Mad Mel
“Mad Mel stole somethin’ precious to me. I want you to go get it back. I hear Mel is carrying it around with him but he’s not the generous kind so you’ll have persuade him, if you catch my drift. If you don’t, shoot him dead and take whatever’s in his pockets and bring it back.” - Sanctuary Bountyboard Ad
The sand blows through houses made of scrap metal and tattered canvas. Following a solid lead on Mad Mel’s whereabouts, Maya jumps out of her car and into the abandoned shantytown in the desert's borderlands. Walking the thirty yards of paved street, Maya thinks the micro-village seems as dead as its residents must be. Bandits are bad in this area. Skags are also bad. And spiderants, it’s all bad really. Standing right on the coordinates she got, the vault hunter easily kicks in the loosely hinged door of a small house and begins her investigation. This was the last place Mad Mel had been seen, but he's not there to greet her just a folding chair and an ammo container. Not one to let things go to waste, Maya pockets the ammo and proceeds to the next house.
All in all there were only six houses, and they were all empty. Mad Mel was gone and there were no brightly colored clues indicating where he went. Nowhere to go and nothing to kill, Maya found herself in a frustrating but quiet moment. It was time to reload. Flipping the barrel back into her pistol, Maya starts bleeding from a long gash on her back.
“Strip the flesh. Salt the wound,” is screamed into her ear. Maya drops and painfully rolls away, dust sealing her wound. Rolling straight into a standing position, she faces her attacker. Apparently her intel was good after all.
Mad Mel dons the outfit so popular with the more less sane bandits of Pandora, orange pants and a white and black mask and like most bandits with proper names, Mad Mel had a unique accessory. A torn top hat sat at a jaunty angle atop his head. Beautiful. He raises his buzzsaw on a stick but Maya retreats further before he can strike. She pulls out a scattershot shotgun she looted off a dead thug on the way there. It’s cheap and weak but with a magazine roughly the size of the planet itself.
Maya starts to pour birdshot into her foe. It succeeds as each shot keeps her out the range of his blade. It fails as no real damage seems to be done. The psycho meets each shot with the same amount vigor as the first. Her bullets only create small ripples in the air around him. A shield is taking the damage for him. Maya wonders if she has more ammo then he has shield, but decides she is not particularly interested in finding out the answer. She throws down her shotgun and holds up a bare hand and points it at Mel. Her eyes slit in focus. He starts to rush her. Maya’s trick isn’t the easiest. In fact, it’s rather like snapping your fingers without using your fingers.
She can smell his foul breath and see the blade start to swing. It’s too late to alter her plan. The sensation of a rubber band snapping, electricity flowing between her fingers, and the man in the mask is lifted from the ground and encased in a shimmering ball. Maya smiles and waves at the captive who’s bent over backwards, crammed into the small orb. She pulls her sidearm. Jacob’s brand pistol, simple and strong. A few good shots and bubble bursts. The dead man bounces when he hits the pavement, jaunty hat rolling away.
Maya kneels down and starts turning out the dead man’s pockets, three dollars and a ball of rags fall out. Maya picks up it up and starts to peel off the layers. As the cloth gives way, a smooth painted surface emerges. Maya takes a good, hard look at her prize. It was a porcelain statue of a little girl in a raincoat looking at her reflection in a puddle. On the base there was an inscription, “Rainy Day Fun”.
“Really?” Maya shakes her head and turns back to her vehicle.