Want to hear a joke?

Maxwell was sitting in the passenger seat of a car that had clearly seen better days. The vehicle was a Bandit Technical, patched together and riddled with bullet holes in the doors. It was a miracle it could still run.

The Spectre at the wheel kept his focus on the road. On top, another Spectre sat in the mounted machine gun seat, its ocular lenses scanning for any suspicious movement.

Maxwell, however, was relaxed. With his face resting on his hand, he gazed up at the night sky. The stars shone brightly against Pandora's vast desert, creating a hypnotic contrast, but that wasn't what he was focusing on.

<Driving lv.3>

Sunday Driver: Has a basic understanding of operating land and air vehicles. Improving gear shifting and vehicle handling.

'I hope this works on Titans, although I think it'll be a while before the next Regeneration.'

The cold, sandy wind hit his face, causing slight discomfort. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling each grain of sand, but it didn't bother him. Strangely, it gave him a sense of peace, reminding him he was no longer on Earth. Pandora's days were long and scorching, easily surpassing 104°F, while its nights were freezing. No wonder in the game, you'd jump from a snowy area to a desert in an instant.

From time to time, the car would bounce due to the rough terrain, making his body sway in the seat. Despite that, his eyelids began to grow heavy. Maxwell allowed sleep to overtake him, deciding to take a nap during the trip.

...

Sometime later, he felt a metallic hand lightly press his shoulder. Opening his eyes, Maxwell blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim light. They had arrived at their destination.

"Well, we're here. Moxxi's Red Light." Maxwell stretched slightly and nodded, hopping out of the car.

As he stepped down, he adjusted the pilot helmet on his head. The Red Light bar was nearby, but the car would have to be left behind. The street leading to the location was littered with obstacles: fallen walls, metal crates, and barrels blocking the way for any larger vehicle.

With a sigh, he signaled for the Spectres to follow him on foot.

Upon reaching the entrance, Maxwell was greeted by an immense, muscular man, clearly the bouncer. The guy looked him up and down before raising his hand.

"Hold up, son," said the man, nodding toward the sign at the entrance. "House rules."

Weapons aren't allowed outside of the ECHO Storage Deck.

Maxwell narrowed his eyes for a moment. Not wanting to cause trouble, he stored his Kraber and EVA-8, along with the Spectres' weapons.

As they entered the bar, Maxwell murmured under his breath. "I feel kinda naked without my weapons, but... if everyone's at the same disadvantage, the chances of something bad happening are slim."

The bouncer gave a small nod, allowing Maxwell inside. As he crossed the doorway, he was immediately enveloped by the Red Light's atmosphere. The bar was dark and moderately large. Dim lights flickered on the walls, while soft music played in the background. A few young women, dressed in short, provocative outfits, served the mercenaries and bandits crowding the tables. The air was thick with the smell of cheap alcohol and cigarettes, mixed with occasional murmurs and laughter.

Maxwell's eyes scanned the place, his system displaying every dirty crime they had committed. After some quick calculations, there was a total of 1,438 credits in that bar.

Fortunately for them, Maxwell wouldn't be killing them inside the bar...

He'd be killing them outside of it, of course.

Maxwell took a seat at the counter, his two Spectres standing motionless behind him. As he settled in, the woman he was looking for finally approached. Maxwell's eyes locked onto her hips swaying side to side, like a snake smoothly undulating across the floor. His gaze slowly traveled upward, drawn to the two "bouncing personalities" as she walked.

At moments like this, he thanked his helmet for hiding the trajectory of his eyes.

"Oh my, looks like Pandora's got a new face. What should I call you?" Moxxi asked, leaning casually and putting more weight on her left leg. Maybe she was trying to emphasize her hips, or maybe it was just a bad habit. Maxwell wasn't sure, but both scenarios seemed possible.

"Maxwell Williams, but you can call me Max, Miss Moxxi." He calmly removed his helmet, placing it on the counter beside him. His deep navy-blue eyes met Moxxi's bright blue ones, her long lashes fluttering for a second.

She stared at him for a moment, and although her white makeup made her look like she'd just been crying, a faint trace of surprise was visible. However, Moxxi quickly regained her characteristic smile.

"What brings you to my humble establishment, sugar?" Moxxi propped her elbows on the counter while resting her chin on her hands. Bringing her face dangerously close to Maxwell's, letting him catch a whiff of her sweet, enchanting perfume.

"I came to check out the Underdome when I heard about the prize... and a date with the owner of the Underdome. But now that I'm here, I realize the date's the real deal." Maxwell leaned in a little more, a mischievous grin growing on his face as he winked at her. "Oh, and to try some drinks too."

If not for the makeup, a slight blush might have appeared on Moxxi's face. Sensually licking her red lips, she turned and bent over to grab a bottle from the shelf, her hips swaying softly. "Well, Max, then I suppose I should satisfy you with my best."

Maxwell watched the curve of her back for a moment. She had a naturally guitar-shaped figure, almost hypnotic. But resisting the temptation, he shifted his gaze to a jar on the counter, containing only a few crumpled bills.

"Maliwan Black Label, this beauty here is exclusive to Promethea." she began, sliding a glass in front of Maxwell before filling it with the dark, thick liquid.

"So, Max, think you can handle it?"

"With a lovely lady serving me? All night long!" said Maxwell, tilting the glass and letting the dark liquid slide down his throat. The first sip surprised him with its robust malt flavor and spicy notes, followed by a sophisticated bitterness and a warm sensation in his chest.

"Thought Pandora's finest would be a bit better than skag piss. A pleasant surprise, though," Maxwell commented, licking his lips and savoring the aftertaste. "But I reckon this stuff costs a fortune?"

"I'd say Maliwan Black Label isn't for just anyone, sugar. But you seem to be handling it just fine." Moxxi smiled with satisfaction, leaning forward, letting her cleavage spill slightly over the counter, giving a clear view of her heart-shaped tattoo.

Moxxi looked at Maxwell for a moment, her blue eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement. "I'd love to stay longer, sugar, but I've got to go start the Underdome for tonight. One of my girls will take care of you while I'm gone." She gave him a teasing smile, nodding toward one of the young waitresses.

"Many competitors tonight?" Maxwell, not wanting to let her go that easily, crossed his arms and threw her a playful look. "I've heard rumors you've already slept with nearly everyone on Pandora."

Moxxi paused mid-step, her eyebrow twitching for a moment, but she quickly recovered, her usual smile returning. She walked back and grabbed another beer, filling Maxwell's glass before leaning in close again.

"Want to hear a joke, Max?" she asked casually but didn't wait for a response before starting.

"See this bar?" She made a sweeping gesture, referring to the establishment. "I built this bar myself. Gathered the stones, the best stones from the Badlands brought them here, set everything up, made it look as beautiful as it is."

She paused, looking Maxwell straight in the eyes.

"But do you think people call me Mad Moxxi, the bar builder?"

"No." She shook her head slowly, a sarcastic smile on her lips.

Moxxi then pointed to the window, at the outrunner outside with its shiny paint and sleek design.

"See that outrunner out there? I designed and built that car. Researched the best engines, picked the right tires, the chassis. Assembled it, piece by piece."

"But do you think people call me Mad Moxxi, the car builder?"

"No, they don't." Another slow shake of the head, her tone a bit more bitter this time.

Maxwell stayed quiet, his smile slowly fading. He began to wonder if he'd crossed a line.

Moxxi then pointed toward the large entrance leading to the underground Underdome.

"Ever seen the Underdome?" She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "I built that too. Stone by stone, cement, steel, everything assembled and structured. I gave more love to building that coliseum than I gave to raising my own children."

She stepped closer, now just inches from Maxwell. "But do you think people call me Mad Moxxi, the coliseum builder?"

Maxwell remained silent, watching as she shook her head for the third time.

"No, they don't."

Suddenly, she leaned in even closer, her lips just a breath away from Maxwell's ear, and whispered with gritted teeth.

"But you are fucked by one psycho…"

Moxxi pulled away abruptly, the heels of her boots echoing loudly through the bar. Her cold gaze pierced him for a brief moment before she finally turned her back and walked out.

One of the young staff quickly came over to serve him, smiling sympathetically. Maxwell glanced at his glass, and suddenly, the beer that had once tasted so pleasant now seemed strangely bitter.

"Max... you're an asshole." A female voice echoes in Maxwell's mind.

"You were listening, no wait! Where did you learn that word, girl?!" Maxwell exclaims mentally.

"..."

"*Sigh*"