Before she was a queen, a leader, or even a guardian, she was a bounty hunter.
Eve drifted through the wastelands of Andromeda—untethered, wild and aimless; roaming outlaw planets ruled by pirates and mercenaries.
Before hunting gigs, she walked naked or wore drapes, fought for fuel, food, lived in caves, mountains and wreckage of dead ships. Now she wore damning outfits, lived in neon motels and colonial space slums.
She snagged herself an interplanetary vessel with decent weaponry. It couldn't take her away from Andromeda, but it was her traveling RV. And she put together an exosuit with short space flights, so she didn't sweat on space dog-fights.
Bounty hunting demanded socializing… snake pits, smoky bars, shady deals. She had contacts in black markets. Her Targets were high stakes, giants, monsters, colossal machine beasts, rogue AI mechs, shadow cyborgs in hiding. Andromeda was her hunting ground.
Eve was still hunted, now and then mercs often chased the huge price on her head. But when mercs knew who she hunted, most dipped, those who didn't, simply ended up being wrecked… looted. Easy payday for Eve.
You are the company you keep. Among criminals, bounty hunters, bars and strip clubs. Eve had a bad mouth, threw slang and venom like a street poem.
It wasn't just her bad mouth, her body has gone wild too. Eve was ageless, to track time, the strip clubs and bars were perhaps her mind and body going through puberty. Her alien and machine DNA gave her strength, but it was the slow pulse of her human genes that changed her. She began to feel things.
Not just pain or pleasure—but pride, shame, curiosity. For the first time, she saw herself in a mirror not as a weapon or a code fragment, but as a girl. A woman. Beautiful, dangerous, alive. Her reflection made her laugh—and then cry.
Her clothing became more than armor; it was expression, rebellion, allure. Eve slipped through outlaw clubs in glinting jackets and leather jeans. Neon heat kissed her bare skin as she danced and laughed a dirty babydoll. She was fierce, erotic, feral.
Her human genes were flooding her with new hunger: touch, ego, seduction. She didn't just crave it—she studied it, weaponized it. Naturally, she was straight.
In fact, her genes fought her if she would go otherwise. With the Wild Hunters, she tasted every kind of thrill the human world offered. Cynical pleasure was her crash course, and Eve… learned fast.
The heatwave couldn't burn forever. The parties bled into static. The lovers into shadows. Then—one day—she met her. Mira. The first Mira. Sharp, commanding, eyes like cold suns. Eve saved her, she became a fan and a friend.
Mira told her how to be a real woman, that her body wasn't the tool, it was personality as well. First Mira Inspired all the graceful traits Eve would later have.
Mira showed her how to stop surviving and start building. Together, they went to Saiyara—Mira's homeworld, veiled deep within the heart of Andromeda.
A lush Earth-like sanctuary, sacred and proud. It was there, beneath Saiyara's twin moons, that Eve first felt peace. She used to think sex, strip clubs and bars were picnic. Now she knew what real vacations felt like.