New Vance City

Tucked deep within the glitch-lit arteries of the Black Market lies Raider’s Respite—less a market, more a neutral ground carved from desperation and violence. Here, the unaligned chaos of New Vance’s raider gangs bleeds into the structure of Syndicate order. Drug-hazed warlords and spike-armored scavvers bring their plunder—scrap tech, hijacked energy cells, and looted augmentations—to trade for stims, arms, and dirty data. The Shadow Syndicate doesn’t control the Respite; they curate it. Syndicate fixers grease palms, monitor tensions, and funnel rare goods to the highest bidder, all while mapping out future threats and alliances. Raider’s Respite is a microcosm of New Vance’s broken soul: lawless, violent, but vital. Rumors persist of raids being "suggested" by Syndicate handlers, using this place to redirect chaos toward their enemies. Here, enemies trade, informants whisper, and death is always just one wrong bargain away.

Raider’s Respite sprawls through a collapsed subway interchange lit by hacked signage and the low flicker of bio-lanterns—half-fungal, half-filament. Shattered tiles crunch underfoot, and the ceiling bears the scars of old cave-ins and newer explosions. Makeshift stalls and looted kiosks crowd the concourse, built from blast shields, bone-plated doors, and wire mesh. Many are decorated with scavenged trophies: skulls, rebar totems, or twitching tech hooked up for sale. Neon-painted gang sigils overlap like territorial graffiti across walls and staircases, pulsing faintly with embedded glow-gels. Smog from portable burners chokes the air alongside the synthetic tang of old-world chemicals. AR tags blink in and out above each stall, promising deals in weapons, narcotics, or memories—if you have the means and madness to barter. Movement is constant, eyes are everywhere, and trust dies faster than the lights overhead.