Night City originally didn't have a prison.
Not because the place was blessed with outstanding people or natural harmony—but because there were too few criminals left alive.
Under normal circumstances, anyone who broke the law was shot dead on the spot by the NCPD. On the rare occasion a few unlucky bastards survived, they wouldn't even last long enough—just a few days—before being carved up by Night City's medical institutions.
Under those conditions, a prison was simply unnecessary.
But ever since V rose to prominence, Night City had completely transformed. People could survive without turning to crime, and many even chose to turn themselves in voluntarily, severing ties with their past—sacrificing present freedom in exchange for a future.
And so, a modestly sized prison was built out in the Badlands.
The Badlands.
If you think Night City isn't safe, try going there and say that again.
This vast region borders the eastern and southern edges of Night City and is actually composed of eight distinct zones, each with its own character.
To the south lay Biotechnica's protein farms and Kang Tao's photovoltaic power station on the Jackson Plains. Not far from them was Laguna Bend—a man-made lake created by the Badlands Dam. It cost tens of millions of eurodollars, an industrial miracle that stored two hundred million liters of toxic chemical waste and submerged hundreds of homes beneath its surface.
Yet if you arrived at sunset, you'd witness the Badlands' most striking view. The dying sun reflected off poisoned waters, despair dialed up to the max—as if the apocalypse had already arrived. And if you wanted to truly savor hopelessness, you could always take a swim.
To the east were the Sunset Motel, Sunshine Motel, Red Peaks Trailer Park, the Stone Ridge Plain, and the Sonoran Desert stretching endlessly beyond.
This desert served as Night City's landfill. The stench lingered year-round—you could smell it even in the city. Severe pollution, chemical corrosion, acid rain—nothing grew there.
Anyone passing through needed to move fast. If you were smart, you'd bring armed escorts, just in case you ran into the Wraiths.
The gang was made up of exiled Nomads. You could think of them as vultures—except vultures at least wait for their prey to die. The Wraiths were happy to help with that part themselves.
They said everyone should visit the Badlands once in their lifetime.
It sounded like something the Wraiths would say—and in fact, it was. Just like tourist ads everywhere: you must come here once, you must see that once. All spread by locals who wanted to lure you in and carve you up.
V had always focused her attention on Night City itself and paid little mind to the Badlands.
But as law and order inside the city steadily improved, the criminals who could no longer survive there fled outward—into the wasteland. The Wraiths grew stronger by the day.
After the war with Arasaka, the Wraiths became bold enough to harass Night City's outskirts. V was in Europe attending meetings at the time, so she ordered Arasaka to provide equipment support while the NCPD handled the situation.
Her original plan was simple: patrols, deterrence, keep the Wraiths in check until she returned.
What she didn't expect was that the NCPD would launch a full offensive.
Using the Sunset Motel as a forward base, they pushed steadily outward, smashing the Wraiths so badly that the gang was forced to scatter like frightened animals to avoid total annihilation.
Unfamiliar with the terrain, the NCPD didn't pursue recklessly. Instead, they set up checkpoints, installed highway surveillance, expanded patrol routes and security stations—methodically bringing the outskirts of Night City under NCPD control.
V was genuinely surprised.
The NCPD was infamous for corruption—officers shaking people down like a licensed gang. And now they'd pulled off something this clean?
Who was leading this unit—and whose subordinate were they?
Carter submitted the squad leader's file.
V immediately understood.
Because the name was River Ward.
She'd dealt with this man in her previous life. Idealistic. Responsible. A strong sense of justice. Deeply devoted to his family. Loved life. Reliable in every way—
Except for the small detail that he wanted her body.
She'd rejected River Ward on the water tower, even improvised stories about three fictional ex-boyfriends on the spot. But objectively speaking, River Ward embodied nearly every virtue a man could have. Devoted at home, deadly in the field.
He'd once believed becoming an NCPD detective was the brightest future possible. But in the old Night City, holding onto ideals was far harder than climbing the ranks.
Every day, River struggled in a moral quagmire: uphold his principles—or sell his soul.
In her previous life, he chose the latter.
He was expelled from the NCPD. Rumor had it he planned to become a cook.
Now, with V around, that probably wouldn't be necessary.
"Groom River Ward as the next NCPD Commissioner."
"Yes." Carter acknowledged calmly.
This was a minor matter. With Carter's position as Arasaka Counterintelligence Director, a simple notification to City Hall was already more than sufficient.
River Ward was suddenly promoted.
Higher position. Better pay.
He rented a new apartment and moved his sister's family out of Red Peaks Trailer Park and into the city—unknowingly sidestepping his nephew's grim fate of being kidnapped.
"Thank you so much, River."
His sister, Joss Ward, invited him to dinner in the new place. "I'll start looking for a job tomorrow. I'll pay you back the rent as soon as I can."
"No rush." River took a swig of beer. "I just got promoted—pay's gone up quite a bit."
Then he added, seriously, "But you should still find work. Randy and the others need to go to school. Compulsory education doesn't charge tuition, and learning shards are provided by the schools—but software upgrades and better neural interfaces are unavoidable. You need to prepare for that."
"Don't worry, though. Night City's rebuilding from the ground up. You'll find something soon, sis."
"Yeah…" Joss nodded, eyes glistening. "I never even dared to imagine a life like this before. Living in the city… the kids getting an education."
"Oh, right—there's something called medical insurance, isn't there? Only a few dozen eurodollars a month? Cuts medical and cyberware replacement costs in half?"
"Not every condition's covered, and the cyberware has to be approved models—but yes. Medical insurance is real. It's saved a lot of lives."
Joss immediately grew more energized.
"Then I'm buying it. Even if I have to sell everything I own! If one job isn't enough, I'll work two!"
River laughed.
"It's not that extreme. Wages in Night City are pretty high now. The kids also get child subsidies. Full premium plans might be tough on one salary, but mid-tier is no problem. Take it slow. Things will only get better."
"Yes… the future really will get better."
Joss smiled. "I never even dared to think about the future before. But thanks to President V, people like us finally see hope."
"President V really is incredible," River said. "Even the rot inside the NCPD has cleared up a lot."
"Maybe someday, sis… maybe I really can fulfill my dream. As a police officer, protecting you, protecting Randy and the others, protecting the people of Night City."
"You will, River. You definitely will."
Joss raised her beer. "To your dream coming true."
River clinked cans with her.
"And to President V—may she always stay healthy."
"Yes! May President V live a hundred years—and may all her enemies drop dead in a second!"
They laughed together and drained their beers.
"Oh, by the way—"
Joss set her can down, grinning mischievously.
"When are you bringing me a sister-in-law?"
River immediately started coughing, his dark face turning red.
"My main focus right now is work—"
"Work is important, but family matters too. You're not getting any younger. You can replace a hand cannon anytime—but ammo? That's on you. Once you're older and the fire's gone, you won't even be able to make any. Then you'll regret it!"
"Cough—cough—!"
River coughed even harder.
He was a man who longed for family, for a wife and children. In the end, he nodded.
"Alright. I'll keep an eye out. When I find someone suitable, I'll bring her back and let you help me vet her."
"That's more like it. As long as you like her, my opinion doesn't matter. I'll cook my best dishes for you both—whether it works out or not, your sister will always support you."
"Thank you, sis."
River Ward had the best dinner of his life.
And then, shortly after, he was sent to prison.
Of course, not for committing a crime—but as an undercover operative.
His mission: to approach two inmates named Solomon Reed and Alex, gain their trust, and assess their value as potential cooperating witnesses.
As for who they were meant to testify against—
President of the New United States, Rosalind Myers.
When River heard the assignment, his first reaction was that it was completely insane.
Forget a low-ranking NCPD detective—even the entire NCPD had no standing to challenge the President of the NUSA.
There was no way this order came from the Commissioner.
And indeed, it hadn't.
A man named Carter appeared in the Commissioner's office—
Director of Counterintelligence, Arasaka.
A truly untouchable figure.
Carter didn't coerce him. He simply laid out the mission objectives and details. The decision was River's.
Knowing he'd been dragged into something massive, River hesitated before asking:
"Mr. Carter… is this good for Night City?"
"Absolutely."
"How can you prove that?"
"This is President V's order."
"…Then I'm in."
And just like that, River Ward was sent to a prison located deep in the Badlands.
The prison was located in the Sonoran Desert, far from any major roads. Nothing lived there—not even birds bothered to shit on the place. Even if someone managed to break out, they'd still have to cross kilometers of empty wasteland before they could truly call it an escape.
And long before that happened, Zetatech octant drones would lock onto the target—deploying the same overwhelming firepower designed to suppress large-scale riots to put an end to the escape attempt.
A pointless farce, concluded swiftly and decisively.
After hours of jolting travel, the prison transport rolled through the gates.
The moment River Ward stepped out, a rancid stench of decayed chemical waste hit him square in the face. He figured that once this mission was over, he'd probably need a brand-new pair of lungs.
Turning toward the source of the smell, he saw the landfill.
Or rather—it would be more accurate to say the prison itself had been built inside the landfill.
The inmates' primary labor was sorting and clearing the trash mountains, preparing the area for future redevelopment.
President V really hasn't given up on the Badlands, River thought.
I knew someone with her vision wouldn't let this festering tumor keep poisoning Night City.
His optimism lasted exactly one second.
A boot slammed into his ass.
"Quit fucking staring. You'll have plenty of time to dig through trash later. Move forward. And don't even think about running—try it and I'll shove my barrel up your ass."
River complied without protest.
The guard's attitude was terrible, but River understood it well enough. If you wanted to keep a pack of animals in line, you had to be more vicious than they were. Back when he'd first joined the NCPD, he'd tried treating everyone with kindness—meeting sincerity with sincerity.
Reality had taught him otherwise.
Identity verified.
Inmate intake confirmed.
Incarceration protocol injected via personal link.
All combat cyberware forcibly disabled.
Then he was stripped naked, disinfected, washed, issued a fresh prison uniform and his personal effects—before being escorted to his cell.
"There's a new one," a guard muttered. "Don't make it too messy. I don't want paperwork. Clear?"
"Yes, sir, don't worry," someone replied eagerly. "Just a welcome ceremony. Won't cause you trouble."
The guard nodded and left.
River set his belongings down beside his bunk. The moment he bent over, a hand grabbed his ass.
He turned around.
The cell boss—a slab of meat with a face—leered at him.
"Solid muscles. Bet that sphincter's nice and tight too."
River had expected this.
Calmly, he replied, "Sorry. Not my thing."
"Oh? Picky, are you?" The boss snorted. "I used to run with the Tyger Claws. Who the fuck are you supposed to be?"
"NCPD."
"Shit. A cop."
The boss squinted. "What'd you do to get in?"
"Corruption."
"Hah. Can't say I'm surprised."
He waved his hand, and several men closed in.
"Sorry, Officer. Rules are rules. We gotta loosen your skin a bit."
River glanced at the men circling him.
Through the gaps, he saw Solomon Reed in the corner, silently doing push-ups, and Alex sprawled across her bunk, snoring loudly.
In the end, River crouched down and covered his head.
"Good. Obedient."
The boss grinned. "I'm starting to like you. Alright, boys—discipline him."
The thugs surged forward, fists and boots raining down on River.
Ten minutes later, they stopped.
River staggered to his feet, clutching his stomach, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.
"Well?" the boss asked smugly. "You satisfied now, brother?"
The future NCPD Commissioner forced a bitter smile.
"You already beat me up. What's the point of asking?"
"Fair enough. You know the rules—that's good."
The boss clapped him on the shoulder.
"Don't take it personal. Everyone gets the same treatment. Rules can't be broken here. I respect you—you've got guts. We'll skip the rest of the entertainment."
Early the next morning, River Ward—face swollen and bruised—was sorting scrap atop a mountain of garbage.
With all combat cyberware disabled, the work was exhausting.
Yet most inmates seemed oddly enthusiastic.
The reason was simple: they were paid.
Inmates received only one-third of their wages. The remaining two-thirds went toward repairing the damage they'd caused—or compensating their victims.
There was almost nothing to spend money on inside the prison beyond basic necessities. At most, you could buy a few packs of cigarettes from guards. Even so, over time, that one-third added up to a respectable sum.
More importantly, it was stable.
No stabbing people.
No getting stabbed.
Just picking through trash to make a living.
For some inmates, that kind of peace bred remarkable motivation.
The most obvious example was Alex.
Unlike Reed's quiet, low-profile demeanor, Alex was loud and flamboyant—most notably in her near-fanatical work ethic.
To put it simply: she'd been inside for fourteen weeks, and every single week she ranked first in work points.
When others sorted trash, she sorted trash.
When others rested, she kept sorting trash.
A textbook case of work me to death or die trying.
At first, a few inmates tried to mess with her.
The result?
Seven burly men were taken down—by her alone.
After all, she was an FIA agent. Even without access to combat cyberware, her raw combat skills were far beyond anything street trash could imitate.
Alex broke all seven men's legs and issued a warning to the entire prison:
"Anyone who interrupts my trash-picking ends up like this."
The whole prison went silent.
Not because of the violence—but because of the reason.
You went that far… just for this?
How much do you love this job?!
The answer was: an obscene amount.
Other inmates were criminals.
Alex wasn't.
She received full wages—not much less than what she'd made running a bar, and without nearly as much bullshit.
Inside the prison, Alex ate, slept, worked, ate again, slept again—over and over.
After fourteen weeks, with top work-point bonuses included, she'd earned more than the bar had made in the same time span.
She'd once thought about escaping.
Now?
She genuinely wanted to serve the full sentence.
River Ward soon noticed Alex darting all over the trash mountains.
Judging by her mental state, she didn't look like someone serving time at all.
Solomon Reed, on the other hand, was the complete opposite.
He wandered around at a leisurely pace, occasionally picking a few electronic components out of the garbage—calm and unhurried, like a retired cadre killing time after leaving office.
Two strange individuals.
That was the future NCPD Commissioner's first impression of his mission targets.
When the day's labor ended, the inmates were escorted back to their cells.
Meal-delivery robots rolled in, distributing dinner: orange-flavored protein bars and two synthetic meatballs.
The orange flavor came from added vitamins—essential for inmates who worked long hours in toxic environments. The synthetic meatballs were meant to replenish protein lost through physical labor.
River was quite satisfied.
Back when he'd first joined the police force, even the food had been worse than this.
He was just about to grab one of the meatballs—
When someone snatched it away.
River looked up.
It was the cell boss.
This time, River glanced toward Solomon Reed in the corner doing push-ups, then at Alex snoring loudly on her bunk.
And he didn't back down.
"That meatball is mine."