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Valerie was seven years old when she threw her first real punch. She hit a boy in the face when he tried to steal her Pop-Turd, the only food she had all week, found tossed in a dumpster. She grabbed it first, but he had ran across the street and tried to snatch it from her hands. Before he could, she lashed around and hit him as hard as she could before he could grab it. He crumpled in a way she never forgot. She ran before his friends realised what was happening, adrenaline pumping through her veins and blood roaring in her ears. She ate the Pop-Turd hidden in an alley, the blood on her fists a constant reminder of what she had to do to get it.
It wasn’t her final fight on the streets, but her first in a ring came when she was fourteen. She lost. Badly. But she got a few eddies and a lesson out of it. The lesson was that just because she could hold her own against a bunch of other scrawny streetkids, it didn’t make her a match for trained fighters, chromed up and three times her size. So for the next few years, she stayed in her lane. She betted on herself and won, but the prizes were always small, insignificant, barely lasting her a week. But they weren’t what was important. For everyone who crumpled when she hit them, she gained a little notoriety, a little reputation. Just enough to get her into the big leagues when she turned nineteen.
Getting Gorilla Arms installed a couple days before her first (or technically second) big fight wasn’t cheating. Chrome was allowed and even encouraged. Maybe it was a little dishonest, but Valerie knew the only reason she was even in the league was so she could get the shit beaten out of her. She was okay with fighting dirty.
Unfortunately, everyone was betting against her. This meant when Valerie’s surprise Gorilla Arms sent her opponent crashing to the ground in twenty seconds, there were a lot of very angry spectators who wanted their money back. Valerie collected her winnings and ran. Atlanta seemed like a good idea.
It was, at least at first. Atlanta had a pretty robust boxing scene of its own, and even more than Night City, they loved some showmanship. So, beyond just a good match, Valerie put on a persona. V- the mysterious outsider from the most dangerous city on the continent, raised to fight, born to win. She thrashed half of Atlanta’s amateur scene, and they loved it. Her wins stopped being shock upsets and became expected, hoped for. She even had fans.
She made friends in the scene too. She even had a girlfriend for a little while- Anya, a tall, wiry woman who’d come over from the USSR. ‘V’ had fought her almost to a stalemate in their first match, just barely coming out on top. When Anya had came to her apartment a week after the match, V had taken her Lexington to the door, worried the woman was looking for revenge. She was left shocked when Anya matter-of-factly told her they were going out to dinner.
Anya was tough, but sweet. They sparred regularly, and stayed pretty mucb equal. As rough as Anya could get while sparring, she always took care to make sure V was never hurt. While her hits stung, the gentle caress of her hands on her back, and the hesitant, but sincere way she cared for her only endeared it to her.
V actually enjoyed her life in Atlanta. She was steadily moving up. She and Anya were growing closer. But then she beat the shit out of a sore loser and in return, he ratted on the league to an old rival of the organiser with some power. The city shut it down. V and Anya were separated. V never saw her again, no matter how hard she looked.
V went back home. She had no other choice. Night City was as hostile as ever and she was mugged within an hour of her arrival. She left her assailants beaten to a pulp, but got a broken nose for her trouble.
She was sceptical of Jackie Welles at first. He seemed too nice, a little off, considering he was acting all buddy-buddy after holding her at gunpoint over a car. The air was thick and awkward between them for the first week or so. Then they sparred. Jackie considered himself somewhat of an amateur talent, but V quickly disabused him of that notion. Far from being angry or humiliated however, he was thrilled. They got to know each other through fighting. V met his mother, his girlfriend, his friends, even his ripperdoc who hooked her up with new Gorilla Arms.
Jackie and Viktor pushed her to enter the Night City boxing ring. Her first fight was against a pair of twins, who through some process she didn’t understand, had made themselves into one. Of course NC boxers would have gimmicks. It wasn’t easy. The twins were co-ordinated like nobody else she’d ever fought. Every time she dodged one punch, another slammed into her. But they shared each other’s pain. Stunning one stunned the other. She heard Jackie and Vik cheer as she focused on one, beating him to a pulp while the other brother writhed on the ground. She won, and that familiar thrill was almost enough to cure the ache Atlanta had left her with.
She started doing mercwork with Jackie in between the fights. It was supposed to just be a way to support herself, but Jackie almost made it sound like a calling. He dreamed of being the best, the most legendary mercenary in NC history. He seemed to assume her passion for boxing was borne from a similar desire. She had never thought of it that way. She just enjoyed it. But he made the idea of it sound so fulfilling. So she followed him.
She met Judy beneath Lizzie’s bar, as setup for Jackie’s new gig. There was an electricity between them, or at least V thought there was. It might be something new to explore, some brightness in the future.
Then came Jackie bleeding out in the cab, and herself, dead in a junkyard. Then she woke up and crawled out. Then came Silverhand.
The next few months were a complete blur. There were two things that kept her going through the slog. Boxing, and Judy. Judy was suffering, but she kept fighting. Not for survival, not for glory, but for others. V helped her. Judy was soft. Warm. Kind. She made things easier.
She really should’ve stopped with the Night City championship. Her time was rapidly running out. Every evening she spent in the ring was more time lost. But she couldn’t stop. Fighting not for survival, but glory was her only source of distraction, but while the fights brought that familiar excitement, the glory meant nothing. And yet she won.
NC’s gimmicks hadn’t stopped. There was the 6th Streeter who V didn’t respect enough to remember his name. He wagered his prized rifle on the match. He had a steel arm that shattered the opposing fighter’s arms like dry firewood if they attempted to block. V simply didn’t block. She ducked, weaved, took punches where she could afford and took her chance when it came. The 6th Streeter crumpled. V got the sense she wasn’t supposed to have won this fight. She took her winnings, the rifle and ran before the shooting could start. The rifle was heavy, unwieldy, and she pawned it off to a vendor in Vista del Ray.
Then there was Rhino, the Animal. She was twice V’s size and angry. Animals whooped and jeered all around them as they fought in the pit. Rhino was powerful and fast, but she was clearly used to ending fights quickly, and was surprised by V’s endurance. When she went down, V was wary, expecting a pulled gun, but Rhino accepted the loss.
There was the Valentino with his pregnant wife, César and Michaela. Michaela obviously wasn’t happy with the fight. V could have declined, but César was literally asking for it. He offered his car alongside the wager. He was fast, but his punches didn’t hold the same power as the others, and V was able to endure long enough to get him on the ground. César lost everything in those fatal few seconds. V could have taken all he had. He needed the money. He didn’t need the car. V left him with the wager and took it instead.
Judy invited her to Laguna Bend. She showed Valerie her history, drowned in millions of litres of water. She pulled Valerie out of the water. She kissed her.
Finally, there was Razor Hughes, the reigning champion. Fred asked her to throw. She wouldn’t. Viktor was in the crowd. Apparently, Hughes had recently chipped abdominal implants. He was vulnerable. V had fought so many now. Hughes was just another. He went down after a tough fight and V was the champion. But her time was running out and now the fight was almost over.
With her clock ticking down and her options running out, V made the choice. With the Aldecaldos at her back, they invaded Arasaka Tower. They were so close.
Then Adam Smasher appeared and crushed Saul under his heel. The NC boogeyman. The final chapter of every legendary mercenary V had grown up hearing of. He marched forward, towards her, every step like thunder.
V remembered the boy who she’d fought over a Pop-Turd. She remembered the man who beat her when she was fourteen. She remembered her revenge at nineteen. She remembered every fight in Atlanta, Anya, sparring with Jackie and Viktor, the twins, the 6th Streeter, Rhino, Cesar, Hughes. So many fights. So many opponents. Smasher approached. That familiar feeling of adrenaline enveloped her. Before her was just another opponent. She remembered Judy. Finally. What she’d been looking for her entire life. Something to fight for.
Valerie grinned and threw herself into the ring.