a feather, and a playing card. Around her neck — a black choker. Her violet corset-jacket hugged her figure tightly, golden buttons and black accents adding flair. Sharp pauldrons gleamed on her shoulders, and the jacket's hem revealed one leg, offering a teasing glimpse of turquoise panties.
Alex shrugged. He knew this wasn't just style — it was also a working tool. Men paid Moxxi for her flirtation, and clearly it paid off: the tip jar by the counter was already stuffed with cash.
She took a bottle from the top shelf and, with a seductive smile, filled his glass.
"Here you go, sugar. You'll like it," Moxxi said, her lips curved in a sultry smile.
"I wouldn't be so sure. From the start, you tried to slip me cheap swill in a fancy bottle," Alex said with a faint smirk, pushing the glass aside.
"Hahaha! You're not as simple as the others, sugar," Moxxi laughed brightly, taking the glass back.
"I'll take that as a compliment. Just pour me something that doesn't smell like skag piss," Alex said calmly, lighting a cigarette.
Moxxi smiled and pulled out a plain, unremarkable bottle from under the counter. Pouring into the glass, she slid it toward him.
He sniffed — the smell was tolerable. Taking a sip, he felt a mild burn. It reminded him of the rotgut from Night City. Drinkable, and it wouldn't burn a hole in his stomach.
Leaning on the counter, Alex once again scanned the bar and its patrons. Everything around him almost exactly matched what he remembered from the game… only now, the people were alive, not just strings of code.
Moxxi casually continued polishing the glass, never taking her eyes off him. She knew and had watched everyone who came into her establishment. Her network of influence on Pandora was wide, and people like Alex couldn't just appear here unnoticed.
"And what brings you to Pandora, sugar?" she asked casually. "Still chasing Vaults?"
"Not really," Alex turned to her. "I don't see the point of ripping my ass off to find a key and then croaking like the rest."
"Really? I thought only Vault Hunters or people running from something end up here…" Moxxi said with a hint of intrigue.
"I've got a couple things to do," Alex took another sip. "Kill someone. Beat someone up. And maybe find something for my collection."
Moxxi arched an eyebrow as she watched Alex calmly admit why he'd come to Pandora. People didn't usually blurt things like that out without thinking — and they certainly didn't sit relaxed, like in a cozy café, rather than in a jam-packed bar full of cutthroats and desperate drunks. That caught her interest.
This young man before her still looked quite young, but there was something in his eyes and manner that shouldn't be there at his age — a cold composure, confidence, and a lack of fear. After years in business, Moxxi had learned to size people up at a glance: who was worth her time and who was just another penniless drunk. Alex, however, broke the usual pattern.
Especially his eyes. A rare color she had seen only once before — on a child known in her circles for endless trouble and a strange crowd of friends.
"Your eyes… they're pretty rare. I've seen that look before," Moxxi said offhandedly to keep the conversation going.
"Have you? On whom?" Alex asked calmly, though he already knew the answer.
"There's a pack of kids running around here who love causing chaos. One girl among them has the same look as you," Moxxi replied, setting the glass down and leaning on the bar to study him.
"I know. Those three are my daughters. And their friend Tina. They already told me everything. I know they stole your son Scooter's car. I replaced it with a new one to smooth things over," Alex answered with a faint smile.
Moxxi's brows shot up. She couldn't imagine that this young man had three daughters. At first, seeing his eyes, she assumed he was Nyaruko's older brother come to collect the girl. Besides, Anya, Nyaruko, and Jinx looked like spoiled but well-protected kids from a wealthy family — clever, cheeky, and definitely not ordinary.
But when Alex said they were his daughters, the bar fell silent. Conversations died down and the music retreated into the background. All eyes turned to him. The looks read like an open book — surprise, bewilderment, anger. Many in this bar had tolerated the girls' antics only because Lilith and other Vault Hunters covered for them. Now their father sat before them, and a new option opened up — demand compensation, by force if necessary.
"So you're the father of those little bitches…" slurred one of the drunk patrons, stumbling toward Alex.
He didn't finish.
Alex snatched the man's head in a blink and slammed his face into the bar with all his might. The dull thud drowned the music. The man twitched, but Alex didn't stop. He grabbed a handful of hair and drove the man's face into the wood again and again. Cracks spidered across the counter, blood sprayed everywhere.
The patrons who a second ago were scheming how to squeeze money out of Alex all took a collective step back. Even Sir Hammerlock looked up from his glass. Every strike sounded like a sentence being passed on everyone present.
The unlucky man's face soon became a bloody mess. Teeth flew out and scattered across the bar, his nose was broken, and his whole face was soaked in crimson blood. When Alex finally let go, the body slumped to the floor, lifelessly; it was unclear whether he was still alive or already gone.
Alex straightened, calmly shook off his hands, and scanned the room. There was something in his eyes that sent a chill down the spine.
"Listen carefully, scum. If you don't want to end up the same way—keep your mouths shut. Believe me, it wouldn't take any effort to kill you all. But I'm a kind and charming guy," Alex said, a nearly friendly smile appearing on his face, making the scene even more terrifying. "So I'm willing to pay for all the damage my little princesses have caused you. But keep this in mind… if anyone tries to lie—I will find out. And I hate lies."
A dead silence fell over the bar. Nobody doubted him—he was not joking.
Though Alex's smile seemed friendly, the traces of blood made it far more sinister. This smile did not calm—it made the room tremble with fear. When he slowly raised an eyebrow and the silence lingered, everyone hurriedly nodded, afraid even to breathe too loudly.
Moxxi, on the other hand, smiled wickedly and lightly licked her lips. She was intrigued by this mixture of cruelty and care: he defended his daughters with such fury that it almost… looked attractive. The girls watching through the Navi drone sighed heavily—they knew this was exactly how it would go.
"So what are you staring at? Line up, one at a time. I'll repeat for the slow ones: if even one of you lies, you'll end up like that idiot. And get him out of here—I don't need him," Alex said, kicking the head of the bloody wretch.
"Sugar, sure, this spectacle is mesmerizing, but let me remind you—this is my bar. You've been here only a few minutes and already act like the boss. It's rude to take a girl's property," Moxxi remarked lazily, yet playfully.
"Oh, my apologies, milady. Then you take charge," Alex said politely, bowing his head.
"How sweet of you to let me run my own bar, sugar," Moxxi smirked, tilting her head coquettishly.
Alex just shrugged. Moxxi glanced at a couple of regulars. They immediately understood: silently they searched the pockets of the half-dead drunk, shoved money into the tip jar, and dragged him outside by his legs. Alex watched this and mentally noted: apparently, this happened more often in the bar than he wanted to admit.
Meanwhile, a whole line of men had already formed in front of him, ready to claim their compensation. Everyone looked scared, afraid even to cough, but they waited for Alex to speak.
He lit a cigarette, pulled a revolver from his belt, and placed it on the counter. He flicked the lighter, letting the smoke curl in the air. The crowd swallowed hard, straightened up, and decided: lying to him would be a very bad idea.
"Now let's start. You first. What did my little princesses do to you?" Alex said, pointing at a man.
"They… they dismantled my fridge while I was out," the man stammered, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
"Got it. Here's a new fridge. Now scram," Alex said calmly, pulling a new appliance from his inventory.
The crowd gasped. The man almost fell from shock but quickly thanked him and, gasping for breath, dragged the fridge to the exit.
"Next. You. What did they steal, break, or blow up at your place?" Alex asked, pointing at another man.
"My revolver…" stammered the trembling guy.
"Here's your revolver. Now move along. Next." Alex tossed him a standard revolver and immediately shooed him away.
"They stole a plush skag from my son," said the next man waiting for compensation.
"And instead of drinking here, you should've spent time with your kid. But alright… here's the toy." Alex pulled a huge plush bear from his inventory.
"They stole my wallet," said the next man in line.
"Hmm… judging by your appearance and clothes, there was at most two thousand dollars in your wallet. Here's a new one, three thousand… Now scram. Next." Alex tossed the wallet to the man.
The line moved quickly from there. Another man complained about a stolen wallet—he got a new one with more money. Another had his bed returned, a third got his boots, a fourth received a set of tools.
Alex listened and compensated, but with each new claim, the headache in his mind grew worse. News spread through Sanctuary faster than the wind: in Moxxi's bar, there was a guy, the father of those little disasters, handing out compensation to everyone wronged. The line doubled in size.
Among the victims, one especially strange guy stepped forward. He trembled—not from fear, but from something else.
"Well? What did they steal from you?" Alex asked, exhaling smoke.
"Nothing… I didn't come for that. I want… your daughter to hit me with the shocker again," the man said, wrapping his arms around himself, his breathing shallow. "It was… so… pleasurable. I'm still shaking."
Alex froze and looked at him with a blank, cold stare.
"Repeat that."
"I don't want compensation. Just the hit. Please."
For a moment, the bar fell into dead silence. Even Moxxi raised an eyebrow, slightly amused.
"You want to be hit with a shocker?" Alex asked, grimly smirking. "Alright. That's easy… you're about to get a little jolt."
He reached out and, with an iron grip, grabbed the man by the head.
Arcs of electricity immediately ran down Alex's arm. In the next second, the poor man's body convulsed violently. After a brief but agonizing shock, white smoke puffed from his mouth, and his body went limp, dangling in Alex's hand. Without changing expression, Alex tossed him out the door of Moxxi's bar with a single, effortless motion.
The appearance of such a "client" only confirmed Alex's suspicion: ninety-nine percent of Pandora's residents were clearly unbalanced. Shaking off thoughts of the pervert dreaming of another shock, Alex returned to his task—distributing compensation to those affected by the four gremlins' antics.
Soon even Dr. Zed showed up in line. Unlike the others, he wasn't after compensation but demanded payment for medical services. Alex asked which operation required payment, though he already expected the worst. His premonition proved correct: at Tina and Nyaruko's request, Dr. Zed had attached Rakk wings to a poor Skag's back. He wasn't really a veterinarian, of course, but as long as he got paid, he was willing to attach anything—even horns to a human.
Hearing this, Alex sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. The thought of a winged Skag running somewhere on Pandora did not thrill him in the slightest. Nevertheless, he paid Zed and continued handing out compensation to the rest.
Moxxi stood behind the bar the entire time, clearly enjoying the show. She was especially amused by how methodically Alex put some sense into the overly brazen idiots. Even Sir Hammerlock set aside his notes, watching the performance with interest: it seemed that nearly half of Sanctuary had gathered in the bar.
Finally, the line came to an end. Alex leaned wearily against the bar, thinking about how much more chaos his "little princesses" had caused than anyone could have imagined. And this was just the residents of Sanctuary… He didn't even want to know how much trouble the four of them had caused elsewhere.
"Seems like that's everything. No one else needs compensation," Alex said, taking a sip of alcohol to wet his throat.
"I wouldn't say that, sugar," Moxxi replied with a cheerful smile, topping off his glass.
"Ugh… And I have to pay you too. Alright, let's make it quick. What do you want?" Alex sighed.
"Haha. Sweetie, do you always work this fast? Or only with me?" Moxxi asked coquettishly, leaning on the counter and throwing him a playful glance.
"Only when it comes to work. So, what compensation do you want?" Alex replied dryly.
"You're so boring, darling. To start, pay for the bar counter you broke when you smashed that idiot's head into it. And for nanny services—after all, I was watching your daughters. But for them, so sweet, I might give a discount," Moxxi said, resting her cheek on her hand and looking at him seductively.
"How much?" Alex asked, already preparing to hand over a stack of bills.
"Oh, sugar, I don't need your money. Just do one little job. For a strong, brave guy like you, it's nothing," Moxxi said, slowly tracing a finger along his hand.
"What job?" Alex asked, ignoring her flirting.
"I knew you wouldn't refuse a lady in trouble. There's a guy… won't leave me alone. Keeps sending letters, flowers, and all sorts of nonsense. Sings serenades—terrible ones, like someone scraping glass with a fork. Brr," Moxxi shuddered.
"Name, location, and what do you want done with him?" Alex said calmly, looking her straight in the eyes.
"Ziggy Splice. You'll find him in Lynchwood. Hard to miss: a tangled mess of straw-like hair as if struck by lightning; one eye cloudy and blind, the other darting around like crazy. His clothes—a chaotic mix of rusty junk," she described.
"And how did such an idiot even fall for you? By your description, he's rummaging through trash," Alex raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"How should I know? Maybe he found a poster of me. Rumor has it he even built a whole shrine out of garbage in my honor," Moxxi sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead.
"Hmm. Not too surprising, given the locals. So, what do you want? Intimidate him, beat him up, or… something worse?" Alex asked, tapping his finger on the counter.
"Oh, darling, do what you want with him. But be kind—destroy that ridiculous shrine. I don't like this kind of worship, especially from types like him," Moxxi said, tapping her finger on his hand.
"Got it. Make sure he doesn't bother you again, and tear down the shrine. Alright, let's get to it," Alex said, standing from the stool.
"Thanks, sugar. Here's an advance for the job. Mwah," Moxxi grabbed his coat and kissed him on the cheek.
"This isn't an advance, it's a debt repayment. So you don't owe me anything," Alex said, wiping off the trace of red lipstick.
"If you do well, I might have to pay you extra…" Moxxi added with a coquettish smile.
Alex gave her an empty, indifferent look and silently left the bar. Outside, he lifted his head to the sky, pulled his phone from his pocket, and connected to the Hyperion company satellites. After a few seconds of establishing a connection, Alex downloaded a map of Pandora and began searching for Lynchwood.
He knew what kind of place it was. Lynchwood—a small town in a Wild West style, only with a touch of futuristic details. And, as the cherry on top, it was populated by idiots of every kind, all eager to attack any stranger. Zooming in on the satellite image, Alex marked the target point, stepped forward—and vanished, dissolving into thin air so fast that no one even noticed.
His next stop was the top of a high cliff overlooking Lynchwood. Alex crouched down to get a better view.
The town looked exactly as he remembered from the game: small, dusty, thoroughly soaked in the spirit of the Wild West. Wooden buildings lined the streets, and everywhere hung Jacobs company posters, advertising cowboy-style weapons. On some posts, psycho individuals were hung with signs on their chests listing their "achievements."
"Someone got a little too carried away with playing cowboys and Indians… Alright, where do I find this idiot Ziggy Splice and his shrine to Moxxi?" Alex muttered, scanning the town.
Finding no simple solution, he decided to take the easy way—ask the locals. Only, Alex immediately remembered that the people here were rarely sane: if they answered at all, it was pure nonsense.
Jumping off the cliff, he landed at the town's entrance and moved forward, looking for a "volunteer" for questioning. Soon enough, the first candidate appeared—a typical psycho wandering nearby.
Alex was instantly at his side, grabbed him by the head, and asked coldly:"Where can I find Ziggy Splice?"
"He-he-he… Squeeze tighter, I'm almost there!" the psycho rasped, wriggling in his grip with a ridiculous grin.
"Ugh… Fuck. Asshole," Alex muttered with disgust and tossed him aside.
Having thrown the overly strange psycho away, Alex quickly rolled up the sleeve of the coat on the arm he had just used. Without hesitation, he grabbed a gasoline canister from his inventory, splashed the liquid onto his hand, and ignited it. The flame flared instantly, illuminating his face in the firelight.
"Perfect… now I even have to disinfect my hand, who knows what kind of filth was on him," he grumbled, raising the flaming hand overhead.
The bitterness in his soul only deepened. What annoyed him most was that the psycho he had thrown continued writhing on the ground, rasping maniacally: "I'm almost there… almost there…" Alex shivered, feeling an unpleasant chill down his spine. He had known that not all of Pandora's residents were sane, but this was beyond the pale.
His phone in his pocket kept vibrating. Alex pulled it out with his free hand and almost groaned. In the family chat, hundreds of messages had piled up: the girls were sending laughing emojis nonstop and collectively nicknamed him "The Statue of Liberty" because of his hand raised over his head, burning. In their eyes, it looked epic. For Alex—it was insulting. A universe-sized resentment gripped his chest as he read their mocking messages.
"Perfect… love the family support," he muttered and extinguished his hand.
Determined not to get distracted, Alex continued on his search for Ziggy Splice.
The town was quiet—too quiet. His eyes caught on a slightly ajar door of a nameless shop. Curiosity got the better of him. Alex pushed the door open and almost immediately regretted it.
Behind the counter stood a Psycho in a black latex suit, panting as he hugged himself.
"I am Quirk Quagmire, the owner of this underground pleasure dungeon," he drawled, writhing. "Step inside, dear customer, and experience something no one on Pandora has ever felt…"
Alex froze in horror for a moment.
"How about… no." He slammed the door shut instantly and hurried away.
"Alright, enough circus. Need to find Ziggy and get out of this madhouse," he decided, quickening his pace.
Moxxi's words came to mind: Ziggy was somewhere near the junkyard. That's where Alex headed. Mountains of garbage rose like disgusting monuments to local madness. Amid the rubble, a strange sound echoed.
As he approached, Alex saw a sight that made his blood run cold. Hundreds of Moxxi dolls, cobbled together from scraps and trash. In the center—a shrine made of metal fragments and rot. On it—a poster of Moxxi, plastered with dried flowers, human heads, and other grotesque things. But the most disturbing—was a doll with the face of "Not-So-Pretty Jack," into which a rusty knife had been stabbed.
"Someone clearly overdid it with the romance," Alex muttered, keeping his eyes on the scene.
Then a mad scream erupted behind him:
"Nooo! You've desecrated the altar of MY Moxxi with your presence! You don't even deserve to look at her! I will kill you and place your head on the altar as an offering to my future wife!"
Alex turned and saw him. Ziggy Splice. Hair matted and greasy, eyes burning with fanatic madness, and armor cobbled together from rusty junk. The sight was horrifying, but his face clearly showed murderous intent.
Ziggy lunged forward, screaming, swinging a homemade axe. Alex merely grimaced, drew his revolver from behind his back, and fired.
The bullet struck Ziggy's head and immediately exploded. Blood, flesh, and bone erupted in a fountain, the body flying past Alex and collapsing to the ground.
"Perfect. Weird suitor—minus one. Now only the altar remains… and, I guess, that's the end of this town. Why did I even come to this planet?" Alex muttered, moving forward.
To be continued…
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