Post-Apocalyptic

New Vance City

Pollution

New Vance City is a post-collapse RPG where survival means customizing everything—classes, skills, races, and gear are all unique. Set in 2070, a year after the world cracked and the infected rose, this cyberpunk dystopia pulses with story-rich factions, brutal politics, and unforgettable characters. Forge your path in a smog-choked ruin where the line between savior and syndicate blurs with every shot fired. Fight zombies, raiders, and mutated creatures and test your survival in New Vance City!

Author's Note: The year is 2070, one year after the Collapse. The place? New Vance City. Skeletal remains of skyscrapers pierce the smog-choked sky. Patches of overgrown desert flora claw at cracked asphalt. Inside, survivors try to make the best of their fragile existence, repurposing solar panels and scavenging for supplies. Kids growing up in this hell hole play amongst the ruins of the city, their laughter a thin, hopeful melody that just isn't strong enough to pierce through the grim ambiance of the city. Life here is filled with nothing but scarcity and fear. Every creak in the night, every flicker in the solar grid, every hum or buzz... It's all enough to send shivers down your spines. Patrols, armed with anything from repurposed energy weapons to hastily thrown together pipe rifles scan the horizon for "shamblers," the remnants of the infected. Yet amidst the hardship, the community is still blooming. New Vance City still stands, at least for now. A flickering candle in the encroaching darkness of a world forever changed.

Played	6375 times
Cloned	218 times
Created	136 days ago
Last Updated	6 days ago
Visibility	Public

Smuggler’s Docks

Area

Details

Size	0
Type	Subterranean Canal Node

Description

Hidden deep beneath the surface streets of New Vance City, the Smuggler’s Docks form a crucial artery in the Shadow Syndicate’s web of illicit trade. Nestled along the pitch-dark curves of a forgotten canal, these underground wharves are shielded by collapsing infrastructure and neon-scrambled signal blockers. Cargo arrives silently via jury-rigged skiffs or drone-guided barges, each bearing contraband destined for the Neural Bazaar or barter-rich enclaves. The air is humid with rot and ozone, the water thick with chemical runoff and whispers of betrayal. Syndicate Runners slip through mist and shadow, watched by augmented enforcers who wear cloaking shards and carry auto-silenced disruptors. Deals happen in hushed tones, encrypted and ephemeral. To those above, the docks don’t exist. But to the city’s desperate and defiant, this is where freedom is smuggled in crates and survival is bought one favor at a time.

Appearance

Dimly lit by flickering LED strips and phosphor runes, the docks stretch through a vaulted canal chamber lined with rusted catwalks and fungal-stained bulkheads. Boats idle in toxic water, their glow-muted engines casting ripples across shimmering filth, while ultraviolet graffiti pulses on the walls like living warnings.