Rooting Through My Loot

The door to my room hisses shut behind me, the heavy seal locking with a satisfying pneumatic “pfump” that cuts off the distant rumble of engines. I take it in, and yeah… it’s exactly how I remember it.

Mounts line the far side of the wall; sleek, reinforced racks for weapons, shield mods, grenade mods; all empty and begging for trophies to be displayed like open mouths, waiting to be fed. Empty now… but not for long.

CashCrab chirps cheerfully on my wrist, my HUD flooding with the full inventory breakdown. Numbers scroll like a slot machine on a winning streak, icons pop, weapon readouts glow, stats stack. She’s already done the grunt work; highlighting anything in the haul that’s straight-up better than what I’m currently carrying, tiny claws tapping excitedly like she’s proud of her haul.

I take my time, letting the adrenaline of the day finally bleed out while I check out the new toys.

Dahl Rifle – “Judgment Day”

Damage: 875

Accuracy: 87%

Handling: 76%

Fire Rate: 3.9s

Magazine Size: 15

Reload Time: 1.7s

• Mark your calendars.

Matte black with glowing red inlays along the barrel. I rack the slide once; the satisfying metallic clack echoes in the quiet room.

Tediore SMG – “Respec’tor”

Damage: 518

Accuracy: 89%

Handling: 77%

Fire Rate: 4.9s

Magazine Size: 30

Reload Time: 1.2s

Perk: Toss to reload - explodes like a grenade when reloaded

• Say something, I dare ya.

Sleek, silver finish with little holographic liners that flickers when I aim it. The reload mechanism already looking eager to chuck itself in a hail of bullets and shrapnel.

Torgue Shotgun – “Groovy Boomstick”

Damage: 960 x 3 (triple-barreled)

Accuracy: 47%

Handling: 47%

Magazine Size: 3

Reload Time: 4.1s

Perk: Rounds have a 47% chance of ricocheting

• Gimme some sugar, baby.

The thing looks like it was built by a madman who really loves explosions. Three fat barrels, wood-grain grip worn smooth, and a little sticker of a cartoon skull wearing sunglasses. I can already hear the booms.

Hyperion Sniper Rifle – “Firewatcher”

Damage: 989 (Incendiary)

Accuracy: 98%

Handling: 92%

Magazine Size: 8

Reload Time: 1.4s

• Hotter ’n hell.

Polished chrome with flame motifs crawling up the scope.

I rack the Divorce Settler, Overcompensator, and Homewrecker on the wall mounts. Soft lights bloom around them, holographic stat overlays floating like proud trophies. Widowmaker’s Kiss stays tucked safe in inventory for now. The rest of the junk; blood-crusted clips, half-melted mods; gets tagged for sale. Marcus is gonna be thrilled to fleece me on buyback prices, but whatever; credits are credits.

Account Balance: Stupid high. Iridium Stockpile: Bigger than I thought; enough to buy a few tattoos, fund a couple of weird Eridium-fueled experiments, hell, maybe another fridge for my room. Inventory Cleared: Room for new toys.

CashCrab gives a happy little chirp and nuzzles my wrist like she wants a head pat.

I turn to the bed.

Nice. Big. But… eh. Needs some personality.

With a thought, the mattress shifts; more pillows pop into existence, plush and soft as hell, stacking themselves against the headboard like an open invitation. That’ll make the next round with Lilith even more fun. I reinforce the frame while I’m at it, adding hidden shock absorbers. As well as make the whole room flame retardant. Just in case things get… explosive.

My eyes wander to the windows; clear panes looking out into the common area. Privacy? Questionable.

I smirk. Another thought - fshhhk - smoky-gray liquid tints them from the inside. Instant one-way glass. I can see out… no one sees in. If the Crimson Raiders can rebuild a floating city, I can bend a few room rules.

I head to the mini-fridge, pop it open. Inside? Neatly stacked cans of Clitz soda. Huh. I grab one, crack it open with a crisp hiss, and take a swig.

It’s… different. Not Earth cola. A little extra tang, maybe a hint of motor oil. But sugary? Hell yes. Cold and fizzy, throat-burning in the best way.

Finally, my eyes land on the desk area; piles of tech dumped by the grateful refugees. Circuits. Motherboards. Servos. Most of its trash, yeah. But buried in the scrap? Opportunities. I can already feel my ScrapJack Protocol humming in anticipation, violet energy itching under my skin.

I lean back against the reinforced headboard, sip my questionable cola, and grin to myself.

The Twins are dust, Lilith’s earning her rest... and me?

Fun's just getting started.