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 | 5556 times |
Cloned | 200 times |
Created | 124 days ago |
Last Updated | 3 days ago |
Visibility | Public |
Coordinates | (325, -93) |
The Scavenger’s Path is a perilous artery slicing through the shattered outskirts of New Vance City, where desperate souls risk everything for scraps of the old world. This jagged route weaves between collapsed overpasses and skeletal remains of factories, a gauntlet where shamblers lurk and the air hums with tension. Scavvers—rugged survivors armed with whatever they can salvage—navigate this deathtrap, facing constant threats from the undead, raiders, and sudden structural collapses. Makeshift camps cling to the ruins, their fires flickering as traders barter rare tech and food under watchful eyes. The Path is a lifeline for the Perimeter Watch, a harsh proving ground that feeds New Vance’s survival economy, fueling a grim culture where every risk might mean a new weapon or an early grave.
The Scavenger’s Path is a scarred scar weaving through a wasteland of rusted girders, shattered concrete, and tangled wires. Dust and smog swirl amid jagged metal carcasses of old-world machinery, their surfaces pocked with scorch marks and faded warnings. Patches of hardy desert flora push through cracks in asphalt stained by spilled oil and dried blood. Flickering neon remnants from broken signs sputter faint glows in the ever-present twilight, casting eerie shadows that dance over abandoned vehicles crushed beneath fallen girders. Makeshift tents and lean-tos formed from scrap sheet metal and tarp cluster in pockets, lit by sputtering lanterns and guarded by wary eyes peering through cracked gas masks. Occasionally, the low groans of shamblers echo across the ruins, a chilling reminder that death and desperation walk hand in hand here.