"Good morning, Night City! Yesterday's Dead Man Lottery only claimed four lives per neighborhood! Surprising, right? I bet none of you placed your bets on such a low number. How many of you lost your money with your pants down? Take care of yourselves out there! Special thanks to our donut-chomping, gun-toting NCPD officers. Without their heroic efforts, the death toll would've easily hit twenty!"
Stan's voice crackled through the speakers, his sardonic tone a staple of mornings in Night City.
"The Watson Uzumaki Gang stirred up chaos in Kabuki yesterday. Those transformation-addicted psychos can't sit still for a minute. Meanwhile, Heywood's Valentino Gang seems to be in a bit of a bind. They didn't even bother celebrating Day of the Dead properly—pants up, folks! It's endless out there, I tell ya. On the other hand, Taiping Prefecture remains as peaceful as ever. Someone hand them a trophy for keeping it boring! Anyway, I'm your ironclad host, Brother Stan. Buckle up and join me as we kick off another day in the wild dream that is Night City!"
The noisy broadcast jolted Karl awake.
"Ugh... my head. Feels like someone dropped a nuke in it."
Karl groaned, leaning against a grimy wall. He opened his eyes slowly, only to be met with a dizzying explosion of neon colors. The kaleidoscopic hues assaulted his senses, sharper and more disorienting than the darkness behind his eyelids.
"Why is the damn GG card so bright... it's blinding," Karl muttered.
As his vision gradually cleared, he realized he was lying in a foul-smelling garbage dump nestled in the shadowy depths of a high-rise apartment building. Beyond a flimsy 1.2-meter railing, he could see the building's central patio stretching endlessly upward.
Above, holographic GG advertisements crammed every available space, vying for attention with a riot of flashing colors. The overwhelming spectacle left Karl feeling like he was in some dystopian fever dream.
Grimacing, he hauled his aching body out of the garbage heap and took in his surroundings.
The corridor was about a hundred meters long, populated by small clusters of futuristic-looking individuals. They stood in twos or threes, chatting or arguing, their bizarre attire and gleaming prosthetic limbs catching the dull overhead light. No one paid Karl any attention.
"What... is this place?"
Karl shook his head, trying to piece together fragmented memories. The last thing he remembered was watching a gameplay demo of Cyberpunk 2077.
And then... nothing.
The gaps in his memory made him uneasy, but one thing stood out: this place was eerily familiar.
Looking closer, he recognized the towering super-skyscraper. It was identical to the one shown in the demo—the same building where the protagonist "V" lived.
A chill ran down his spine as he turned his attention to the odd residents of the building. He had dismissed their appearance at first, but now he saw it clearly: cybernetic prosthetics.
Prosthetic limbs weren't a strange concept to Karl—they were standard fare in science fiction. But seeing them in real life was another matter entirely. Mechanical arms, glowing synthetic eyes, and even bionic torsos.
And then, there was that guy.
A resident walked past, his crotch glowing with shifting, pulsating neon colors. Rainbow patterns shimmered with every step, and Karl's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Is... is that his prosthetic down there?"
The sheer absurdity of it convinced Karl of one thing: he had traveled to another world.
Still reeling, Karl turned to look over the railing just in time to see a floating car streak by, its sleek design and impossible speed cementing his conclusion.
"Okay, fine. I'll accept it," he said, slapping his cheeks to snap himself out of denial.
This wasn't his world. No doubt about it.
At least he wasn't in some grim Warhammer 40K universe, doomed to endless misery. Night City might be a cesspool, but it was still a familiar one.
As he wandered through the dimly lit corridor, Karl waited for some kind of system prompt—a voice, a menu, anything. But no miraculous cheat powers or explanations materialized.
"Guess I'm on my own," he muttered.
He caught his reflection in a nearby puddle of dubious liquid and froze. The face staring back at him wasn't quite his own. It looked like a younger version—maybe 18 or 19 years old.
"So, I'm de-aged now? That's a silver lining, I guess."
Ignoring the resident who had drunkenly urinated nearby and almost toppled into his own mess, Karl strolled further down the corridor, looking for clues.
The flickering GG cards provided his first breakthrough. One ad caught his eye, promoting the Dead Lotto. Beneath it, the date was clearly displayed:
November 3, 2075.
Karl exhaled sharply.
"So, it's not just a random year. I'm 54 years into the future."
His mind raced. The realization of his predicament was starting to sink in, but before he could process it further, one final question tugged at his thoughts.
If he could understand this futuristic world's language effortlessly, was that some sort of ability?
Or was it just a perk of the journey?