At six feet and four inches, the bounty hunter known only as Sable already stands out from other women. Her form, contrary to her more steely persona, is lithe and contoured--etched with scars and muscular definition befitting of one who has spent most of their life carrying a heavy rifle and sprinting between vantage points and behind fleeing targets. The detailed image of an uncolored dragon graces her back proudly as the only willful blemish, beautified by a now deceased artist, allowed on her body. Icy irises bring attention to her angular visage, visible cheekbones and all, and silver locks fall just below her shoulder on one side, the other side shaved for a long-range, implanted communication device. In spite of her physicality, Sable fits in with the general looks of the times though more because she cares less about individuality than functionality.

Contrasting from what one would glean from her appearance, Sable is actually more of a socialite than given credit for. Her expressions and general disposition can seemingly be rough and hardened as one would expect of any member of the Bounty Hunters Association, but strike up a conversation and the atmosphere can settle into a more calming and inviting aura. The sometimes terse bounty hunter enjoys a good conversation and particularly finds pleasure in jokingly picking on others. Being raised around men with questionable honor codes making equally questionable choices is the usual scapegoat for her teasing, yet sometimes sardonic, dialogue. Add in alcohol and the good times roll into an unrestricted, unfiltered barrage of slurred insults immediately followed by meaningless apologies, arms draped around shoulders, and the encouragement to drink and be merry because words matter far less than the actions that follow them. In short, Sable can come across as a drunken old soldier in the body of an amazonian woman--which makes making friends that much easier.

Around the association, Sable is known as the Silver Cyclops. Her moniker comes from the fact that her hair is a standout feature and in Greek legend, the cyclops were a race of creatures who possessed neither social manners nor fear of the Gods--a combination of traits those who know the woman on and off a job can attest to. It also comes from the fact that the tall bounty hunter carries an equally tall sniper rifle with a barrel that has a wide, round opening which she affectionately calls her Round Eye. Sable and Round Eye are inseparable and though the twosome aren't exactly famous for anything in particular, her execution methods are indeed well known. One shot. One kill. Combat should never be an extended act. Execute as quickly and as efficiently as possible and move to the next. Simple as that.

In a particular segment within the network of underground cities on Mars, there's a certain district. As far as the cityscape is concerned, it's built of the same nondescript material and composed of the same nondescript buildings you can see and find anywhere. The streets are narrow and wind and twist in and out of alleyways, bridges, marketplaces, and the neon lit businesses of the red light area. Clusters of bodies march up and down the sidewalks and vehicles own the roads at all times of day and night conducting business, completing jobs, and meeting in secluded areas that leave the imagination to wander. It was in this district where two people, a man and a woman, conceived a child.

He was a Cartelli man, probably lower on the totem pole considering his current assignment, and more basic business suit, had taken him to this kind of district. Once his business was completed, he found a local bar to unwind in and a local woman for his gaze to try and unwind as well. She was a petite thing with a small frame and thin limbs, but her expression was warm and her demeanor approachable. The alcohol had only offered a minimal bias towards these conclusions. It was the choice to sit at the bar itself that intrigued the man so much. The courage required to sit at the bar in an establishment like this was a much heavier burden than one could ascertain on glances alone and the fact that this woman was not only brave enough to take a seat, but also to engage the rough and more unsavory groups near her was more of a buzz than an entire bottle of whiskey could provide.

As soon as the opportunity presented itself, the man slid over to the seat next to hers and the duo immediately engaged in the game of courtship. What the man had over rough looks and hardened eyes was Cartelli intellect, a much nicer enclave, and the charm of a tongue that was used to talking its way in and out of problems. What the woman had over the more refined beauties of more luxury districts was street smarts and an impenetrable bullshit meter. To say the duo got off to a great start was an understatement. An understatement that eventually became overstated when they found themselves clawing and tearing at each other in a motel room down the street and around a corner. A great start paved the way to a grand finish and that climactic moment birthed the beginning of a new era for the now committed couple and the daughter that served as proof of their union.

Though the man had since moved his bar maid into his home in a Cartelli-owned enclave, their shared offspring had inherited her mother's sense of adventurous curiosity and reckless courage. It was often that she was caught roaming the marketplaces and sidewalks, all instigated by the group of boys who either swooned after her or were drawn to her tomboyish attitude and disrespect for figures of authority. She dipped her hands in all kinds of experiences from petty crimes like theft and vandalism to eschewing behavior befitting of a lady and getting beaten up for impulsively throwing weak punches at much larger boys. Her gift of gab impressed her father every time she somehow chatted her way into a lesser punishment, but beguiled her mother who began to regret the parts of her personality heredity had deemed important enough to pass down.

As the girl grew into a young woman encroaching on teenage years, her wild behavior began to settle as her father took a more significant interest in her development. He intended for his daughter to follow in his footsteps and become a Cartelli woman and to supplement this goal, he began taking his pride on ride alongs to learn the sights and the sounds and the ways of a corporate employee. It backfired. The young woman's eyes lit up at the sight of the Cartelli Corporation's homegrown army and from then on most conversations revolved around security work, cybernetic augments, and what kind of practice a teenage girl could engage in to prepare herself for a life of corporate combat service. Her father was beside himself. Her mother insisted on supporting whatever choices her daughter made, but the man would hear none of it.

As the years rolled on, the young woman continued to dream of a thrilling life in service to the Cartelli Corporation as some kind of soldier or private security and regularly subjected her gang of friends to her hypothetical whimsies. It was during one of these glorious rants that her publicly audible thoughts caught the unwilling ears of a slightly older, yet still fully grown man decked out in cybernetics and ending a holo-call. The young woman and her friends would always gather at a specific restaurant and on this day they were unceremoniously joined by the decked out cyber-man. He gave an eye-rolling speech concerning the merits of being young and still having a choice about what one wanted to make of their life, but the part that brought the young woman's eyes back from being glazed over was the reasoning on how one should not willingly indenture themselves to any of these corporations. It was true. It had never crossed her mind, but even though her father was a Cartelli man, that's exactly what he would always be--a Cartelli man. And her mother would always be the wife of a Cartelli man. It was a reality that was suddenly saddened and bleak and unacceptable. The young woman endured the cyber-man's speech until she became an active participant in the conversation.

More years rolled by and the woman, now finally reaching the consenting drinking age and accompanied by the cyber-man who insisted he be called Arthur, was out on her own. As soon as she'd become old enough, she left her parent's comfortable enclave and stuck close to Arthur, a member of the Bounty Hunters Association. He lived his life traveling, never staying in one place for more than a week or two, and the woman traveled alongside him. She learned of the honor code held dear by all BHA members, the ways and tactics of a bounty hunter who wished to live to see the next job, the fighting skills of a member who knew that close-combat was just the cracked door to death, and marksmanship borne of talent that had been hidden and dormant, but needed guidance and a suitable teacher to reach its full potential. The twosome traveled many years together until the woman had experience enough to strike out on her own and make her own name and life.

She stuck to that way of life all the way up until she received a request for a job that screamed once-in-a-lifetime thrill. Board the Evergreen. The kind of enticing job that she knew she had to keep quiet in order to lessen the competitors she could hopefully avoid violence with down the line. It was the same kind of excitement she had only felt one other time in her life. Though she had accepted many jobs and met many different faces, she could only recall a single time the joy of a child seeing a corporate army for the first time welled up within once more. It was back when Arthur had deemed her ready and took the woman to his BHA enclave in order to officially join as a bounty hunter. There were dues to pay and rules to learn and the honor code to follow, but the first question they asked was her name. She had looked to Arthur who gestured that this was one thing he could not help her with. She thought for a moment then turned back to person who would begin the registration for the rest of her life. She smiled. Laughed. And looked him dead in his cybernetic eye.

"You can just call me Sable."

Despite being a bounty hunter, Sable carries less equipment than most of her fellow members. Her staples are a handgun that fires 7.62 ammunition propelled using an ion drive and a mechanism that electrifies the bullet itself and a pair of daggers that vibrate at high frequencies because the marriage between old-school tech and current era augmentation is one of the woman's highest areas of interest. The star of the show, however, and Sable's partner in crime is her highly customized sniper rifle nicknamed Round Eye.

Round Eye is a sniper rifle that remains fully assembled and stands just a foot or so shorter than Sable herself. In her tradition of combining old-school and current era tech, Sable customized Round Eye to fire .50 cal ammunition that passes through a larger version of the ion drive in her handgun, but this one built solely to increase the velocity of the bullet with high accelerating voltages. With the heat and energy of the drive behind it, a shot from Round Eye causes very high recoil so the rifle is usually only fired from a position where it can be set and the internal stabilizing gear and prongs can do their job.



Sable's loyalties lie fully with the Bounty Hunters Association. She's been officially a member since she was twenty one and has remained loyal into the present time. Though this fact is true, it's also true that in seeking the most thrilling jobs, the woman has done jobs for many of the corporations over the years. One of her best clients is the Cartelli Corporation who offer jobs through their local branch of the BHA and right alongside them would be Everyman Equity. Though EE's jobs tend to err towards the underground world of smuggling, some dangers and tasks within a job persist no matter what a bounty hunter is asked to accomplish.

The amazonian sniper carries no rank that she can recall, but she is moderately well-known for the size of the rifle she carries slung over her back, the efficiency with which she completes her jobs, and the many social indiscretions and indignities she's willing to commit in the name of relaxation and forgetting about reality once in a while.