The year 2075.

“Good morning, Night City! Yesterday’s death lottery saw only four casualties across all districts combined. I doubt anyone expected the number to be this low. I wonder how many of you lost everything down to your last pair of underwear. You should all be thanking the NCPD officers. If it weren’t for them—snacking on donuts while wielding their pistols and stopping you from making easy money—there would have been at least twenty deaths yesterday.

The Watson Vortex gang caused a ruckus again in the Kabuki district. These crazed addicts of cybernetic enhancements never seem to find peace for even a second. The Valentino gang from Heywood seems to have run into trouble too—so much so that they didn’t even celebrate their traditional Día de los Muertos. They’re wandering the streets like lost souls, pants in hand. It’s an endless saga day after day. Well, Pacifica remains Pacifica. I believe City Hall should award them for another day of peace. In short, I’m your steadfast brother Stan. Together, let’s begin a new day chasing dreams in Night City.”

The clamorous noise jolted Carl awake.

“Damn... my head hurts.”

Leaning against a wall, Carl opened his eyes, but the world before him was a blur of vibrant colors—a kaleidoscope assaulting his vision. The harsh brightness of the billboards dazzled him more than if his eyes had been closed.

“The neon signs are blinding...”

After his mind struggled to process the increasingly clear images, Carl realized he was lying in a stinking pile of garbage on a high-floor balcony, peering through a waist-high railing at the courtyard below.

Every inch of the space was crammed with clutter, and the billboards, though nowhere near bright enough to fill the gaps, flickered vividly, casting distorted, almost hallucinatory hues before his eyes.

Feeling his entire body ache, Carl forced himself up from the foul trash heap and looked around.

The corridor of this apartment building stretched about a hundred meters. Groups of oddly dressed people, sporting a futuristic, bizarre fashion, stood scattered along the hallway, chatting amongst themselves. None seemed to notice Carl amidst the rubbish.

“What the hell is going on here?”

As the fog in his mind began to lift, Carl strained to recall the last thing he remembered before blacking out.

Carl—surname Carl—a man with an exceedingly rare last name. His life had been ordinary: decent looks, a love for gaming, and nothing particularly remarkable. His final memory was watching a gameplay demonstration video...

And then?

His memory abruptly cut off there; the last image was simply himself watching that video.

‘What the hell?’

Recalling that gameplay demo called “Cyberpunk 2077,” Carl suddenly froze.

Because the last scene he remembered was exactly the same as where he was now.

This towering skyscraper—it was the very apartment where the protagonist V lived in the demo!

Now Carl took a serious look at the strangely dressed crowd. Initially, he’d merely glanced, noting only their odd attire. But now, observing closely, he realized the messy gadgets they wore were prosthetics—cybernetic limbs!

What are cybernetics? They’re like artificial limbs, a futuristic blend of biology and medicine seen in sci-fi art. Essentially, they replace damaged or fragile human flesh with mechanical or bioengineered parts.

Are these real?

Carl’s gaze landed on a passing resident. As he shifted his eyes downward to the crotch area, he immediately believed he had traveled through time and space.

Because it was glowing!

Damn, that guy’s crotch was literally glowing, shifting colors. Was this some kind of LGBT rainbow display?

In Carl’s experience, such flamboyance had never been seen in his home country.

He had inexplicably arrived in a place identical to the video, only to witness this striking scene... And this wasn’t even an exaggeration—the glowing man was shaking, twitching his shoulders like he had epilepsy, his illuminated nether regions bouncing wildly.

Carl made no effort to block the glowing man’s path as he stumbled by. Once he passed, Carl climbed out of the trash heap, seeking a sliver of hope that this wasn’t real.

Standing by the railing, looking up at the courtyard, a flying car whizzed across the sky.

“Well, time to accept reality.”

He slapped his grimy cheek with a filthy hand. Carl finally understood: he truly had been transported.

His original world had concept cars called flying cars, but those were nowhere near the level of the sleek, speed-blurring vehicles now soaring above. The technological gap was immense, not something bridged in a few years. Given this, what else could he do?

At least he had arrived in a cyberpunk world he was somewhat familiar with, not some dark, grim universe like Warhammer 40K. He didn’t have to wail like a wounded animal.

Carl waited by the railing for a while but heard no system prompts or notifications. Looks like he had no helpful AI companion to chat with.

Could he be a soul transmigrator? Maybe the original body’s memories would surface?

Lost in thought, a nearby resident brazenly unzipped and urinated just a short distance away. Carl caught his own reflection distorted in the strange-colored liquid.

Damn—it was his body.

Though not quite all of it.

Staring at his reflection, which looked no older than eighteen or nineteen, Carl still remembered he was actually twenty-four.

“Offering youthful services? Five stars.”

Ignoring the drowsy man nearly collapsing into his own puddle, Carl strolled through the apartment building, seeking to learn the current year.

He recalled the date when he heard the Night City announcer Stanley mention Día de los Muertos, a Mexican holiday similar to the Ghost Festival, celebrated on November 1st or 2nd. So, today must be November 2nd or 3rd.

How did he know? Because he had watched a film called “Coco,” an animation inspired by Día de los Muertos.

A few steps later, Carl found the information he sought.

Among the rotating advertisements in the hallway, one promoted the death lottery, displaying a date:

November 3rd, 2075.

2075? What the hell happened? He had no clue.

As Carl pondered this, he suddenly realized he might not be completely powerless.

The words and broadcasts around him were in an unfamiliar language, yet he understood every word perfectly.