A CYBERPUNK 2077 OC LORE CARRD

NETDIR://V

I KNOW THE NIGHT IS NOT THE SAME AS THE DAY: THAT ALL THINGS ARE DIFFERENT, THAT THE THINGS OF THE NIGHT CANNOT BE EXPLAINED IN THE DAY [...] AND THE NIGHT CAN BE A DREADFUL TIME FOR LONELY PEOPLE ONCE THEIR LONELINESS HAS STARTED

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.^{_{virtual photography by @ChromatiicV}}.
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THE COWARD DIES A THOUSAND DEATHS, THE BRAVE BUT ONE.

.Name. Vincent VIllafuerte
.Alias. V
.Birthdate/Age. October 12, 2053 (23 years)
.Gender/Pronouns. Trans Male (He/Him)
.Orientation. Homoromantic/sexual
.Ethnicity. Latino (Indígena, White), Japanese.Height. 5'7" (170.5cm)
.Build. Lean and toned, lending itself to agility and endurance over strength.
.Hair. Straight, naturally black with grown out hot pink tips. Ear length with shaved sides, typically worn gelled back.
.Eyes. Gray, human-like Kiroshi Optics.
.Piercings. Right industrial bar, left double earlobe and horizontal eyebrow.
.Tattoos. See reference folder.
.Scars/Markings. Minor scarring from various violent encounters, top surgery scars.
.Other. Minimal cyberware in forehead and arms.

.Occupation. Mercenary, solo, headhunter
.Hometown. Heywood, Night City
.Languages. English, passable Spanish
.Disabilities/Neurodivergences. ADHD, CPTSD, dyslexia, and intermittent asthma.
.Family.
- Diana Villafuerte (mother, deceased)
- Unknown Father
.Significant Other(s).
- Johnny Silverhand (Main)
- Viktor Vektor (Tower AU)
- Kerry Eurodyne (Sun AU)
- Goro Takemura (Fling).Personality. Naive, reckless and ambitious. Determined to a fault. Cynical, yet hopeful. Sharp-witted, but trusts too easily. Loyal to people who don't deserve it and keeps the ones who do at arm's length..Notable Cyberware. Kiroshi "Cockatrice" Optics, Militech "Apogee" Sandevistan, Optical Camo, Gorilla Arms, Reinforced Tendons, Blood Pump
.Weaponry. Malorian Arms 3516 (pistol), Death and Taxes (stealth pistol), Mancinella (revolver), Overwatch (sniper rifle)

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2053 – 2065
The year is 2053. You’re dragged into this world kicking and screaming, on the bathroom floor of some back alley ripperdoc’s clinic in Vista Del Rey. You’re raised not by a mother who turns tricks for Black Lace or her revolving door of violent inputs, but by the starless night sky and the din of the city, pulsing and alive. What you don’t know, you teach yourself, and what you don’t have, you loot from the corpses of gangoons who died out on the same streets they were born. It’s not ideal, but it’s already a better fate than most Heywood boys. You know no other way of life, and still, you dream.2066 – 2072
You'd always imagined death would look more final than this. The junkie stares at you even as you pull your knife from his gut, his limbs twitching like he’s still tweaking out on the s-keef he nearly killed Danny over. You find Mom in a similar state of unbeing: eyes open, inhaler still in hand, paralyzed with dreamless sleep. By the time the pigs finally come ‘round to collect her body for disposal, you’ve almost started to convince yourself she might wake up again.Your first memory of Mama Welles is one of a shotgun aimed between your eyes and a string of Spanish expletives falling from her lips as she makes to chase you away from an overflowing dumpster. The second is of her ushering you into her bar and hanging a heavy jacket around your shoulders, of a mean-looking bartender who smiles at you and slides a cup of water across the counter, of something that, if you had to guess, probably resembles home.But home does not tame the animal within you. You’ll make it the fuck out of Heywood if it kills you, and you tell Mama Welles as much one night with a pack of frozen SynthMeat pressed to your nose. She mutters something under her breath, and even after all the time you’ve spent moving goods for Padre and the ‘Tinos, you can only make out the words sons and body bags from her quiet, weary voice. A warning, by any other name; you take it as a challenge.2073 – 2075
On your twentieth birthday, you meet a dancer named Monica who’s got an estrogen pump in her thigh and the biggest fake tits you’ve ever seen. She tells you she’s leaving the city tomorrow morning for a job out in Atlanta, and because you’re young, dumb, and desperate to become someone other than yourself, you go with her. She introduces you to her pimp and her girlfriend and a flophouse full of hopeful fools like you, dope dolls peddling synthcoke and s-keef to suits with the eddies to spare on a body they don’t have to look in the eye when they fuck it. It doesn't take you long at all to join them.You can’t take a cut of a digital transaction without drawing the boss's attention, so you have to get creative with how you squirrel away your own safety net: snatching wedding rings from end tables, slipping credit shards out of a john’s pant pockets while they’re deep in a drug-fueled haze. You offer extras for cash, things the others won’t do – can't stomach – and your clients are all too eager to take advantage. When you stow your stolen earnings in a rosary box you swiped from Padre three summers ago, you actually believe you’re the one with the upper hand.Reality is quick to greet you with a backhand across the face. You aren’t sure whether it was a john who ratted you out or one of the other joytoys, and the boss never tells you, but you can acutely feel how few people are left in your corner when his lead’s pressed to your temple. Not even Monica sticks her neck out for you, the traitorous bitch. You’re alone. You are going to die alone, tossed in a landfill hundreds of miles away from the mortuary your mother's ashes were dumped behind.Fuck that. You’ve come too far to go out like this. No one stops you from beating the motherfucker dead with his own iron, from taking your savings, hopping the first train back to Night City. A rebirth, shaped like death. A new beginning that carries with it whispers of the end.2076 – 2077
So, alright, fine. Heywood has you back in its clutches after you swore you were leaving it behind for good. It's fine. There's something almost comforting in the welcome you receive from the streets that raised you, anyway, in the sewage and the carnage and the rot. Some gonk tries to pull a fast one on you and it feels good, driving your fist into his windpipe. You'd almost forgotten what it felt like to hold that power in your hand, lowly you.You're still high on the adrenaline rush when your old choom pleads with you to help settle his debts, when some Charter Hill motherfucker tells you he'll let Pepe off the hook if you klep a Rayfield for him. You figure you have nothing to lose; you've done worse, after all, for shadier people.You walk away from the job not with the keys to a factory-new Aerondight, but a battered face and an invitation to lunch from a guy who calls himself Jackie. You're not sure what to make of him – just an hour ago, he was pointing his pistol at you – but he's the first person to smile at you since you returned to the city, so when he asks for your name, you tell him straight: "V. Just V."

THE WORLD BREAKS EVERYONE, AND AFTERWARD, MANY ARE STRONG AT THE BROKEN PLACES.

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