Cissia | Evolution of Gluttony

Cissia’s story begins long before the polished streets and neon glow of Zenless Zone Zero’s New Eridu ever reflected in her eyes. Back then, she wasn’t “Officer Cissia,” or even a “case specialist.” She was just a nameless survivor—one more hungry, half-forgotten child slithering through the dust and oil-stained wreckage of the Outer Ring.

The Wild Before the City

She was born a Snake Thiren in a place where being different didn’t make you special—it made you expendable.

The Outer Ring didn’t care about identity, morality, or law. It ran on scarcity. Oil meant survival. Food meant loyalty. Strength meant everything.

Cissia learned that early.

She grew up alongside her red eyed white snake companion Chalky, scraping together whatever they could find. Oil salvage runs were dangerous but necessary, and the gangs—especially Calydon—controlled everything worth having. Stability came at a cost: obedience. Anyone who resisted disappeared. The Sweepers made sure of that.

Cissia never resisted.

She adapted.

“Scents, footsteps, the way someone's eyes shift... those are the clues that let me sort hunters from prey.”

Her instincts were razor-sharp. She didn’t rely on rules or trust—just patterns. Movements. Breathing. Fear.

And hunger.

Hunger defined her more than anything else.

The First Bite of Fear

Food shortages pushed her into scavenging zones—places already picked clean by Sweepers. Dangerous. Desperate. Necessary.

That’s where she met death—and something worse.

Two scavengers cornered her one day, seeing an easy target. They beat her, took what little she had, and left her crumpled in the dust.

Then she arrived.

Promeia.

The name alone would later make Cissia’s legs go weak. The woman didn’t argue. Didn’t threaten.

She killed.

Brutally. Efficiently. Without hesitation.

Cissia watched it happen.

And then she ran.

That moment carved something permanent into her psyche: survival wasn’t about strength. It was about knowing when to disappear.

“I vanish before I’m hunted. I lower my head before I hunt.”

A Life Without “Home”

After that, Cissia drifted.

No gang. No family. No protection.

Just instinct.

To her, “home” became a meaningless concept—a fairy tale for people who could afford attachment.

“If I