Counterstrike: No Clean Fight

Valerie Point Of View

"Valerie! Did you knowingly take the illegal performance drugs before your championship match?"

"Is it true your gold title belt is being stripped away right now?"

"How long have you been lying to your fans and cheating your team, Valerie?"

The questions hit me like physical blows, coming from every direction at once. Flashing white lights from news cameras, a huge crowd of reporters rushed toward me like hungry dogs, shoving long microphones so close to my face that the soft foam covers hit my lips

I kept my head down and locked my jaw tight. My knuckles were still tightly wrapped in white cloth tape, stained red with dried blood from the fight inside. Just twenty minutes ago, I was standing inside the ring. My hand was held high in the air by the referee. I had finally won. I had proven that my family’s small gym could build a real champion.

Then came the knocking on my locker room door. Two league officials in black suits stepped inside. They handed me a small piece of white paper and told me my pre-fight blood test came back positive for banned chemical enhancers.

I fell to my knees and begged them to check the sealed water bottle my team gave me. I swore on my father's life that I had never touched a drug in my life. They did not care. They did not retest anything. The paper was signed, my title was taken, and my career was dead.

The steel doors behind me got shut with a loud bang, cutting off the warmth of the arena. The cold night air hit my face instantly, dripping with the freezing rain. I pulled my thin jacket tight around my chest, but the icy water soaked through the fabric in seconds. Behind those doors, the giant stadium was still vibrating with noise. Only they were not cheering for me anymore. The crowd was screaming insults, calling me a liar, a disgrace, and a dirty fake.

"Clear the way! Move back!" a loud voice came through the rain.

A security guard shoved a photographer backward to clear a tiny walking space toward a black car waiting at the end of the alley. But a tall reporter in a dark leather jacket grabbed my wet sleeve, yanking me back into the camera lights.

"Answer us, Valerie!" he shouted, thrusting his camera right in front of my eyes. "What do you have to say to the fans who spent their money to watch a cheat?"

Something inside my chest snapped. Three long years of cracked ribs, torn muscle tissue, brutal weight cuts, and waking up at four in the morning every single day boiled over into pure fire.

I did not pause to think. My body moved on pure instinct.

I grabbed his wrist with both hands, twisted my hips and drove my elbow straight into his breastbone. He let out a loud gasp of lost air and dropped his camera into a muddy puddle, stumbling backward into three other reporters. The whole crowd gasped in shock, and the camera flashes exploded into a blinding storm of light, catching the disgraced fighter attacking a member of the press.

"Valerie, stop! Please don't hurt anyone else!" a sweet, tearful voice called out from above us.

I wiped the cold rainwater out of my eyes and looked up toward the metal fire escape platform.

Roxanne Blake was standing at the top of the metal stairs. She was dry and glowing under two large black umbrellas held by venue security guards. A shiny silver jacket was over her shoulders, and her long hair was styled to perfection.

She held a black microphone close to her glossy lips, speaking directly to a national television camera crew. "Please, do not press criminal charges against her! She is under so much stress right now. Valerie was like a real sister to me... To find out she was using dirty shortcuts behind our backs hurts so much. But I promise all of you, I will bring honor back to our division in the next championship match."

The reporters let out a collective soft sigh, writing down every fake word coming out of her mouth.

Then, Roxanne looked down the long metal staircase. Her dark eyes locked straight onto mine through the falling rain.

The fake tears in her eyes disappeared instantly. The sad look on her face melted away, replaced by a slow, sharp smile. Her mouth twisted into a small, evil laugh that only I was close enough to see.

She was laughing at my ruin.

She was the exact person who handed me that sealed water bottle inside the dressing room before I walked out down the ramp. She was the one who patted my shoulder and told me to drink every drop to stay strong. She threw away my entire life, erased my hard work, and dragged my name through the dirt just so she could take my main event spot.

Pure, burning rage poured through my body. I lunged up the wet metal steps, my boots slipping against the wet iron treads. "You!" I screamed, pulling my right fist back. "You put it in my water!"

Before my fist could hit her face, two venue guards tackled me hard around my waist. The air rushed out of my chest as my ribs slammed against the sharp edge of the steel steps.

"Get her off the property now!" someone yelled from the top platform.

The guards dragged me down the stairs, my knees scraping against the rough steel edges, ripping my workout pants and cutting my skin. They hauled me down the long concrete path, threw me out through the gates, and slammed them shut, locking it behind them.

I crashed onto my hands and knees in the cold mud outside the venue. The rain beat down on my back as I lay there in the dark, listening to the crowd inside screaming and cheering Roxanne's name.

I did not cry. I squeezed my muddy hands into tight, hard fists, staring up at the bright lights glowing over the tall brick stadium wall.

Suddenly, two bright yellow car headlights cut through the dark alley rain. A familiar, beat-up gray sedan pulled up to the curb right next to the mud puddle.

The driver's door opened slowly. A young woman stepped out into the pouring rain. She moved carefully, leaning heavily on a wooden walking cane. Around her waist, under her wet jacket, the stiff black outline of a medical back brace was visible.

It was my older sister, Sofia.

Three years ago, Roxanne Blake had delivered a dirty, illegal hit in the ring that shattered Sofia's back and stole her career forever. That was the night I swore to step into the ring and take back our family's honor.

Sofia did not look at the news cameras or the giant stadium. She looked straight at me. She limped through the mud, reached down with her free hand, and grabbed my wet arm, pulling me up with all the strength she had left.

"Get up, Valerie," Sofia said softly, her voice steady and warm against the cold wind. "Don't let them see you on the ground."

I stood up on my shaking legs, wiping the mud off my face. "Sofia... I lost everything. They took the belt. Roxanne set me up."

Sofia pulled a warm wool blanket from the back seat of the car and wrapped it tightly around my wet shoulders. She looked up at the stadium lights, her dark eyes cold and filled with quiet fire.

"They took my spine three years ago, and today they took your belt," Sofia whispered, helping me into the passenger seat. "But they didn't take your hands, Val. We are going home, and we are going to figure out how to take everything back."

She closed the car door, limped back around to the driver's side, and drove us away.