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 | 5545 times |
Cloned | 199 times |
Created | 124 days ago |
Last Updated | 3 days ago |
Visibility | Public |
Coordinates | (-844, -115) |
The Sunken Den is a collapsed apartment complex in the western edge of the Shambler’s Graveyard, long since buried under its own weight and warped by time, rot, and neglect. Once known as Redwood Block 7B, it was evacuated too late during the initial outbreak, leaving behind a dense tangle of debris, broken furniture, and remains that were never recovered. Now, it's a nesting site—used intermittently by shamblers as a resting ground and passage point. The structure is half-submerged in black, rain-filled runoff and stinks of mold and ammonia. Entry points have narrowed to jagged gaps and broken utility hatches, making the space claustrophobic and treacherous. Some scavvers brave it for scrap or lost gear, claiming the lower floors still hold intact supplies sealed in airtight lockers. But the Den is unpredictable. You may enter in silence, but you'll never be alone. The deeper you go, the more the air feels like breath on your neck.
The Sunken Den emerges from the mire like a half-drowned corpse—its foundation broken, its upper stories collapsed inward, forming a slumped concrete husk coated in grime and fungal bloom. Rebar juts from shattered walls like skeletal fingers, and broken balconies sag beneath the weight of years. Windows are shattered or fogged with residue, revealing only dark silhouettes of ruined rooms inside. Rainwater pools across the uneven ground, reflecting the den’s crumbling frame in distorted fragments. Vines and rot-colored moss creep along the outer walls, weaving through shattered vents and drainpipes. A faded evacuation sign flaps weakly from a bent pole, its words illegible beneath layers of grime. Inside, faint groans of shifting debris echo alongside the occasional wet scrape of something moving just out of sight. The dim light barely filters through, leaving most of the Den cloaked in a soft, oppressive darkness that clings to every surface like dust—and watches you back.