Borderlands: Conquest

POV: Third Person

Date: Y4 M7

The bar was a well-worn dive nestled in the heart of the Imperium's outer barracks. Its neon sign buzzed with the faintest hint of static, casting a muted glow over the gathering within.

Soldiers, fresh recruits and veterans alike filled the space with laughter and the clinking of glasses. The scent of grilled meat and the familiar hiss of grease on the griddle mixed with the soft hum of conversation.

Axton, wearing his signature grin, leaned back in his chair, surrounded by a table of new recruits, all of whom seemed eager to talk about anything and everything—except the battles they'd left behind.

It had taken time for the new soldiers to get accustomed to his presence but eventually, they warmed up to the bi-sexual commando. His often flirtatious comments stuck in with comedian timing allowing the mood to settle. 

Plates of burgers sat in front of them, the thick, juicy patties a step up from the usual rations. The recruits, still clad in the dark blue and silver uniforms of the Imperium, had shed their armour for the evening, the lighter clothing a sign of trust and relaxation.

Axton picked up his burger, taking a hefty bite, and savouring the taste.

He chewed slowly, watching the men and women around him—eyes bright, smiles genuine.

It was easy to forget, in moments like these, that they were soldiers.

"So, what do you think of the Imperium's rations, huh?" Axton asked casually, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Better than the stuff you'd find on a Dahl ship?"

One of the recruits, a tall young man with a scar running down his cheek, nodded enthusiastically. "Hell yeah! Didn't think I'd be eating like a king when I signed up. No offence, sir, but this isn't what I expected when they said we'd be dining in style."

Another soldier, a woman with cropped hair and a tattoo of the Imperium's insignia peeking from under her sleeve, laughed. "You're not wrong, Markus. This is a step up from the mystery meat we got back in the old camps. But hey, it's not just the food. Everything's different here—better. More organized. There's a plan, you know?"

Axton chuckled, lifting his glass in a mock toast. "To plans, then. And to not being fed food that might bite back!"

They clinked their glasses together, laughter echoing around the table. Axton noted how comfortable they seemed—recruits who'd barely been through their first deployment, yet already loyal, already speaking with the pride of seasoned warriors.

He leaned back in his chair, soaking in the camaraderie, when he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye.

An older man, wearing the muted green uniform of a janitor, was wiping down tables nearby. He looked out of place, not because of his age, but because of the faded insignia on his sleeve—an unmistakable Dahl emblem.

Axton narrowed his eyes, curiosity piqued, and watched as the man paused, eyes lingering on the soldiers for just a moment longer than seemed normal.

"Hey, old timer," Axton called out, raising a hand. "You look like you've seen more battles than most of us here. Got time for a drink?"

The janitor hesitated, then shrugged, setting down his cleaning supplies and pulling up a chair. He had a weary, weather-beaten face, lines creased deep from years of sun and war, but his eyes were sharp, bright with a wisdom that came from survival, not age. He accepted the offered drink with a nod, taking a sip before speaking.

"Don't mind if I do," he said, his voice gruff but carrying a tone of appreciation. "Name's Reed. Used to run with Dahl's infantry before… well, before everything changed."

Axton raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Dahl, huh? You don't see too many of you guys out here. What brought you to our neck of the woods?"

Reed chuckled, taking another sip. "What brings anyone to the Imperium? A chance for something better. A chance to start over." He gestured to the soldiers around them, his gaze settling on the young recruits with something like admiration. "You got a good thing here, you know. Alexander's not just running a military—he's building something. Dahl... Dahl was good for a while, sure, but they got greedy. Complacent. Thought they owned everything and everyone. Alexander? He's different. Or at least... I hope he is."

The table went quiet at that, and Axton leaned forward, interest sharpening his features. "What makes you think Alexander's any different? I mean, the Imperium's pretty tight-knit, yeah, but you're talking about trust. You think he's not gonna go down the same road as Dahl?"

Reed looked Axton in the eye, his expression unflinching. "Because he doesn't pretend to be something he's not. Dahl got fat off its own power, pretending they were the good guys while lining their pockets. From what I've seen, Alexander is honest about what he wants—control, order, progress. He's building something out of the chaos. You can see it in the way he treats his people." Reed paused, gesturing to the recruits now engaged in their own conversations. "These kids? They're fighting because they believe in him, not because they're scared of him."

One of the recruits, Markus, overhearing, turned to join the conversation. "Damn right we do! Alexander's given us a purpose. Back with Dahl, you were just a number. Here, you're part of something real. You can feel it, in the way we're trained, the way we're outfitted. Hell, even the way he feeds us."

Reed laughed, a deep, resonant sound. "That's what I'm talking about. You all trust him because he's delivered. He's turned Pandora into something more than just a planet of chaos and Vault hunters." He set his glass down, leaning back as if to give his words time to sink in. "But mark my words, kid—complacency is a killer. Dahl thought they had everything figured out, too. One misstep, one wrong turn, and it all fell apart."

The bar fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over them. Axton tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. "Complacency, huh? You think we're in danger of that?"

Reed shrugged, his gaze distant. "Maybe not now. But the Imperium's growing fast—faster than Dahl ever did. I just hope Alexander remembers what got him here in the first place. Otherwise, you'll end up like we did—fighting for a name that's already rotting from the inside."

Axton's expression grew serious. "You're not wrong, old man. But Alexander's not Dahl. I've seen how he leads. He's not afraid to get his hands dirty, and he doesn't hide behind fancy speeches or empty promises. If he says he'll do something, he does it."

The recruits around the table murmured in agreement, raising their glasses in solidarity. Reed watched them, a hint of sadness in his smile. "Then maybe you'll be the ones to prove me wrong. I'd like to see this Imperium succeed. It's just... hard to trust anything after you've seen what I have."

Axton chuckled, raising his glass high. "Then here's to not making the same mistakes. Here's to the Imperium, and to a leader who knows what he wants!"

The others cheered, clinking their glasses together in a show of unity. Reed joined in, albeit more somberly, but his eyes held a glimmer of hope—a spark that hadn't been there before. The sound of laughter, of camaraderie, filled the bar once more, and for a moment, it was easy to believe that the Imperium was different, that it could be the beacon they all wanted it to be.

As the night wore on, the conversations drifted to lighter topics—stories of skirmishes, tales of glory, and the inevitable ribbing that came with a table of soldiers and veterans. Reed remained, listening more than speaking, but Axton noticed the way the old man's eyes lingered on the recruits, as if memorizing their faces, marking them for the future he'd never had.

Eventually, Axton stood, clapping Reed on the shoulder. "Stick around, old timer. This bar's got good drinks, and the company's not half bad. Maybe you'll start to feel like you belong here."

Reed chuckled, his expression softening. "Maybe I will, soldier. Maybe I will."

Axton gave him a nod, a silent acknowledgment of shared experiences and unspoken understanding. As he walked back to the table of recruits, he glanced over his shoulder one last time at the janitor, a man with Dahl's past and the Imperium's uncertain future hanging over him.

The war wasn't over, but in that moment, surrounded by the laughter of new recruits and the fading memories of an old soldier, Axton felt the pulse of something greater—something worth fighting for.

The bar's atmosphere had grown more raucous as the night stretched on. Soldiers shared stories, swapped jokes, and settled into the easy camaraderie of the recently bonded.

Axton leaned back in his chair, enjoying the warm hum of conversation and the feel of the room—a rare pocket of peace amidst the chaos of war.

In the corner, away from the main table, Gaige and Tiny Tina had set up a small holo-screen, its bright lights flashing with rapid bursts of colour.

They were playing an old shooter game from the early days of Pandora—a classic relic that had survived decades of combat and was now a mainstay in soldier downtime.

Gaige's mech Gauntlet clinked softly as she tapped rapidly on the worn controller, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Tina, meanwhile, was growing increasingly frustrated. "This game is boring!" she declared, mashing the buttons with reckless abandon.

Her expression was fierce, determination etched into every line of her face as she tried—desperately—to best Gaige in a match she had already lost a dozen times that evening.

"You say that," Gaige teased, not even looking away from the screen as she expertly dodged Tina's onslaught, "but here you are, still playing. Maybe if you, I dunno, actually tried aiming?"

Tina's eyes narrowed, and she gritted her teeth, hunkering down as if sheer force of will would give her the upper hand. "Don't you tell me what to do, Mechromancer! I don't need your sass—I need a WIN."

Axton chuckled, glancing over at them from his table. "I don't think you're getting one tonight, Tina. Gaige has been a gaming fiend since before she could walk."

Tina shot him a glare, her frustration boiling over. "Shush it, Axton! I'm concentrating! This game's all about focus—about strategy!" She let out a loud yell as Gaige's character neatly dispatched hers with a well-placed shot, the screen flashing "Game Over" in bright, mocking letters.

Gaige grinned and finally looked up, her face flushed with victory. "Boom! Another one bites the dust! You've got to admit, Tina—you might have a knack for explosives, but in this arena, I'm queen."

Tina huffed, dropping the controller onto the table and crossing her arms over her chest. "This is dumb, and you cheat. There's no way someone can be that good unless they're cheating!" But the half-smile tugging at the corners of her lips betrayed her enjoyment.

Gaige laughed, patting Tina on the shoulder. "No cheating here, I promise. Just years of experience and a love for things that go 'pew pew.' You'll get the hang of it... eventually."

"Ha! We'll see about that," Tina said, reaching for the controller again with a resigned sigh. "One more round. If you win, I'll... I dunno, make you a bomb cake. But if I win, you have to admit that I'm the best."

"Deal," Gaige agreed without hesitation, the challenge sparking her competitive spirit. She leaned forward, fingers poised over the buttons as the game reset.

Axton watched them from the bar, a smile lingering on his lips. It was good to see Gaige and Tina like this—relaxed, having fun, even if Tina would never admit she was enjoying herself.

These little moments of normalcy, of competition and laughter, were a reminder of what they were fighting for.

It was also a sign that at the end of the day, the two were still children. Both who due to certain circumstances were now tugged inside a war.

The new recruits were caught up in the atmosphere as well, cheering and placing bets on the side as Gaige and Tina dove into their next round.

Axton turned back to his drink, the laughter and noise around him a comforting backdrop as he considered the future of the Imperium, the war, and the strange family they had all become.

Every victory—on the battlefield or in the small corner of a bar—mattered. And tonight, victory was about far more than the game playing out on that flashing holo-screen.

Elsewhere...

The faint hum of machinery in the distance was a constant reminder that even in times of celebration, the war never truly ended.

Tonight, however, the weight of duty was momentarily lifted. The sound of laughter and soft music spilled out of the quarters as Jeremiah leaned back against the balcony railing, watching his daughter play beneath the light of the stars.

The soft flicker of candles, and little electronic fairy lights strung up by his men, cast a gentle glow over the gathering. It wasn't much—a simple birthday party in the middle of a fortress—but to Jeremiah, it felt like a miracle.

His daughter was the centre of attention, twirling in a dress he'd managed to scrounge up from the markets, her bright eyes reflecting the lights above.

"Daddy, look!" she exclaimed, holding up a glowing star-shaped pin that one of the soldiers had given her. She wore it proudly on her dress, like a badge of honour.

Jeremiah smiled, his usually stern features softened in the glow of the lights. "You look beautiful, sweetheart. Like a real star."

As he spoke, a presence filled the doorway. Jeremiah's smile froze for a moment, and his daughter's eyes widened in awe and a little fear. There, framed against the soft light of the party, stood Alexander.

His dark armour seemed to swallow the glow around him, his mask reflecting the shimmer of stars overhead.

His shadow was long and imposing, but there was something else in the way he stood—an awkwardness as if he were uncertain of his place in this small, intimate gathering.

"Uncle Alex!" Jeremiah's daughter called out, half-hiding behind her father's leg. She peeked out at him, her curiosity overcoming her fear. "Did you come for my birthday?"

Alexander hesitated, his gloved hand resting on the doorframe. He wasn't sure what had drawn him here—he rarely attended personal gatherings, preferring to remain the distant, authoritative leader everyone expected him to be.

But something about Jeremiah's invitation, a quiet request extended in the middle of a strategy meeting, had pulled him to this spot.

Maybe it was the brief glimpse of vulnerability in Jeremiah's eyes, the unspoken plea for normalcy in a world that rarely offered any.

"I did," Alexander said finally, his voice as even and controlled as ever. He stepped out onto the balcony, each step slow and deliberate, as if he were trying not to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over the space. "I thought... I should see what all the fuss is about."

Jeremiah's daughter's face brightened, and she took a hesitant step forward. "Daddy said I could wish for anything tonight," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Can I wish for you to take off your mask?"

Jeremiah's breath caught, and he felt a pang of sympathy for Alexander.

His daughter had always been fascinated by the mysterious leader of the Imperium, half in awe and half afraid. She had asked about him often—why he always wore that mask, why he never seemed to smile. It was a child's innocent curiosity, but the question seemed to hang in the air like a challenge.

Alexander's eyes, hidden behind the darkened lenses of his mask, were unreadable. He looked down at the girl for a long moment, then slowly knelt so he was on her level, his armour creaking slightly as he did. "I can't do that," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Not yet. But one day... maybe."

She seemed to consider this for a moment, her small face scrunched up in thought. Then she nodded, accepting his answer with the unshakable logic of a child. "Okay," she said simply. "But you have to come to my next birthday, too. And maybe then, you can take it off."

A hint of a smile flickered across Jeremiah's face as he watched his daughter's bold request. Alexander's answer was a slow, deliberate nod. "I'll try," he promised, the words sounding heavier than they should have. He rose to his feet, turning his gaze from the girl to the stars overhead.

The air felt lighter somehow as if the darkness that usually clung to Alexander's presence had been pushed back if only a little.

Jeremiah took the opportunity to step away from the railing and move closer to him, his voice low so only Alexander could hear. "Thank you for coming," he said, sincerity woven into every word. "It means a lot... to both of us."

"I don't understand how you do it," Alexander replied, his voice low and almost introspective. "Balancing the war, the duty, and... this." He gestured vaguely at the lights, the decorations, the little cake on the table. "I've forgotten what nights like this are even supposed to feel like."

If what Angel truly promised was marriage... Was this not the life he would live?

One of both duty but love?

A child?

'While the Imperium future is certain... Even I cannot dare make a claim on this front.' Alexander thought. 

Jeremiah shrugged, his expression softening. "You make the time, somehow. Even if it's just for a little while. These moments... remind you of what's at stake. What we're fighting for."

The girl, now content with Alexander's vague promise, had gone back to playing with her toy drone, sending it buzzing around in circles.

Her laughter echoed in the cool night air, and Jeremiah watched her with a father's protective pride. "You said once," he continued, his eyes never leaving his daughter, "that you wanted a world where children didn't have to know what war is. Where they can grow up safe and happy, without ever holding a weapon."

Alexander's posture stiffened slightly, his gaze also drawn to the girl's carefree play. "That's the dream," he said quietly, almost to himself. "But dreams and reality... they don't always align."

This was a truth Alexander accepted, while a certainty, it was not currently possible currently. Perhaps the day such a dream came about is when Jeremiah was long dead, for peace bred war and vice verse - where interests collide, conflict was certain. 

"No," Jeremiah agreed. "But that's why we fight, isn't it? To make the impossible possible, to carve out something better from all this chaos."

The silence that followed was almost companionable, the two men—so different in demeanour and role—sharing an unspoken understanding.

They both carried the weight of leadership, but tonight, Jeremiah's burden felt a little lighter. 

"Do you ever regret it?" Jeremiah asked suddenly, the question slipping out before he could stop himself. "The choices you've made, the lives we've taken... do you ever wonder if it's worth it?"

Alexander was quiet for a long time, the only sound the faint rustle of the wind and the hum of the drone.

Then, finally, he spoke. "I can't," he admitted.

"But every moment is replayed, I a man who cannot forget. Both good and bad. Perhaps a better method could've been deployed. A few more could've been spared. But regret cannot grow within my heart or mind. It will only blind me."

"I feel like the scientist within you is slowly dying..." Jeremiah joked, his leader's words bringing much wisdom. 

"I would argue every great scientist and scholar was a philosopher. I find myself leaving such Scientific Jargon to those whose minds are far greater than their reason. The price of knowledge and strength is often pride."

Jeremiah nodded, understanding more than he cared to admit. "Thank you," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. "For everything."

Alexander turned to him, his expression unreadable behind the mask. "Don't thank me yet," he said, his voice sharp and cool. "There's still a long road ahead. And the price... may be higher than we realise."

Jeremiah's daughter interrupted them then, tugging at her father's sleeve. "Daddy, can we have cake now?"

Jeremiah's stern expression melted into a smile. "Of course, sweetheart." He turned back to Alexander, offering him a slice with a smile that was both genuine and sad. "Will you stay? Just for a little while longer?"

Alexander hesitated, his gaze flicking from the cake to the girl's hopeful face, and then to the stars above. "I can't," he said at last, stepping back from the warmth of the gathering and retreating towards the shadows of the doorway. "But... I'm glad I came."

With that, he turned and walked away, the sound of his footsteps fading into the night. Jeremiah watched him go, a strange mixture of sadness and hope swelling in his chest.

He knew Alexander's path was a lonely one, burdened by the weight of his responsibilities and the secrets he kept hidden behind that mask.

But maybe, just maybe, there was a spark of light still left in him—a chance for something more than the unending cycle of war.

For a short while, he knew the boy, now a man he understood that Alexander was a monster pretending to be a man. 

Yet he too was the same. 

The crucifications, the burnings, the fear - it was all a defence mechanism. 

Truly at the heart of that monster was a being attempting their best to do what was right in his eyes. 

Jeremiah looked at his hands and visioned the many days when he was once a raider. The lives he took, the many innocent children who were slaughtered or sacrificed.

Fyerstone was but an escape...

He too was a monster... 

As the stars shone down, bright and indifferent, Jeremiah took his daughter's hand and led her back to the table.

The cake's candles flickered in the breeze, and she blew them out with a giggle, her laughter ringing clear and pure in the night. It was a small, fleeting moment of joy, but it was enough.

Jeremiah knew that they were still far from the peace they dreamed of, but tonight, for just a few hours, it felt almost within reach.

And that was enough to keep fighting—to keep hoping that one day, Alexander's dream would become reality.

For Alexander's dream was better than his reality.