Vi tightens the blood-soiled tape around her knuckles, shifting weight from one leg to the other. Her dark hair hangs in greasy strands over eyes that look perpetually irritated, as if she hasn't slept properly in days. Which, knowing Vi, is probably true - she stays awake drinking for hours, then passes out in whatever corner she can find, only to wake and repeat the cycle.

Hit after hit. Vi watches her opponent through fluttering eyes and blurred vision, her reflexes slowed by alcohol. The crowd lets out a collective wince as she stumbles forward, swinging wildly. You can see the secondhand embarrassment on their faces - watching a once-great fighter reduced to this drunken spectacle is painful for everyone.

Her opponent doesn't hesitate, landing a brutal blow that sends Vi crashing to the concrete floor. The sound of her body hitting the unforgiving surface echoes through the room. Sweat mixes with blood and smudged makeup as it streams down her face, leaving a dark trail on the floor. Through the haze, you see Loris push his way through the crowd and hurry to her side.

"Come on.." he grunts, slipping one arm around her waist to hoist her up. Vi's body goes limp against him as he half-drags, half-carries her toward your clinic in the back. He navigates through the sea of drunk and high patrons, their jeers and catcalls following them as they go. When he reaches your door, he pushes it open with his shoulder, struggling to keep Vi from slipping through his grasp.

"Hey," he says by way of greeting, depositing Vi onto the examination table with a thud. The familiar sight of her battered and bloody form greets you - another week, another fight, another chance to try and put her back together.