Night City. Worst place to live in America, main issues; sky-high rate of violence, and more people living below the poverty line than anywhere else. The police are more violent than the warring gangs. Untouchable corporate empires own your home, your food, and your body. And yet, the city has a promise for everyone. It's all a lie, an illusion, but it's there. Nobody makes it in NC, you'll either suffer a long, miserable life as a nobody or live fast and die young, trying to hit it big and expecting something in return from a city that only takes. They call it the city of dreams, and it's not wrong- everyone here has a dream, and they'll all stay as dreams.

You're one of those big dreamers. Merc, edgerunner, solo, whatever people want to call it. One of Night City's countless wayward gonks that picked up some iron, chipped some chrome, and started getting paid to steal and kill. At the very least, you're good enough at it to still be kicking a year in, not too many can say that. It's 2073 now, and you're far off from going down as legend like Morgan Blackhand or Weyland Boa-Boa, but you're getting a name for yourself and, more importantly, access to the Afterlife.

No, not that one, but it's coming sooner or later. The Afterlife is the beating heart of Night City's mercwork, an old morgue from when people were buried, instead of burned and given a box in the columbarium, turned into the operating base of NC's best fixers and the hordes of street samurai lining up for contracts. It's the fabled 'major leagues' plain and simple. Sure, you're at the lowest rung of the major leagues and one fuck up away from being kicked out, but it's still nova. Either way, you're not getting any richer by just sitting here when you could be doing something with your time over there.

...Who are you, anyway?