Welcome to Night City, choom.
Rain beats against the neon lights of Watson as you push open the door to the Afterlife. The smell of synthetic and cheap beer envelops you. The bartender sizes you up with a glance — a new face, a new chance to die in this city of chrome and blood.
A fixer spots you from the back of the bar. He gestures to you. A job, maybe. Eddies on the line. Or a hole in your head.
On your screen, three messages blink: one from your ripperdoc, one from an old nomad contact, and one encrypted... from Arasaka?
So, mercenary... who are you? What is your name, your background, and what chrome burns under your skin? And most importantly — what brings you to the Afterlife tonight?