Night City. A city fueled by people's dreams. It is located in California, an independent metropolis under the complete control of megacorporations. And although geographically it was still part of the United States, in reality, Night City was a lawless land, free from the control of California or even American law. For years, it has been rife with corporate conflict and endless gunfights. In 2077, the people surviving inside it, facing rampant cyber-terrorism and chaos, had long since fallen into despair.
Berry and V were now trapped in this living hell. As soon as they entered the city, Jackie acted like a gold-star tour guide. He showed them everything: the skyscrapers and debauchery of the rich, and the street gang shootouts, the cancerous-like growths of homeless encampments, and mountains of trash. Prosperity and poverty, polarized to the extreme.
The El Coyote Cojo, a Welles family establishment. It was currently run by Jackie's mom, Guadalupe Alejandra Welles, though everyone just called her Mama Welles. She was an important figure in Heywood. Even the most hardened Valentino members had to show her respect.
There was even one time the priest said that Mrs. Wells wasn't just kind-hearted—she was tougher than all the punks in the district combined.
But that didn't change the fact that she was everyone's idea of a formidable mom. Whoever stepped into her home would always have their troubles listened to—and walk out with a delicious meal in their stomach. Like all mothers, she would give anything to protect her child, even her life.
Back in those first two or three penniless months, V and Berry squatted in the attic above the second floor, living with Mrs. Welles. Mrs. Wells was enthusiastic—too enthusiastic. To her, V and Berry's arrival must have fulfilled her wish of having daughters: a sensible older sister and a delicate younger sister—double the satisfaction. Those days Jackie walked around with a grin on his face.
Maybe it was the way like-minded people attract each other, but somehow, in this city full of junkies and car thieves, Jackie really did know a few dependable friends.
There was Misty—Jackie Wells' girlfriend—who owned the shop "Misty's Esoterica," located right above Viktor Vector's clinic.
And Viktor—retired boxer, the best ripperdoc in Night City—handled gunshot and knife wounds, while Misty tended to broken hearts.
Misty's esoterica shop wasn't large, packed with exorcism incense sticks, yarrow stalks, Tibetan Book of the Dead shard-chips, and charms for good luck.
Although Misty had more customers than Viktor, that clever, sensitive woman always managed to find time to help friends in need—sometimes even acting as a full-time nurse.
Viktor's full name was Viktor Vector.
A ripperdoc—half doctor, half engineer.
Whether your guts were hanging out or you'd taken a bullet, he could patch you up in no time.
Is your cyberware broke? He'd either fix it or swap in something new—legal or not.
Viktor wielded both scalpel and screwdriver with absolute mastery, with years of clinical experience behind him.
What people didn't really know was that Viktor—who looked like a harmless old man—was actually one of Night City's living legends. For years, he'd only hoped everyone would forget that. He was a man of principles, an old-school street tough who still upheld the honor and ethics he learned in the Devil Boxing Club.
He'd seen enough people to strip your thoughts apart like peeling garlic, but he genuinely liked V and Berry. Maybe it was their vitality and youthful passion—something that comforted him, reminding him that this city still had people with conviction and principles.
In Night City, you couldn't walk ten meters without seeing a surveillance cam. Some shops even had automated gun turrets that could shred a thief into rags. So if you didn't want a mission to fail, you needed a skilled netrunner—someone like T-Bug.
A Black woman, bald, dressed in hacker-black. Her look was as sharp and simple as her work style. Jackie's trio often teamed up with her. After enough jobs, they were practically partners—though she'd never admit it.
But for all her hacking skills, Bug had a philosophical streak. She liked to quote Greek thinkers no one understood, as if those drunken old men from thousands of years ago still had something to say—Jackie's words, not mine.
Unlike the hot-headed rookie hackers, T-Bug's ambition was modest: work safe until retirement, save enough, and leave this damned city forever. Of course, in Night City, safe retirement might as well be a fairy tale.
People on the streets often said: to be a merc, you needed to know how to use a gun. But that was only half of it—the other half was finding brothers who'd cover your back or bail you out when you landed in a cell. Go solo in this city, and you'd be swallowed whole.
Luckily, with help from their friends, V and Berry truly got their start.
The three of them—Jackie, V, and Berry—hustled nonstop on the streets, taking every kind of job from every fixer in town, finishing them with grenades, guns, or katanas.
Maybe they'd be grabbing some poor bastard who owed a casino a mountain of debt. Or stealing corporate secrets from some corp dog. Or outright robbing a gang, sweeping both their cash and their goods—and then getting their teeth kicked in by whoever came for payback.
And after that? Obviously: more guns, more grenades, more katanas—to get even.
In Night City, every day was different—but always thrilling. Each morning you had to check whether you were still alive, or already reporting to Hell.
Gunfights and explosions became the background music of everyday life. And at night, they'd blow their hard-earned eddies at a bar in front of the strippers. That was a merc's life.
Gradually, the trio made bigger waves. Their street reputation grew—and so did their income.
V and Berry rented an apartment in Megabuilding 10—a sky-piercing concrete hive in Little China, Watson. Misty and Viktor's shops were just a short walk away on Buck Street.
This meant the two officially started living together—though they'd already shared a bed back in the clan days.
Berry used her money to rent an abandoned repair booth in the megabuilding's parking garage, where she tinkered with her own projects. But because it earned nothing, she had to mooch off V for food.
Simply put: Berry was living off V's "soft rice." And V didn't mind at all.
Such was Night City—absurd but far from beautiful. A city that could swallow you whole, yet still possessed its strange allure.
Just as the radio always said:
"Good morning, Night City!!!
This is your man Stanley, and our City of Dreams begins another long day."
"I love this city the way you love your mom—back when she dumped you at the orphanage, and now she stops you on the street to bum a smoke."
"Every day, a hundred rookies show up—but only half last a year. And that's in a good year!"
"Why do they keep coming? To become street legends like Morgan Blackhand or Rogue."
"Remember the saying: the timid starve, the bold feast."
"But fame kills—live too wild, die too young. That's not even counting the ones who get their skulls popped open."
"Where do Night City legends gather?"
"In the graveyard."
"In this town, heroes aren't judged by birth—only by whether they can carve out their own path."
"This is Night City."
"This is the City of Dreams."