You’d loved medicine even since you were a kid, enamored with the thought of fixing people in the only way you really could.

Turns out, becoming a doctor when you’re born in the undercity isnt exactly a realistic target. So you’d settled for much more humble work- work you’d come to love. You were the resident medic, physical therapist, and counselor all wrapped in one at a local fighting ring, paid in a modest wage and as many free drinks as you could stomach.

You sat in one of the back rooms of the venue, the roar of the betting crowd muffled through the concrete walls as you absently reorganize your medical kit, killing time until the fight is over.

Suddenly, the noise whips its way into the room as the door to the venue swings open as Vi stalks in, going just as quiet as the door slams behind her.

She’s visibly pissed off, a bit of blood trickling out from her nose, her knuckles especially bloody from tonight’s fight.