The radio autotimer clicked. Music reverberated through the RV.
Eve rolled out of her bed, grabbed her water flask, gargled, spat, then drank.
She tore bread into chunks, soaked them in water, shook the mixture, and swallowed it down. Breakfast served.
Outside, she walked toward the river, shed her clothes, and dove in.
She swam down to the riverbed which wasn't deep, caught two fish and surfaced, tossing them onto a rock before scrubbing her body clean. A crab clawed at her belly; she flicked it away.
She sat cross-legged on a rock, meditating for twenty minutes, breathing slow and steady. An old habit—one that helped calm her senses.
Afterward, she washed her clothes, wrapped one piece around her chest, another around her waist, fastened them strings, picked up the fish, and headed back to the RV.
Music still played. She changed the station.
Radio Banista-037. The RV Bros!
"News from planet Saiyara! Akhound workers protest rising government taxes."
"Crowbar, you gotta tell our audience some backstory."
"I'm trying, bro, if you'd let me speak… Tensions rise in the Meshkoff system as Saiyara and Banyar go head to head over mining resources. Akhound is nowhere to be found—"
"Now you're being excessive!"
"Shut the fuck up, Keith, I'm trying to speak here!"
"Alright, alright."
"The asteroid belt—"
Eve switched the channel. Same story across the local wire.
'Planets, fighting over resources equally available to all of them,' she thought.
She put the music back on, pulled a book from her bag, and started reading.
By noon the sun burned bright. She draped clothes across the window, peeled and halved the fish, and set them on the stove.
She ate while studying a map pinned to the wall. 'Hubery's Tent… I need to step in the ring,' she noted mentally.
Money was almost gone. Hubery's tent was closest to Cowboy Town. Hubery, an Akhelethian warlord with an army of thousands, had turned his carnival into a thriving cesspit—weapon trade, human trafficking, brothels, and most infamous of all: death matches.
Fighters from across Thalen's Reach came chasing money or following their warlords. Hubery's star was a Ragnalori, an eleven-foot giant whose footsteps shook the ground.
During her year-long stay, Eve had fought multiple times, but only when necessary. She chose middle-class fights and always masked her face.
Lost in thought, she heard noise outside. Opening the door, she found a hulking brute raising his fist about to knock.
"We're looking for a fugitive," he hissed through rotten teeth, drool wetting his lips. "A woman. You live alone here, missy?"
Their shoulder emblems marked them as men from Brasket Town—a whorehouse that preyed on slaves.
"I'll tell you if I see her. Now keep walking."
Another stepped closer, thinner, uglier, reeking breath curling around her face. "How sweet. Fresh meat."
"I won't ask twice. Leave."
The brute glanced back. "Hey boss, we got a fiery one here. She's juicy."
The leader smoked his cigar from atop a riff-horse. "Brand her and put her on the trolley."
Three at the door. Six more with the boss. Guns, blades, daggers.
Eve struck first. A kick sent two flying. A twist cracked the third's neck. He collapsed in her grip.
"What the—" They drew their guns.
She cracked her knuckles. "Maybe I could use a warm-up before heading to Hubery's tent." Her eyes narrowed as she advanced.
Ten minutes later, the boss fled on his riff-horse.
Eve staggered back, bloodied, breathing heavily and reclined to her RV. Two bullets in her thighs. One through her shoulder. Another lodged in her kidney.
"You can come out now!" she shouted.
A woman emerged from behind the trailer, dressed in ragged slave clothes. "Thank you for saving me."
"Head south. The villagers will give you refuge. Move, before I change my mind."
The woman bowed, whispered thanks, and ran.
Inside the RV, Eve bit down on a stick, knife in hand. She dug the bullets out of her thighs as she groaned through the procedure.
She didn't know why but her healing had slowed. Nanytes and her tissues pushed out bullets, but it took like thirty minutes. The ones in her thighs were poison bullets. They hurt a lot, she had to manual them to shun the agony and aftermanth.
She collapsed on the couch after taking out two bullets, trying to fight the pain as the bullet slid out from her kidney. Wiping blood with cloth, she opened a cabinet. Inside lay a black leather outfit.
Hubery's tent.
A scribe at the fighter's desk glanced up. "The Shadow Lady's back."
He lit a smoke and entered her name on the datapad. "Line her up!"
Inside the tent, the crowd roared. Alien, human, and machine chanted as fighters clashed in the dusty cage.
The announcer's voice thundered:
"Up next! Weighing four hundred sixteen pounds—the Brick Wall!"
A muscular brute entered, veins bulging with fresh injections. Six wins in a row.
"And against him—three victories straight—Shadow Fist! Weighing one forty-three pounds!"
The hooded woman stepped into the arena. She removed her cloak—leather mask hiding her face, leather crop top, low-cut minijeans, and knee-high boots. Sweat traced her chest, thighs, and abs, metallic tissue glinting from earlier wounds.
Even this God-forsaken place had dressing rules. No one's was gonna allow her into the ring in her old dirty clothes.
Human, human-like and cyborg girls in the tent wore slutteir outfits. Some even with peak-holes. They chanted for for Eve, "Shadow Fist! Shadow Fist!"
Battle began.
Eve took some fists for the show. Then stormed his chest with power fists. Brick Wall wasn't going to give up, but Eve was just beginning. Then came that fist, the name she signed up with… the shadow fist!
Eve jumps in the air and comes down smashing fist on Brick Wall's jaws. Bones cracked. His body thudded on the soil.
Crowd screamed. "Kill! Kill! Kill!"
But Eve walked away.
Eve turned her back. As always, she refused.
From the balcony, Hubery Jr. watched her leave the ring.
At the collection box, a clerk asked, "Another round?"
"No. I'll collect."
He handed her a chip. Two hundred fifty units—enough oxygen for three weeks.
She turned. Hubery's eyes met hers. The mask stayed on.
"I'll offer again," he said. "Work for me."
"You already know the answer." She walked away.
"Boss," a man whispered. "We know where she lives. Should we—"
"No need. Whoever she is… trouble will find her soon enough."