The most badass of them all.

[Claptrap]

Claptrap's breath was far too heavy for something without lungs as he climbed out of the technical which had ended up wrapping itself around a particularly sturdy palm tree. Well, more sturdy than the previous dozen that had failed to stop the rampaging bandit car. Claptrap paused to look around and saw a sight that he had only dreamed about seeing without being harassed by Pandora's myriad of robo-phobic lifeforms. The sky and the water were similar shades of pure blue and the sand was a pristine golden colour. Claptrap wished he could go to the beach, but seawater made his joints rust, sand irritated his circuits and the crisp sea air brought on inexplicable coughing fits. But he couldn't go to the beach anyway, he had some chumps to beat up. 

Claptrap took quite a while to find the sign-up location. Not many people took kindly to Claptrap asking where he could find the questionably legal and/or ethical fighting competition. When he did find it, however, the staff inside weren't much more helpful. 

Claptrap wheeled his way over to the front desk before realising he was too short to look over it. After he had grabbed a chair and propped it against the desk, Claptrap cleared his throat. "Hello! I am a CL4P-TP steward bot, but you can call me Claptrap! I would like to enrol in your televised demonstration of human cruelty."

The woman behind the desk eyed him with an expression many would read as contempt, or even hate. You didn't need to be a psychic to tell what she was thinking, "He's got a pretty big mouth for something so small." Claptrap, however, was not exactly functional in the social cues department. He was made to open doors, not enter fighting competitions without making enemies with the people working the desk. Claptrap read her expression as one of confusion, but was cut off before he could elaborate.

"Aren't you a little... small, to compete in the OCL?" She said. To her credit, one must be very professional to deal with someone like Claptrap and keep their cool. As if he was intentionally trying to push her, Claptrap scoffed loudly. 

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but I am 100% Hyperion designed and produced. I am equipped with the latest Vault Hunting combat software, revolutionary hardware such as a stair-climbing wheel, a chassis made of scrap metal and no less than 5% recycled human flesh and, of course, a shining personality that would put Handsome Jack to shame." 

If looks could kill, the woman at the front desk would have a whole nuclear arsenal at her disposal. Before she sent Claptrap out the door in multiple pieces, she had an idea. There was no way he would win the league, so if she just let him sign up the fighters would do the dirty work for her! She put on her best customer service smile and handed Claptrap a small pile of paper work. "Please fill these out and return them to me when you're done. Welcome to the fighting league." 

Claptrap took the paperwork and sat in, or to be precise, stood on a chair in the waiting area as filled it out, feeling rather proud of himself for swaying the woman like that with his unnatural charms. He would have to keep a hold on it next time, he could cause someone to do something really crazy with that kind of power.