Not much is known about how Sorlag became the wretched being that he was. For the legends and tales surrounding him, he was actually a relatively small man, standing at only 5 feet. His size, didn't fool many, however. They knew when they set eyes upon them, that they were dealing with one mean son of a bitch. What he lacked in height, he made up for in muscle, weighing in at 145 lbs. His hand to hand fighting skills were phenomenal, only rivaled by his gang mates Spike, and Turk.

The legend goes that Sorlag was abandoned by his mother at an early age. She was horrified, not only to bring a child into this god forsaken world, but for him to turn out twisted like the rest of society. Sorlag, now alone, tried as best he could to survive. He bounced from one town, to another, from his home town of Darwin, to the streets of Vegas, and finally to Needles. No one wanted him, everyone was afraid of his wretched appearance, many often running away screaming in terror, and some taking shots at him. Everywhere he turned, he was cast away. Abandoned by society, just as his mother had abandoned him.

Sorlag began to question his own existence. Why, was he alone? He had done nothing wrong, yet every where he looked, he was met with hate, and fear. He slipped further into a state of depression, his anger for the "smooth skins" building up inside him. Still, he continued onwards. He had heard things about a gang, to the west of Needles, called the Badland Originals. He set out to find their home, Ground Zero.

Entering the bar, Sorlag stood in shock of what he saw. Standing behind the bar, was the biggest, meanest looking man he had ever set eyes on, a man he later found to be named Minion. Sitting around the bar were others: A muscular looking man with a serious face, named Turk. A hulking freak of nature, covered in scars and tattoos, named Spike. And perhaps the most disturbing looking individual, with hair dyed red, orange, and yellow, spiked off in every direction, his face covered in piercings, clad in a leather, with the name "Devil" tagged on the back of his jacket.

The man named Devil looked at him, almost seeming to study him for a moment. Sorlag stood defensive, ready for an insult, or to be pushed away like everyone else had done. Devil just nodded, and smiled, "Sup freak? Sit down, have a beer." Sorlag was in awe, for the first time in his life, he felt welcome somewhere.

Sitting down at the bar, he opened up to the gang, telling them his life story. They listened to his tale, nodding at his words, and sharing their own experiences. Sorlag could not believe it, finally he found a place where he felt like he belonged, a place with people who would actually talk to him. As the conversation grew to it's end, Sorlag looked at Devil, the gang leader, and asked a question, "Devil, can I join your gang?"

Devil paused again, looking at Sorlag. The gang rose from the bar, went to the back, and Sorlag sat alone at the table. He knew they left, to discus his fate, and in the back of his mind he worried if they wouldn't accept him. Many minutes passed, as Sorlag sat alone at the bar, drinking his beer. Some time later, the group emerged from the back. Devil nodded at Sorlag, and handed him a leather jacket. If he had tear ducts, Sorlag would have cried then and there. He knew now, for the first time in his life, he had friends.. No, he had a family, in the Badland Originals.

Becoming a member of the Badlanders, gave Sorlag confidence, the confidence to face those who had wronged him in the past. He returned to the town that had cast him away, Needles. Standing tall with pride, wearing the jacket of the Badland Originals, walking the streets of Needles, he felt as if nothing, and no one could harm him. He walked to the Hobo Dog in Needles, a place which had refused to serve him in the past. He walked to the counter, and calmly addressed the woman working, "I want a Hobo Dog, please."

She replied, "Sorry, mutie, I told you once before, we don't serve your kind 'round here. Go on, git!"

Sorlag became enraged, smashing his fist through the counter, sending splinters flying through the air, and he began shouting at the top of his lungs, "I said I want a Hobo Dog, dammit!"

The woman screamed in sheer terror at the top of her lungs, and ducked behind the counter. With the blink of an eye, one of Needles police crew showed up on the scene. He drew his gun, pointing it directly at Sorlag, "You're coming with me, freak."

Sorlag turned to face the officer, he stated in a low, calm tone, "No." He then slowly approached the officer. Shaking with fear, the officer fired off a shot, catching Sorlag in the arm. Remembering the many times he had been harassed by the police in the past, a primal scream came from Sorlag, as he was struck, and he immediately rushed the officer, catching him in the midsection with a ferocious tackle. Despite his armor, the impact of the attack was too much, breaking the officer's back, killing him on contact. Sorlag left the officer laying dead in the street, and returned to the counter, where a lone Hobo Dog sat, and the woman still ducked behind the counter.

"Thank you," Sorlag said, as he took the Hobo Dog, taking a hearty bite from it. Leaving some money on the counter, he yelled as he walked away, "Keep the change, you bigot!"

Enjoying his hard earned meal, Sorlag enjoyed his new life. No more would he let society push him around. He ventured down south in Needles, to a newly opened place called "The Pit" touting itself as the only prize fighting arena in all of New Nevada. He walked down into the arena, where a fight was already taking place. A man by the name of Andy was in the ring, beating the snot out of some unknown challenger. Victorious in the fight, Andy raised his hands, as the announcer mocked the crowd, "Come now! Tell me that no one here today is big enough to pose a real challenge to this man, Andy."

Sorlag crinkled his Hobo Dog wrapper into a ball, throwing it into the ring at Andy, he then barked at the top of his lungs, "I challenge him!" The crowd roared with cheers at the sound of a new challenge, as Sorlag stepped into the ring.

Andy smirked at his challenger, "You're gonna get hurt, freak."

The bell rang, and Sorlag flashed a cold stare at Andy, "Shut up and fight."

The fighters approached each other, Andy making the first move, swinging a right cross toward Sorlag's head. He took the blow with a grunt, staggering back a bit. He then fired back, coming at Andy with a savage uppercut, connecting square with his jaw. A cloud of blood shot into the air from his mouth, as Andy took the blow hard, and fell back onto the mat. The crowd cheered violently at the show. As the match went on, both the men wore each other down, and the crowd enjoyed every bloody minute. Nearing the end of the bout where Sorlag gained the upper hand, connecting with a jab to the midsection, followed by a right cross to the forehead. Andy hit the mat, hard, he was out cold. The announcer shouted with glee, "A new winner! The mutant freak!"

Sorlag climbed out of the ring, walking toward the exit, "The name is Sorlag, smoothie!"

With the coming months, Sorlag built himself a reputation. He was still feared, but now for his strength, not his appearance. Many respected him for his might, and didn't dare to cross him. He became a legend in "The Pit" along side his gang mates, Spike, and Turk. Sorlag never held a Pit title, he didn't need to, everyone knew he was a champion, and he didn't need a strap of leather to prove it. However, his reputation was met with opposition, as the self righteous Desert Rangers began to despise Sorlag, and his gang, the Badland Originals. Some Rangers, such as Dagg, having the outright nerve to step into the Ground Zero, right into the Men's Room where Sorlag was trying to take a piss, telling him that he better "watch himself."

One such Ranger, by the name of Arctic Fox, began to get on Sorlag's nerves. He saw Fox as a power monger, using his position in the Rangers to pass judgment upon anyone he saw fit to judge. Fox, was also an active Pit fighter. On the message boards, Sorlag issued a challenge:

This note is titled 'Challenge' (Sorlag, Sep 5)
Yo, Mr. Pussy!
Or is that Major Argent Pussy?
1st Lieutenant Pussy of the New Nevada Desert Rangers

Arctic Fox ,

You, and I, and everyone else know about your past history in the Rangers, and with the Badlanders.
You have been nothing but an arrogant power hungry bitch, intent on destroying all that you judge to be wrong.
During this time, many men, both Ranger and Badlander have given their blood, in vain.

I intend to put an end to this.

We must fight in an upcoming tournament.
I wish to add a stipulation to this match.

It will be a banishment match.

The loser will pack up their gear, leave their guild, and get the fuck out of New Nevada, ashamed, and disgraced.
And to make sure there is no outside interference, this match will take place inside a steel cage here in the Needles
Pit.
It will be a straight out brawl. No weapons, No armor, No frills or fancy fucking song and dance.
Just me, beating the shit out of you, in a steel cage.

You up for it Ranger Boy?
Cuz you and me, me and you, oh it's on now.

-Sorlag-

Arctic Fox heard the challenge, and accepted. The fight took place as scheduled, in the Needles Pit, in a steel cage. Everyone from the gang was there to support Sorlag, and many Rangers showed up to support Fox. Sorlag arrived late to the fight, stumbling into the ring, reeking of Rot Gut. The fight was one of the most bloody, and violent to ever take place in a Pit arena. Each man, trading blows, as the crowd cheered them on. Despite being drunk, Sorlag still fought with the strength, and skill of many men. However, in the end, it was the alcohol that did him in.

Not keeping his guard up, Sorlag took a fierce blow to the head, from Fox. He fell back onto the concrete floor, cracking his head wide open, blood pouring out onto the arena floor. The crowd's cheers turned into gasps of horror, as Sorlag's very life spilled out of him. The match was over, and Fox had won, but no one seemed to care much about fan fare or celebration. Devil and crew ripped the cage open, tending to Sorlag. It was too late for him, however. With his last breath, he managed to speak, "Fuck you, Fox." And with that, Sorlag was dead.

News of the tragedy spread quickly, and people heard the news in disbelief. Sorlag seemed immortal, he was a living legend, Herculean strength, there was no way he was dead, it seemed impossible, but it was true. The Badlanders lost a hero, that day. They lost a friend.. no, a family member. He was buried outside the Ground Zero, the only place he ever called home, now being his final resting place. A simple wooden cross, bearing the name "Sorlag."