Moxxi's heels echoed through the narrow halls of the Red Light as she stormed away from the bar. Each step felt heavier, with the growing anger tightening her chest.
She was supposed to be up in the penalty tower, where she would be hosting and commentating, especially since the amount of explosions and gunfire often made it hard to tell what was happening. But first, she needed to calm down.
"Arrogant little brat... *bam*." Moxxi slammed her fist against the wall, frustrated. Before that stupid provocation, the conversation had been interesting… even fun.
But teasing men was second nature to Moxxi. She loved to seduce and flirt, but that didn't mean she was easy, far from it.
Given her looks, which caught the attention of both genders, she endured many slanders. But hearing that from a boy young enough to be her son hit a nerve.
What did he know about her to say something so absurd?
*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. One of her girls entered, carrying a heavy tip jar filled with bills. The clinking sound of the coins and notes inside immediately caught Moxxi's attention.
"Moxxi, the Underdome's ready for tonight," the young woman began, placing the jar on the table with a soft smile. "And here are the tips… He filled it up himself."
Moxxi raised an eyebrow, a bit confused. "He?"
"That handsome young man," replied the girl cautiously, silently hoping Moxxi had calmed down. "The one with the two robots."
Intrigued, Moxxi frowned. Her slender fingers slipped into the jar, pulling out the crumpled note between the money.
She motioned for the girl to leave, turning her attention back to the paper.
She resisted the urge to rip the paper right there, but curiosity had won. Moxxi slowly unfolded it, her eyes scanning the words with disinterest.
"Miss Moxxi, if you haven't torn this paper already, I appreciate it. I believe I went a bit too far and might have hurt you…"
"Just a bit? Give me a break, kid." Moxxi scoffed but kept reading.
"…About your joke, I have to be honest: a stand-up comedy career would be a failure. Not funny at all. But that's not the case when it comes to your ingenuity in creating various projects on your own…"
Moxxi scoffed again. Still trying to be cheeky?
"…After hearing what I believe was a small part of your life, I tried to think of a good apology or something inspiring to write. But instead, I decided to leave a genuine comment…"
Moxxi paused for a moment, reading the three words slowly.
"You worked hard."
Moxxi froze at those last words. The paper trembled slightly in her hands. Those three words echoed in her mind, like a trigger unleashing a flood of painful memories buried beneath her tough exterior and all that makeup.
Men crawling back to her, begging for forgiveness, wasn't uncommon. But they always came with empty words, telling her how much they loved her, how beautiful she was, and how they would treat her better in the future.
But something about the simplicity of this message, something that, for the first time in a long while, acknowledged the effort and pain she had hidden behind her provocative smiles and jokes with innuendo.
She remembered the years she fought as just a simple Hodunk clan woman, treated like an object, thin and frail, but with a spirit that refused to be broken.
The image of her daughter being forced to marry her own father came to mind, a moment that marked her deeply and pushed her to flee the clan. A desperate escape that led her into the unforgiving desert of the Badlands, with two young children and another still in her belly.
Moxxi felt the weight of that past fall upon her once again. She had endured hunger, and thirst, using her body as currency to protect her children, wandering through a world where even the sky seemed intent on devouring her alive.
Until she inevitably fell into Shank's hands, suffering the horror of losing the baby she was carrying after being abused by one of Shank's Psychos.
The shock of a miscarriage changes a woman entirely if she's unlucky enough to survive it. It was at that moment that Moxxi died, and Mad Moxxi rose from the ashes of that poor car mechanic.
Tears began to roll silently down her face, tracing small paths through her makeup. Her hand trembled as it touched the place where Maxwell had written those words.
No one had ever said that to her. No one had ever acknowledged how much she fought to survive, to keep her children alive, even though in the end, they had left her when they grew up, perhaps ashamed of what she had done? The nights she lay alone, with no one to comfort her, her silent tears falling on the pillow, had been forgotten by everyone...
"You worked hard," she whispered to herself, almost as if to allow herself to believe it.
Still holding the note in her hands, Moxxi stepped away from the table and looked out the window, where the lights of the Red Light illuminated the coliseum, spectators finding their seats, waiting for tonight's event to begin.
"Did he say he was here for the Underdome?" Moxxi's hands unconsciously embraced the note.
...
Finally giving up on testing how far the nanites would protect against alcohol, Maxwell paid the bill and was guided by one of the girls to the Underdome.
He was currently beneath the arena, the muffled sound of the crowd echoing through the metal walls around him. He could feel the vibrations on the ground, the cheers and applause sounding like the distant roar of a stormy sea.
He checked his gear one more time. Maxwell had bought a new shield at the underground bank. He was equipped with a Kraber sniper rifle and an EVA-8 shotgun.
"It's better to have a secondary weapon." Maxwell frowned and opened the Hangar.
(Weapons) B3 Wingman: A high-caliber double-action revolver, capable of dealing massive damage with each shot. With a 6-bullet clip, it compensates for its low fire rate with high accuracy and long-range, able to take down enemies with two body shots or one to the head. 15[C]
Maxwell could describe the revolver as having a robust and intimidating design, with white metal parts, a Picatinny rail on top, and a wooden ergonomic grip that helps control recoil. Quite impressive for the price.
Maxwell holstered the revolver where his P2016 used to be.
With a jolt, the elevator began to rise, lifting him towards the arena. As it ascended, he could see the crowd more clearly, the stands packed with eager faces, all protected by a large shield that allowed them to feel safe.
The arena was a chaotic urban landscape, with crumbling concrete structures and metal walkways connecting different levels. Narrow alleys and confined spaces provided the perfect terrain for ambushes and frantic skirmishes.
When the elevator reached the surface, the light hit Maxwell's face directly. His pilot helmet's visor quickly adjusted the brightness, allowing him to see clearly. Glancing around, he saw he wasn't the only one. A quick scan estimated there were around a hundred competitors.
Quest: Prove yourself.
( ) Beat Hell-Burbia
( ) Be the first in kill counts
( ) Don't get hurt
Rewards: 50[C] + ??? + ??? + ???
'Looks like someone showed up.' A pleasant surprise, Maxwell quickly accepted the mission, turning his attention back to the arena.
The crowd suddenly fell silent, and Maxwell looked up at the tower in the center of the dome. At the highest point, there she was, the queen of the Underdome, Moxxi.
"Tonight's match will take place in… HELL-BURBIA!" With graceful and sensual movements, she twirled as she held onto the central pole of the tower. "No surrendering, friendly fire is allowed, and to qualify for the next arena, you must, of course, be alive and have eliminated at least ten enemies."
"BEGIN!"