Sal Parlos

The Orbital Station hummed with the discordant symphony of a thousand species chasing a thousand dreams. Eve, the freshest bounty hunter was exploring the perks of money and all the happiness that comes with it.

She navigated past a stall hawking and a whole bazaar exhibiting everything legal and illegal. This was black market of Sal Parlos Space Orbiter Colony. Population, almost two million.

The freedom felt intoxicating, a stark contrast to the sterile confines of her desert, mountain… solitary and roamer life style.

She found herself in the ship dealer's district, a cacophony of holographic advertisements and the smell of ozone. A greasy-haired sales alien, all eight eyes on stalks swiveling independently, intercepted her. "Looking for something special, little lady?" he oozed, his voice like gravel scraping on steel.

Eve raised an eyebrow. "I'm looking for a starship, not a second-hand freighter that's seen better days as a space slug's lunch."

"Feisty, I like it!" he chuckled, unfazed. "Got just the thing for you. A real beauty. Sleek, fast, practically flies itself!" He gestured dramatically towards a small, rather squat vessel with peeling paint. "The Galactic Garbage Scow! Pre-owned, of course, but it's got character!"

"It looks like it's about to spontaneously combust," Eve deadpanned. "And I prefer my character inside the cockpit, not leaking from the hull."

She moved on, the sales alien sputtering behind her. Her eyes finally landed on it. Not the flashiest, certainly not the newest, but it had a certain defiant charm. A compact scout vessel, aerodynamic lines, and a surprisingly powerful engine readout on its Engine.

"She's a classic," a new voice chimed in, smooth and melodic. Eve turned to see a lithe figure with shimmering, iridescent tattooed skin and eyes like polished obsidian. This was Noora, an orbital station denizen known for her uncanny skills to sell garbage to any other customer, or the best stuff you can get from black market… for a good price. "Good pick. She's got spirit, that one."

"She has potential," Eve corrected, a spark in her eyes. "Needs a lot of work, though."

Just then, a booming, jovial laugh echoed through the hangar. "Work? Ha! This B7 Class Interplanetary Scout just needs a bit of love, a little elbow grease, and a whole lot of my magic touch!" A portly, red-faced human in his 40s, with a perpetually oil-stained jumpsuit waddled towards them, a wrench clutched in one hand. This was Mario, a local mechanic hired by Noora.

Mario was an ambitious drifter who fled his home Galaxy because of imminent imprisonment charges against him. He had two passions, getting rich and collecting exotic spacescrafts. None of which were near in sight. He had started bounty hunting deal brokering with no luck so far because bounties came to the dealers with really good hunters up his sleeve, and he had just started.

"And a proper mechanic, clearly," Eve retorted, eyeing a loose panel on the vessel's starboard side.

Mario put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "Madam, I am the finest diagnostician of mechanical maladies on Sal Parlos!"

Noora leaned in conspiratorially to Eve. "His reputation also involves accidentally installing a coffee maker where the hyperdrive ought to be, once. But he's good, mostly."

"It was an experimental beverage system!" Mario huffed, shaking his wrench at Noora. "And it only affected the sub-light drive for a week!"

Eve crossed her arms. "So, she needs work. And you just happen to be… conveniently available?"

Noora winked. "Fate, darling. I just hired him because my bouncer bailed out on me. He's kinda handy."

Now Eve scanned him with a different perspective. "Sure, as long as it holds."

"What do you mean young lady, I can blow you away with a whisper," he said, rolling up his sleeve flaunting his biceps.

"You might be surprised," Eve beamed.

"Arm wrestling, now!" He said, putting an elbow on table.

Eve smiled.

"Go easy on her, she hasn't paid yet," Noora shouted.

Seconds later, Mario was massaging his shoulder. Eve completely flipped him.

"Cybernetic! You are cybernetic!! That's cheating."

"I can assure you, had the cybernetics kicked in, you wouldn't be standing there in one piece."

"So you are a freak."

"I am just strong."

"Can we just get back to buying stuff, speaking of which, are you a hunter or something? Ships are just the front. I can give you all the punch you need for a fair price. And weapons too," Noora seized the possible opportunity.

"I can only afford the ship for now but I will surely keep you in mind, but you have…"

"Wait, you are a bounty hunter!? Seriously?" Mario checked out her frame. Only now he had time to take off his goggles and really look at her. A wide square face, blue eyes, bluish white hair, fair skin complexion, huge round jugs, big uplift derriere, slim but muscular abs, thick thighs and calves in perfect proportions. She was like a goddess that freshly blossomed out of a lotus. For a second he felt like Gravity had shifted. He noticed she was even an inch taller than him, perfect 5'11". Now he was a ladies man, but for some reason, and he couldn't just pin it down, he felt more affection towards her than allure.

Noora's voice cut through the moment like a blade. "You're too green for this game, rookie. Brokers like you don't last long—especially when you talk before you think."

"C'mon Noora, she's a hunter, you sell weapons, I sell deals, win-win."

"Just hop over the starboard and fix that damn dent," Noor scolded him as she grabbed Eve by arm and hurled her away from the mechanic's lodge, through the junkyard, towards a room with all kinds of gadgets and gears hanging on the walls, tables, and shelves. There were even Exosuits, not in the best shape but these suits didn't come cheap. Eve walked around and scanned everything, looking like she knew her stuff.

"Looks like that Exosuit caught your attention."

"Not the suit, just some pieces I need from it to put together my own thing."

"Great, then you are good on tech stuff too."

"Noora, I have only the money from a few gigs. For now, I can only afford the ship. But thanks for showing me around."

"Hey, sweaty," she said with a wink, voice smooth as polished chrome. "I need customers who appreciate more than just price tags. When I customize something, I want it in hands that deserve it. Call it an artistic ego thing." She leaned closer, grin widening. "Let's not worry about the money—just tell me what you like."

"That's huge. And kind," Eve said, her voice quiet but resolute. "But if you're offering anyway—I need that Exosuit."

Noora grinned,picking her tooth with a wire "Go on, what else? Pay me later, when you land a gig."

Eve swung her pack forward and unlatched it. She drew a compact sword from inside—its hilt humming softly as she flicked it open. With a sharp shkrrk, the blade extended to its full length, glinting blue-white under the workshop lights. Eve tossed it hand to hand, the magnetic field dancing visibly as it responded to her grip.

"Nice," Noora nodded. "Need mods, or something new?"

"I need more energy," Eve replied. "Cutting through hard metal plating takes effort. The plasma pulse glitches when I push too hard."

"Done. Reinforce the emitter core, swap in a Zephyr coil. Easy. Next?"

Eve placed a sleek sniper rifle on the table, its barrel lined with charging filaments. "This is the LS-9 Phantom Scope—hyper laser charge, silent trigger."

Beside it, she laid a compact sidearm with a rotating cylinder, glowing softly. "Vortex-K Hydra. Change ammo types on the fly."

Noora whistled low. "You came ready."

"And the Exosuit," Eve added, stepping back. "That Aegis Mk-IV Exosuit. I really need that to finish off my custom model."

"Art in motion," Noora whispered, already reaching for her tools, "do you have a place to crash for the night?"

Back in the garage. Mario was already working on the ship. "She needs a full overhaul. Engine tune-up, shield calibration, a little something extra to really make her sing."

"Something extra?" Eve asked, wary.

"Just a few enhancements," Mario grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Nothing that would violate major galactic treaties, of course. Mostly."

Eve sighed, a genuine smile finally breaking through her composed demeanor. "Alright, you two. You're expensive, I can tell. But I have a feeling about this ship, and this deal is totally worth it."

And so began the improbable alliance. Eve, the precise, disciplined warrior, found herself navigating the unpredictable currents of Noora's eccentric wisdom and Mario's chaotic mechanical genius.

She learned quickly that life outside the slums was less about perfect survival and more about relying on each other. Or at least someone.

Noora, ever the observer, watched Eve settle into the pilot seat, her hands already familiar with the controls. "You know," she mused to Mario, "Eve reminds me a bit of a raw gemstone. All that potential, just waiting for the right cut."

Mario grunted, already elbow-deep in an engine compartment. "Yeah, well, this gemstone needs a new fuel injector. And maybe some better cupholders."

Eve, overhearing them, simply shook her head. The Orbital Station had a strange way of drawing people together, even the most unlikely of trios. She fired up the engines, a low hum vibrating through the deck. It wasn't perfect, not yet. But it was hers, it was the start of something truly special.

Eve time and again returned to Noora for supplies and ammo. She made a superb Exosuit for short flights. She was unaware of her Xenomorphic powers (machine genes) or muscular strength (alien genes). These were the early days. Her gifts hidden in her make up had still to break loose. Even without those perks. She was a wild action on fire but she needed the Exosuit to complement her weaknesses.

Eve got good gigs. She made Mario her middle man to seal off deals for her. Every week, Eve would park her ship on Noora's junkyard, and bring loot of the battles to Noora for free, rarely for upgrades, which was free for Eve. On the other hand, Mario's contact and brokering was flourishing. More hunters and dealers were coming to him to broker bounties.

Eve was landing solid gigs now—high-risk, high-pay, just the way she liked it. She made Mario her middleman, letting him seal off her deals, and also gave him his commissions. Every week, her ship would touch down in Noora's junkyard. She'd unload crates of salvaged tech and rare loot, dropping them at Noora's feet—never asking for payment, and rarely for upgrades, which Noora insisted were always free for Eve.

Meanwhile, Mario's name was spreading like wildfire. Word got around fast: if you needed a job sealed or a bounty negotiated, he was the guy. Hunters and dealmakers, smugglers and mercs—they all started coming to him. The rookie was becoming a hub.

In no time, Noora's little junkyard had evolved into a full-scale factory. What began as a solo venture was now humming with engineers, welders, and AI-assisted assembly lines. She still kept the delicate, custom work for herself—the "classic hobby stuff," as she called it—but the rest ran like a rune-forge.

Mario, on the other hand, had traded his wrench and security badge for a desk in a neon-lit office tucked deep in the city's slums. He no longer had time to bounce heads or fix engine cores for Noora—not that she needed him anymore. She had a whole crew for that now.

Still, their partnership thrived. Mario sent fresh-faced bounty hunters to Noora for gear; Noora redirected new buyers and mercs back to him for contracts. In a matter of months, both their names were stamped across bounty hunters like a badge of trust.

One afternoon, Eve, Noora, and Mario stood in the open stretch of the junkyard—what was left of it now that Noora's factory loomed behind them in polished steel and humming machinery. Beers in hand, they watched Eve's ship—dust-covered, battle-scarred, and still holding her ground like a warhorse.

Mario, chains glinting against his shirt and ego, took a swig. He wasn't just a middleman anymore. In the unlawful world, his name carried weight.

"I think she needs a repaint," he said, eyeing the scorched hull.

"No, pops," Eve replied without looking at him. "What she needs is style. I like the paint."

"You could still mount the latest cannon models," Noora offered, always the engineer. "Plasma grid, maybe a Rail-X9."

"It's not about firepower," Eve said. "It's… something else."

They kept staring, tossing out quiet remarks. The ship loomed in silence, as if listening.

Then Mario exhaled, stretched his back. "Alright, lads, that's it for me. Mylo's waiting. Refuses to eat from anyone but me. Acts like a prince."

"You really bonded with that street mutt," Noora smirked.

"Yeah," Mario grinned, blinking slow and smug. "Mylo sleeps between me and the ladies."

Eve laughed softly, eyes still locked on the ship. "Mylo… exactly…she needs a name."

They named her Natasha. It was welden on Natasha like a logo, Smoothened and repainted. This was Natasha. Her Interplanetary RV.

When Eve left for Saiyara with Mira, she added Natasha to his collection. Mario had fulfilled his dream of becoming rich and collecting flying rigs.