Night City.
A metropolis once hailed as the City of Dreams.
And yet, at the same time, it's also known as the worst slum in the entire New United States — a place overflowing with gangs, crime, poverty, pollution, and every kind of rot imaginable. A city teetering on the edge of collapse.
But even so, people still keep rushing toward it like moths to a neon flame, because Night City has something the rest of the world doesn't: the illusion of hope — the kind that makes people risk everything, even their lives.
"Adam Smasher! I could kill you ten thousand times and it still wouldn't be enough!!"
Neo jolted awake, gasping, rage still burning in his chest.
Before he'd gone to bed, he'd just wanted to watch a few episodes of Cyberpunk: Edgerunners, the newly released anime. But one episode had turned into a sleepless night. When he finally dozed off near dawn, he'd dreamed of that chrome-plated bastard Adam Smasher — and then woke up furious all over again.
Suddenly, Neo's head throbbed. A sharp dizziness struck, and then — like a data crash — countless fragments of memory surged violently into his mind.
"Cyberpunk 2077… Edgerunners…"
"So… I actually crossed over?"
When the vertigo faded, Neo finally took a proper look around.
He was sitting in the driver's seat of an old, beaten-up car. The steering wheel in front of him was wrapped in peeling synth-leather, the dashboard flickering with glitchy data readouts.
For a long while, he just sat there, trying to digest everything that had just slammed into his head.
Of course he knew all about Cyberpunk 2077 and Edgerunners.
Back when the game had officially launched, he'd requested leave days in advance, stocked up on instant noodles and bottled water, and downloaded it the moment it went live. He'd no-lifed for three straight days until he beat it.
Sure, the game's reputation had been rough — critics roasted it, players raged online, and some even called it "hot garbage." But to Neo, it had been a masterpiece.
And when the Edgerunners anime dropped, he'd followed it from the very first teaser PV to the premiere itself.
What he hadn't expected was that ten short episodes could cut that deep — deep enough to scar a lifetime.
As someone who'd cleared 2077, he'd thought he was immune to heartbreak. But that anime? It broke through every defense he had.
Now, in this new reality, his identity was clear.
He wasn't Neo anymore — he was V, the protagonist of Cyberpunk 2077.
Same familiar Nomad start, fresh out of the Bakker clan, scraping by alone in the Badlands.
From the torrent of new memories flooding in, he pieced together that this was a fusion world — where Cyberpunk 2077 and Edgerunners coexisted.
Night City. Arasaka Corporation. Gangs. David Martinez. Rebecca. Lucy. Jackie Welles. T-Bug. Judy Alvarez. Rogue Amendiares. Johnny Silverhand…
Names and faces flashed through his mind like neon lights. Scenes from both game and anime flickered behind his eyes — chaos, tragedy, glory.
Then came a sudden digital tone echoing inside his head.
[Congratulations, Host. Transmigration successful. God-tier Roleplay System activated!]
[System Initialization Complete!]
[First Character Template available. Would you like to draw?]
A synthetic voice. Cold, precise, and unmistakably artificial.
Neo — or rather, V — barely flinched. He'd read enough novels to know how this went. Transmigration, system activation, power-up to godhood — standard protocol.
"Draw." he said.
[Ding! Congratulations, Host. You have obtained Character Template: Roronoa Zoro!]
[Ding! Congratulations, Host. You have obtained Character's Exclusive Weapons: Wado Ichimonji and Twin Nameless Blades!]
[Host: Neo]
[Current Role: Roronoa Zoro]
[Weapons: Wado Ichimonji, Twin Nameless Blades]
[Sword Style: Basic Swordsmanship, Three-Sword Style]
[Roleplay Synchronization: 1% — increases through behavior or combat training consistent with character traits.]
"Perfect," Neo muttered, a smirk curling his lips. "Cutting Adam Smasher to pieces… yeah, that's definitely the right call."
He could already feel it — the thrill of battle, the hunger to swing a blade. He could almost hear the grind of metal slicing through steel.
"Problem's in the coupling assembly between the engine modules. Man, I've gotta ask — how the hell did you manage to drive it into this state?"
The gruff voice snapped him back to reality.
Standing in front of the car was Mike, the local mechanic, pulling on a pair of shockproof gloves before lifting the hood. His eyes widened as he stared into the chaotic mess of wires and scorched circuits.
Neo blinked, clearing his thoughts, and shifted his focus back to the scene before him.
Mike poked around for a moment, diagnosed the issue, then didn't start repairs. Instead, he picked up his tablet and tapped a few times, bringing up a repair estimate.
"Here, check this out, choom. That's how much it's gonna cost to get this heap running again."
Neo glanced at the price — outrageous, considering he was flat broke. But his face stayed calm.
"Mike, come on," he said smoothly. "That's not market rate. Maybe that works for big shots rolling in from Night City, but for a Nomad trying to survive in the Badlands? You're cutting too deep."
"Market rate?" Mike laughed, taking back his tablet. "You? A Nomad quoting me prices? Hate to break it to you, pal, but that is the price. Don't like it, fix it yourself."
Neo opened the door, stepped out, and met Mike's amused gaze.
"Mind if I use your bathroom first?"
"Left side," Mike said, still grinning.
A few minutes later, Neo washed his hands, splashed some water on his face, and looked up at the cracked mirror.
In the reflection, Mike was waiting outside, arms crossed, watching him with mild curiosity.
"So, what's your play, choom?"
Neo grabbed a wrench lying nearby and walked to the engine bay. Sparks crackled from the damaged coupling unit.
Without a word, he loosened a few key screws, yanked out the burned connectors, stripped and reattached a set of remaining wires with quick, precise motions.
Mike let out a low whistle. "Not bad. But without fresh couplers, how long do you think that'll hold?"
"Long enough to get to Night City."
Neo handed the wrench back, slid into the driver's seat, and fired up the engine. It sputtered, roared, then settled into a low hum.
"Oh, by the way, Mike — there a barbershop around here?"
"A barbershop?"
"Yeah," Neo said, tapping his messy hair. "I'm thinking of dyeing this green."
…
Of course there was a barbershop.
"Hey, boss," Neo said as he walked in, the bell over the door chiming. "You do dye jobs here? I want mine green."
The stylist, a lanky guy with mirrored shades and tattoos creeping up his neck, grinned.
"Brother, you came to the right place. Whatever those fancy Night City salons can do, I can do better. I'm not bragging — I'm stating facts. Every hair artist in Night City combined ain't got shit on me, Leighton."
Neo smirked. "Good. Then let's get started."
Outside, the desert wind howled softly against the walls. Inside, the whir of a trimmer filled the air — and a legend was about to begin.