New Vance City

Deep beneath the fractured gridlines of New Vance City, Augmentation Alley serves as a gleaming spine of wetware chaos in the Black Market’s neon labyrinth. This corridor isn't officially mapped, but if you can follow the stench of burnt synthskin and the hiss of overclocked servo-arms, you'll find it. Here, rogue surgeons called "chrome butchers" swap flesh for fiber, nerves for networks. Enhancement isn’t a luxury—it’s currency, survival, and sometimes identity. The Shadow Syndicate controls this stretch like a nervous system: silent, reactive, and ruthlessly adaptive. They broker deals for ghostware, illegal AI patches, cloaking shards, and black-market limbs with fingers like scalpels. For many, Augmentation Alley is the last stop before a new self—or no self at all. Most come seeking strength. Some come to disappear. Nobody leaves unchanged.

Augmentation Alley is a tight, subterranean artery lit by dying neon and guttering sparks. Cracked pavement runs beneath mismatched wiring, and every wall is tattooed with UV-reactive graffiti—some cryptic, some medical, some threatening. Vendor stalls sprawl like tumors, stitched together from scavenged panels, surgical tarps, and hacked med-pods. Open operating slabs sit under flickering fluorescents, flanked by tool trays that clatter with bone saws, injector rigs, and neural splicing rods. Steam seeps from venting coolant lines, clouding augmented silhouettes in ghostly halos. Discarded implants gleam beneath grates, and old-world mirrors reflect warped half-faces—some polished, others melting. AR advertisements glitch overhead, offering discounts on loyalty upgrades and muscle-thread weaves. The whole place thrums like a living circuit board wired straight into desperation.