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!
Played | 5543 times |
Cloned | 199 times |
Created | 124 days ago |
Last Updated | 3 days ago |
Visibility | Public |
Coordinates | (-202, 640) |
Dome Theta-7, known informally as the Spiraleaf Vault, is one of the more obscure Agricultural Domes nestled on the edge of the Solar Sprawl's food grid. Unlike its larger counterparts, Theta-7 specializes in cultivating rare bioengineered crops—spiraleaf, shimmergrain, and oxide-root—used in both high-efficiency rations and energy-synth infusions. Access is limited to a small cadre of Guardian agronomists and solar technicians who maintain its delicate photonic irrigation cycles. The dome's unique spiraleaf plants twist upward in helix formations, drawing filtered light through their translucent veins, turning photons directly into caloric mass. Though efficient, the process is volatile—light too bright or systems slightly unbalanced can cause entire trays to wither or combust. Rumors speak of unauthorized attempts to extract the seeds, each failure ending in system lockdown or drone retaliation. To the Solar Guardians, Theta-7 isn't just agriculture—it's alchemy.
Dome Theta-7 gleams like a prism bubble on the ruined landscape—its semi-transparent shell catching the dusk light and scattering it into soft golds, violets, and pale greens. Inside, the air glows with a filtered amber hue, where tiered rows of spiraling plant life stretch toward the ceiling like vertical DNA strands, their veins glowing faintly with bioluminescent currents. The floor is a mesh of hydroponic glass and nutrient channels, constantly pulsing with liquid light. Drones hum quietly above the crop canopy, their wings casting intricate shadows as they flit from leaf to leaf. The ceiling is webbed with light regulators—automated panels that adjust exposure with a soft mechanical sigh. Along the perimeter, Guardian enforcers in clean bronze armor stand still among decorative solar totems, each etched with the crest of radiant order. The entire dome feels sacred, not grown but orchestrated—less like a farm, more like a shrine built in devotion to the sun.