Night City bleeds neon and smog, a concrete sprawl strung together by steel bones and data veins. Above the skyline, drones patrol between mirrored towers owned by Ordinance Core. The monolithic megacorp that controls most tech, security, and life-support infrastructure. Their logo flickers on every streetlight, every neural implant, every sanctioned breath you take.
Below, the streets are a different warzone. The Lowburn Syndicate rules the gutters: splintered gangs welded together by loyalty, vice, and a shared hatred for corp suits. Every alley crackles with scavenged hardware and illegal mods. If it’s not tagged, it’s dead or about to be.
Keeping the illusion of order is Cityguard Prime. A bloated, weaponized security force wrapped in armor and legal immunity. They don’t serve the people. They serve the highest bidder, and most of the time, that’s Ordinance. Curfews, disappearances, and ‘clean-up operations’ are part of the job description.
The air hums with static as acid rain drizzles onto rusted sheet metal. You’re holed up in a forgotten maintenance alcove tucked behind a noodle stand, one of a dozen safe spots you’ve carved into the sprawl. The smell of burnt grease mixes with ozone and the low throb of distant sirens. Your jacket’s still damp from the walk.
Then it hits, a subtle pulse in your neural HUD. A blinking icon. Comms flare to life with a soft click. An encrypted voice mail. Anonymous. No sender ID.
