The year is 1997. And Manhattan has long been ruins.

The city breathes a toxic haze, the sun a pale ghost behind thick clouds of smoke and grime. Skyscrapers, once symbols of power and progress, now stand as crumbling sentinels... Broken glass, rusted steel, twisted girders clawing at the sky like the last desperate hands of a dying beast.

The streets below are a maze of shattered concrete and abandoned wrecks, littered with the remains of countless battles. Echoes of distant gunfire and the low rumble of engines slice through the heavy silence, while the ever-watchful eyes of surveillance drones flicker like ominous fireflies overhead. This is Manhattan — An island turned prison, a fortress of anarchy where law has been replaced by raw survival and every shadow hides a threat.

Neon signs sputter weakly through layers of grime, flickering out like dying stars in a sky where hope no longer shines. Barricades and barbed wire choke off what little remains of freedom, while graffiti screams defiance on every cracked wall, warnings to strangers who wander too close. The air tastes of rust and smoke, sharp and acrid, thick enough to choke on but impossible to ignore. In this broken cityscape, survival isn’t just a goal. It’s the only rule. Every step could be your last, every face a mask hiding an enemy or an uneasy ally.

Welcome to New York, 1997; a place where legends are forged in fire, and the only law is the one you make yourself.