Three months had passed since Valerie arrived in this world.
In his previous life, Valerie was a model young man of the 21st century. He believed he had done nothing wrong, except perhaps for his fondness for pirated games. He never expected that this one flaw would bring such retribution. He had fallen asleep from exhaustion after an all-night gaming session, only to wake up in a dark alley surrounded by thugs. They didn't just want to rob him; they had far more sinister motives.
He was prepared for a beating, but just as they lunged, a blade glowing with blue light snapped out of his arm and pierced a thug's skull. The others fled in a panic, as if they had seen a monster.
It was then he realized he had transmigrated into the body of V, the female protagonist of the game he had been playing: Cyberpunk 2077. Not only was his former identity gone, but his face now looked exactly like the character he had meticulously sculpted in the game's creator.
Initially, Valerie thought she was in Night City. But after seeing the Wayne Enterprises logos everywhere and a city that looked more like the "old world," she realized this was Gotham.
Without a legal identity, moving through society was nearly impossible. Fortunately, Gotham's unique "industrial structure"—namely, its rampant crime—provided an opportunity. Relying on her game-based abilities, Valerie worked her way up as a mercenary and quickly made a name for herself.
Today, she had been hired by Carmine Falcone, "The Roman," to rescue his son and "teach Penguin a lesson." This was a big job. To ensure she looked the part of a rising legend, Valerie chose the most high-profile approach possible.
Currently, Valerie was sprinting through the hold of the Final Offer, Penguin's freighter. She carried Alberto under one arm like a sack of potatoes. When thugs rushed out to intercept them, Valerie didn't even slow down. She fired her smart shotgun—equipped with a non-lethal mod—with her free hand. The pellets curved through the air, automatically seeking targets and dropping them instantly.
Alberto was terrified. When he ran too slowly, Valerie simply scooped him up. What followed was a nightmare of double-jumps, air-dashes, and occasional time-dilation that made him want to vomit. He watched in awe as she pulled endless custom-made ammunition from her pockets—a "four-dimensional" inventory only she understood.
Reaching the deck, Valerie saw a small army of gangsters gathering on the shore.
"Get ready, Master Falcone," Valerie said politely. Alberto felt her grip tighten. With a massive running start, she leaped. In mid-air, she performed a double-jump, appearing to "walk on air" as she soared nearly two hundred meters toward the docks.
"She can fly!" the thugs screamed as she landed and kept running.
"Don't let that idiot get away! Chase them!" Penguin's heart-wrenching roar erupted from the deck.
Valerie stopped. She remembered her mission: teach Penguin a lesson. A simple beating wasn't enough for someone like Oswald Cobblepot.
"What are you doing? Run!" Alberto urged, his voice sounding like a slow-motion drawl in Valerie's ears.
Valerie activated her Sandevistan. Time slowed to a crawl. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the bottle of red wine she had "borrowed" from Penguin's secretary.
If I do this, I'll be his enemy for life, she thought. Then again, that's what legends are made of.
Using her Kiroshi Optics for perfect tracking, she wound up like a baseball pitcher and hurled the bottle. In the frozen world, the bottle blurred through the air with terrifying force.
To everyone else, there was only a flash of light, the sound of shattering glass, and then Penguin's pig-like squeals of agony as the bottle exploded against his face.
"Ouch! My eyes!"
Penguin lay on the ground, clutching his face as blood streamed between his fat fingers. Glass shards had pierced his eye socket.
"Boss!" his henchmen cried, paralyzed with indecision.
"What are you standing there for?! Get me to a doctor! And that bitch! Kill her! I'll skin her alive!" Penguin roared in agony.
The thugs on the shore snapped out of their shock, nervously gripping their weapons as they tried to encircle Valerie again. Seeing the dark muzzles pointed at them from every direction, Alberto trembled violently. He had no idea what Valerie had done or how they would survive this.
"Don't be nervous, boss. It's time to go," Valerie said, her voice a calm contrast to the chaos.
"Beep-beep."
Valerie pressed a command on her palm, and a sleek, blue sports car—the Rayfield Caliburn—materialized out of thin air. It slammed onto the pavement with a heavy thud, stunning the crowd once more. Valerie tossed Alberto into the passenger seat, slid behind the wheel, and floored the accelerator.
"Fasten your seatbelt, boss."
The engine roared, and the car shot forward like a bolt of lightning, leaving the confused mob in a cloud of tire smoke.
...
After ditching their pursuers, Valerie drove into an abandoned factory to swap vehicles.
"What now?" Alberto asked, his heart finally slowing down.
"We change cars. This is Penguin's turf, and they've already tagged this one. The hounds will be here soon," Valerie explained with professional patience.
Following a series of back alleys and shortcuts Valerie knew by heart, they reached a busy main street. With another tap of her finger, a nondescript black sedan appeared. Valerie grabbed two sets of clothes from the trunk and handed one to Alberto. By the time Alberto had managed to pull on a coat, Valerie had already performed a full wardrobe swap—changing from her tactical vest and shorts into a gray casual outfit and a hat. Alberto stared, bewildered as to how she had changed her pants so fast.
They drove leisurely out of the district and dropped Alberto off at the Falcone mansion. Carmine "The Roman" Falcone was highly impressed. He offered Valerie a permanent position in his organization, but she declined. Her goal was to be Gotham's most legendary solo—a free mercenary bound to no one.
Back in her modest apartment, Valerie sprawled on the sofa with a cheap bottle of red wine. On the TV, a reporter was trying to interview Gotham's most famous billionaire. It had been two years since Bruce Wayne returned to the city, yet he remained an enigma.
"Batman..." Valerie muttered.
Before transmigrating, she hadn't been a hardcore superhero fan, but Batman was impossible to ignore. In her memory, he was more of a "masked detective" than a god-like hero. I could probably take on eight of him by myself, she thought confidently, bolstered by her Level 55 stats.
On the screen, Vicki Vale's interview was falling apart as a Wayne Corp spokesperson offered a scripted apology. Bruce had stood her up again.
Valerie didn't like "corps." In her eyes, the billionaire capitalists of Gotham were the root of its decay—no different from the corporate overlords of Night City. But to become a legend, she knew she'd eventually have to deal with them.
"To fame," Valerie toasted to the empty room, finishing her wine. A tiring, but successful day.