Cyberpunk: 2075

"Good morning, Night City! Yesterday's death lottery across all districts added up to just four fatalities. I bet no one saw that number coming. Who knows how many people bet everything and lost it all? You all owe a big thank-you to the officers of the NCPD. If those donut-munching, gun-slinging cops hadn't stopped you from cashing in, the death count wouldn't have been less than twenty.

Meanwhile, the Maelstrom gang caused another stir in the Kabuki district yesterday. Those cybernetics-obsessed lunatics can't seem to sit still for even a second. Over in Heywood, the Valentinos appear to have run into some trouble. They didn't even celebrate Día de los Muertos, their traditional holiday. Instead, they were running around the streets in disarray with their pants barely on. One thing after another in this city, huh?

Oh, and Pacifica is still the same old Pacifica. I think City Hall should give them an award for keeping the peace for yet another day.

Anyway, I'm your best buddy, Stan. Let's kick off another day of chasing dreams in Night City!"

The loud and chaotic broadcast jolted Carl awake.

"Damn it. My head hurts."

Carl opened his eyes, feeling his back against a wall. His vision was blurry, a kaleidoscope of garish, clashing colors assaulting his eyes. The brightness was almost more overwhelming than keeping his eyes closed.

"These billboards are way too bright," he muttered.

As his brain slowly processed the information coming into his clearing vision, Carl realized he was lying in a stinking garbage heap in a high-rise apartment building. Through a railing barely 1.2 meters high, he could see the view of the courtyard below.

Neon signs filled every possible space, blinking and flashing in dazzling colors, as if competing to outshine one another. Their glow cast a surreal, dreamlike hue over Carl's surroundings.

Feeling a deep discomfort throughout his body, Carl forced himself to stand up, wincing at the ache in his muscles. He looked around, taking in his surroundings.

The corridor of the apartment building was about 100 meters long. Groups of people dressed in bizarre, futuristic outfits stood in clusters, chatting. No one paid any attention to Carl, who had just climbed out of the garbage heap.

"What the hell is this?"

As the fog in his mind began to lift, Carl tried to recall his last memory before passing out.

Carl—first name Carl, last name Carl. As someone with such a rare surname, Carl's life had been fairly unremarkable. Aside from being decently good-looking and enjoying video games, there wasn't much noteworthy about him.

In his memory, he had been watching a gameplay demo video for a certain game.

And then?

His memory cut off there. His last clear thought was simply watching that video.

What the hell?

As Carl replayed that last scene in his mind, he suddenly froze.

The gameplay demo he remembered was for Cyberpunk 2077.

And the last scene he remembered was identical to what he was seeing now.

This mega skyscraper… wasn't it the same one where the protagonist V lived in the demo video?!

Only now did Carl take a serious look at the bizarrely dressed people around him. At first glance, he had thought their outfits were just strange. But upon closer inspection, the jumbled mess of gadgets and machinery on their bodies—weren't those cybernetics?!

Cybernetics—artificial augmentations resembling prosthetics—were a staple of futuristic sci-fi. They were biological and medical technologies of the future, replacing defective or fragile parts of the human body with machinery or synthetic materials.

Could these things really be real?

Carl's gaze swept over a passing resident of the apartment. When his eyes wandered to the space between the person's legs—more precisely, the groin area—he immediately became convinced he had transmigrated.

And why was that?

Because it was glowing!

Damn it, that guy's crotch was glowing! And it could even change colors. What was this, some kind of LGBT-themed rainbow effect?!

In Carl's experience, something this absurd was not something he'd ever seen in his own country.

To suddenly find himself in a place identical to the one in the video, and then witness such a shocking scene… Oh, and this wasn't just a figure of speech. The guy with the glowing crotch was actually moving—his shoulders twitching as if he were having a seizure. His lower half glowed, and his body jerked uncontrollably as he shuffled along.

Standing in the garbage heap, Carl didn't block the glowing man's path. The guy shuffled past him, and Carl climbed out of the trash pile, holding onto a faint hope that all of this wasn't real. But as he stood by the railing and looked up toward the open courtyard, a hovercar flew past overhead.

"Well, time to accept reality."

Carl didn't mind using his filthy hands to pat his cheeks, snapping himself fully awake as he came to terms with his transmigration.

In his original world, while concept vehicles referred to as hovercars had been developed, they were nothing compared to the high-speed vehicles he saw zipping through the sky here. The technological gap between the two worlds wasn't something that could be bridged in just a few years. Faced with this reality, what else could Carl do but accept it?

At least he had ended up in the familiar Cyberpunk world, rather than some grimdark Warhammer 40K universe. At least here, he didn't have to wail like a banshee whose toes had been stepped on.

Carl stood by the railing for a while, waiting for some kind of system notification. Nothing came. It seemed his transmigration was a lonely one, with no cheat systems or companions to chat with.

"Could it be a soul transmigration? Maybe I'll get some memories from the original owner of this body?"

Just as he was thinking this, a carefree apartment resident walked by, pulled down his pants, and urinated not far from Carl. In the strange-colored liquid, Carl caught a glimpse of his own reflection.

"Damn, it's a full-body transmigration."

But something seemed… off.

Staring at the reflection, which looked like a young man around 18 or 19 years old, Carl still vividly remembered that he was 24.

"Did they throw in a youth restoration service? Five stars for that."

Ignoring the groggy man who nearly collapsed face-first into his own puddle, Carl strolled through the apartment building, trying to figure out the current year.

As for the date, Carl had already pieced it together from the voice of Stanley, the Night City broadcaster, which he had vaguely heard earlier. Stanley had mentioned Día de los Muertos, a Mexican holiday similar to the Ghost Festival. According to Carl's memory, it was celebrated on November 1st or 2nd. By that logic, today had to be November 2nd or 3rd.

And how did Carl know this? Because he had watched an animated movie called Coco, which was inspired by Día de los Muertos.

After walking a few steps, Carl found the exact information he was looking for.

On one of the ever-changing billboards in the hallway, an ad displayed the date.

It was an advertisement for the "death lottery," and the date written on it was:

November 3, 2075.

"2075?"

"What the hell happened? I have no idea…"

As Carl mulled over this, he suddenly realized he might not be entirely without a "golden finger."

The text and the broadcasts he had seen and heard so far were in a language and script completely unfamiliar to him. And yet, he could understand them perfectly.