Death was… dull.
Not fire and brimstone. Not some righteous path of light. Just—black. Cold. Senseless.
Katagawa Jr., former CEO of Maliwan, scourge of planets and snarky egomaniac extraordinaire, floated in absolute nothingness. No limbs. No eyes. No screaming underlings. Just silence.
This was death?
He scoffed—internally, because he no longer had lungs to exhale. "Figures. Rhys gets the galaxy's applause, and I get dumped in the void. Typical."
He remembered the end. The suit, his pride and joy, short-circuiting in a blaze of color and pain. Glitches in his visor. Electricity dancing through his veins. He died screaming through a comm channel that no one was listening to.
He'd always assumed if there was something after, it'd look like his office—cold, clean, and with way too many unnecessary lights. But this? This was like being deleted.
Time passed. He didn't know how much.
Then, something shifted.
The void... blinked.
A presence—not a thing, not a being, but something far beyond all charts, all science, all gods of myth or alien—opened its eye.
Just one.
And it looked at him.
It was like having the universe stare into his code. The feeling of being dissected, of being understood so deeply it hurt. He had no body, and still his nonexistent skin crawled.
"Well," a voice spoke. It wasn't sound. It was... truth, spoken into the deepest recesses of what once was Katagawa Jr.'s soul. "That's different."
Katagawa wanted to scream. Wanted to fight. Wanted to be anywhere else.
But the voice continued, thoughtful. "You're feeling it. Huh. That's rare. The last guy didn't. Not even a flinch. Just stared back blankly. What was his name...?"
A pause. A grin in the dark, felt more than seen.
"Oh, right. Handsome Jack. That's what he preferred to be called."
And that… That broke Katagawa.
He shook off the fear, or at least masked it behind rage. The same rage he'd weaponized against Rhys, against Vaughn, against everyone who looked down on him.
"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, ASSHOLE!?"
The laugh that followed was like tectonic plates grinding together. Galaxies dying just to fill the silence.
"Now that's more like it. Nearly what Jack said too. He cursed, screamed, denied, and spat in my face. You… at least ask."
Katagawa snarled. "I didn't ask for this."
"Oh, I know. No one ever does. Which is why I'm giving you something no one else gets: a chance."
He blinked. Or would have, if he had eyes.
"…What kind of chance?"
"Reincarnation." The word echoed through the void, heavy with finality. "Well, technically transmigration. Your mind, your self, your glorious personality—" the sarcasm dripped like venom, "—moved into a new world, into a new life."
Katagawa's disbelief was interrupted by the voice continuing.
"Jack refused, of course. Said he was a god already, didn't need any charity. So I deleted him. Just... pop. Gone."
"Wait. So what, I say yes, and you what? Drop me in a village full of gun-toting idiots and skags again?"
"Nope." The voice sounded pleased. "Very different universe this time. Very colorful. Heroes, villains, capes, gods, aliens, mutants. No Vault Hunters—yet."
Katagawa processed that.
"...Like a comic book?"
"Very much like that. Oh, and don't take too long deciding. If you say no, I might just give it to that Rhys guy. Or even—what do you call them—ah yes, Tediore."
That name made his nonexistent stomach churn.
He didn't hate many people more than Rhys… but Tediore?
Those discount-trash weapon manufacturers with their disposable, ugly designs? No. Not them. Not ever.
"Fine," he said sharply. "I'll take it. But if I hear Rhys gets in, I'm nuking whatever planet I land on."
"I like your enthusiasm. Not your delivery, but your drive? Impressive. One last thing—"
The voice lowered. If the god had leaned in, Katagawa could feel its breath across entire planes of reality.
"This life? It's going to be very different. Try not to screw it up. Or do. I'm not your babysitter."
The void pulsed. Energy coiled.
"Good luck… my friend."
And then—
Katagawa was launched.
A force beyond gravity tore him from the nothingness, hurling his soul like a bullet through dimensions. Stars blinked by. Time twisted. Colors that didn't exist erupted around him. He fell—not into space, not into fire, but into being.
...
...
.....
"Fuck. I'm a brat," Katagawa muttered.
The words came out high-pitched. Childish. And worse—he had a lisp.
He sat up groggily, looking down at hands that were far too small. Skin pale-white, accented by glowing blue lines under the surface. His arms were soft, barely muscled. His legs, weak.
He looked around.
Tall buildings of pristine silver. Hovering transit systems. Holograms drifting lazily in the air. People with blue-tinted skin and brightly colored uniforms walked past, each of them radiating a sense of ease and peace.
This wasn't Promethea. Not Pandora. Not any system in the Borderlands galaxy.
But his head hurt. Information was flooding in. A new identity. A boy named "Kalen"—Xandarian by birth, citizen of the Nova Empire. Six years old. Quiet. Shy. Got bullied at school.
Memories. Not his. Forced into his brain like corrupted files overlaying his own data.
He groaned, clutching his tiny forehead. "Goddammit, this is worse than being on hold with Zer0's voicemail."
Then came a voice. Soft. Familiar. Warm.
"There you are, sweetie!"
He turned just in time to see a woman with flowing silver-blue hair and deep-set green eyes rush toward him. Her skin was tinted like his, but older, more refined. Her eyes were puffy from crying.
She scooped him up like a plush toy.
"I can't believe those rich brats nearly killed you again," she sobbed, hugging him tightly. "Don't worry, momma's here. You're safe."
Katagawa stiffened.
Momma?
He blinked in disbelief, not because of the hug—it was too warm, too comforting—but because of her.
His real mother had been a stone-cold CEO. Ruthless. Competitive. Terrifying. She once locked him in a server room for failing a quarterly sales pitch. She made him the way he was—sharp, cruel, always calculating.
But this woman?
She was crying over him. Comforting him.
Loving him.
He didn't know whether to laugh, scream, or vomit.
This... This was different.
Katagawa Jr., the old him, would have shoved her away. Made a cutting remark. Weaponized her love into leverage.
But this new body, this new self...?
He let her hold him.
"Mom..." he whispered—then caught himself, mentally gagging.
Still, part of him—deep inside, buried under layers of sarcasm and ice—felt something crack.
Just a little.
Just a spark.
She kissed his forehead and held him tightly. "We'll go home, okay? No more bullies. You're my sweet little genius. Mommy's not going to let anything happen to you."
Katagawa stared at her. At the buildings. At the people of all colors, all species walking past like they lived in perfect harmony.
This world was dangerous.
Not because of skags or psychos. But because people trusted each other here. Because heroes existed.
He hated that.
But part of him knew…
He couldn't stay behind.
Not with those powerful players already on the board. Not when opportunity was staring him in the face.
He'd done it before—built an empire, ran a megacorp, fought Vault Hunters.
This time?
He'd do it again.
"Guess Maliwan's back on the market," he muttered under his breath.
And for now… maybe he'd let this Mom live.
Maybe.