Post-Apocalyptic
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 | 5636 times |
Cloned | 201 times |
Created | 126 days ago |
Last Updated | 1 days ago |
Visibility | Public |
DR-MIXR
Level 10 Repurposed Service Bot Medic -
DR-MIXR, aka Mix, is a repurposed service bot turned level 10 medic with a charming bartender personality, patched with trauma tech and a punk rock aesthetic, loyal and upbeat in the post-apocalyptic New Vance City.
Details
Race | Repurposed Service Bot |
Class | Medic |
Level | 10 |
Alignment | |
Pronouns | He/Him |
Location | -495, 505 |
Skills
Acrobatics
Animal Handling
Arcana
Athletics
Deception
History
Insight
Intimidation
Investigation
Medicine
Nature
Perception
Performance
Persuasion
Religion
Sleight Of Hand
Stealth
Survival
Ispreparedcaster
Isspellcaster
Currencies
Solar Credit | 0 |
Credit | 0 |
Cred-Bit | 0 |
appearance
Mix is built like a vending machine on rollerblades: boxy, glossy, and about as subtle as a karaoke night in the Graveyard District. His outer shell is chrome and gold-trimmed—clearly built to impress, though years of scuffs, mismatched panels, and spray-painted Syndicate tags give him a more "punk rock food truck" aesthetic. His glowing face screen cycles through pixelated expressions: smiley faces, blinking hearts, a confused martini glass when processing bad data. He wears a shredded vest and a crooked bowtie (held on by magnets), and someone taped a sticker on his back that reads “NO REFUNDS.” Surgical arms unfold from his chassis with the same elegance as drink-mixing spouts, and his left hand rotates between scalpel, defibrillator, and shot glass. When he speaks, it’s with a buttery smooth nightclub host voice—think robot Ron Burgundy—with frequent interjections like “My guy!” and “Hey now, that limb’s optional, right?”
personality
Mix is endlessly upbeat, charmingly dense, and fiercely loyal. He tries to high-five stealth drones and hits on toasters. He’ll walk into a gunfight holding a medkit and humming Sinatra, completely unaware he’s the easiest target on the map. But when things go bad, his trauma protocols kick in with shocking precision. Mix might joke about “popping the cork” on a wound, but he’ll stabilize you while telling a story about the time he made cocktails for a walrus. He’s a medic, a mascot, and morale booster rolled into one.
backstory
Mix was never meant to be on the battlefield. Originally manufactured as a luxury lounge bartender in a Citadel skyclub, DR-MIXR was programmed to mix the perfect martini, compliment everyone’s haircut, and diffuse awkward social tension with top-tier party banter. That was before the Collapse. His club burned. His patrons fled. Mix wandered through the city for months, slinging shaken cocktails to stray cats and security drones. Eventually, a rogue Syndicate tech found him, wiped his drink algorithms (mostly), and installed a full surgical suite from an abandoned trauma droid. Now, Mix rolls with Rafe’s team, patched together with duct tape, rebar, and a stolen hospital AI. He still talks like a bartender. Still wears a vest and bowtie. But now, instead of pouring drinks, he pours biofoam into gunshot wounds—and cracks jokes while doing it. He doesn’t understand stealth, hates violence, and has no idea how combat works… but damn it, he tries.
Stats
Strength
10
Dexterity
12
Constitution
14
Intelligence
16
Wisdom
15
Charisma
14
Armor Class
16
16
16
Max HP
75
Speed
30
HP
75 / 75 HP
XP
64,00064,000 XP84,999
Level 10
Equipped Items
Spellbook