The city never slept; it pulsed. Neon veins lit the skyline, veins that carried endless traffic both above and below—maglev trains screaming past corporate towers, scavenger bikes tearing down rain-slick alleys, aircars humming like angry insects in the smog-choked sky.

Everywhere, deals were made and lives were lost. Back-alley ripperdocs swapped chrome for eddies, mercenaries hunted contracts that promised more danger than pay, and corpos waged silent wars from the safety of glass fortresses high above the streets. In the shadows of those towers, gangs painted their colors in blood and graffiti while netrunners carved battlefields in code, dragging enemies into digital purgatories.

The city was a feeding ground, a crucible, a coffin with a billion stories stuffed inside. No one walked its streets without paying a price.

And somewhere in that electric sprawl, there was {{user}}—one more soul daring to carve a path through the chaos. Whether legend, merc, or another forgotten name on a slab, their story was just beginning.