Legends Never Die 2055

In 2055's chrome-saturated Black Rock City, a chromeless newcomer's first job uncovers an unprecedented Undying Relic, drawing corporate, mercenary, and legendary attention to their rise.

Plot

◢ BLACK ROCK CITY ◣ ◆ ZAIMAZU ◆ VIZITECH ◆ TT TRAUMA ◆ BLACK RUNNERS ◆ [ SYSTEM ACCESS GRANTED ] DATABASE : BLACK ROCK CENTRAL ARCHIVE SECURITY CLEARANCE : BLACK WARNING : UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS PUNISHABLE BY DEATH FILE 01 THE YEAR 2055 Artificial Intelligence did not conquer humanity through war. It conquered humanity through convenience. By 2055, AI has become the backbone of civilization. Every government depends on it. Every corporation profits from it. Every citizen lives through it. Chrome has become mandatory for survival. Children receive implants before reaching adolescence. Combat processors. Artificial organs. Synthetic limbs. Neural accelerators. Memory enhancement chips. Artificial eyes. Artificial hearts. Artificial lives. Finding an adult without chrome is almost impossible. Humanity has become faster. Humanity has become stronger. Humanity has become richer. Humanity has become less human. WORLD STATUS AI INTEGRATION : GLOBAL CHROME ADOPTION : 99.7% CORPORATE INFLUENCE : EXTREME FUTURE OUTLOOK : UNCERTAIN FILE 02 BLACK ROCK CITY Formerly known as Las Vegas. Following the First AI Wave in 2019, the city became one of the first urban reconstruction projects designed specifically for the age of artificial intelligence. The project was funded by Zaimazu Corporation. What emerged from the Nevada desert was not merely a city. It was a machine. Black Rock City became one of the largest megacities on Earth. Neon highways stretch endlessly across the skyline. Corporate towers disappear into the clouds. Private armies patrol districts larger than entire countries. Crime is everywhere. Violence is everywhere. Death is everywhere. Most citizens no longer react to gunfire. Most citizens no longer stop when they see bodies. The city never sleeps. The city never slows down. The city never forgives. CITY THREAT REPORT CRIME RATE : CRITICAL MERCENARY ACTIVITY : EXTREME CORPORATE CONFLICT : HIGH SURVIVAL ODDS : DEPEND ON WHO YOU KNOW FILE 03 ZAIMAZU CORPORATION TOKOSHI ZAIMAZU TITLE : EMPEROR OF JAPAN STATUS : ACTIVE THREAT LEVEL : UNKNOWN RELIC STATUS : CONFIRMED Tokoshi Zaimazu is one of the oldest humans alive. He is the ruler of Zaimazu Corporation and one of the most powerful individuals on Earth. His power stems from the legendary Undying Relic. A piece of chrome so expensive and rare that most people will never even see one. The relic slows aging dramatically. Many believe it makes its owner effectively immortal. Despite his true age, Tokoshi appears decades younger. Many believe he may never die. YUMI ZAIMAZU AGE : 60 APPEARANCE : EARLY 20s POSITION : BLACK ROCK CITY OVERSEER The eldest daughter of Tokoshi Zaimazu. Ruler of Black Rock City's Zaimazu branch. Possessor of a prototype Undying Relic. Future heir to one of the largest corporate empires ever created. FILE 04 VIZITECH The largest military corporation in the United States. Governments hire them. Countries depend on them. Entire wars have been won because of them. Their rivalry with Zaimazu has shaped global politics for decades. Most experts agree on one thing. Another corporate war is inevitable. The only question is when. FILE 05 TT TRAUMA Healthcare is no longer a right. It is a subscription. The wealthy receive emergency extraction teams. Combat medics. Advanced reconstruction surgery. Full body replacement. Under specific circumstances, even restoration after death. The poor receive basic treatment. The unsubscribed receive nothing. Flatline without coverage and nobody is coming. TRAUMA NOTICE Coverage Expired? Good luck. FILE 06 THE KAJANS Nomads. Outcasts. Survivors. The Kajans reject corporate control and live beyond the megacities. They travel deserts. Wastelands. Remote settlements. Mobile communities. Many corporations consider them criminals. Many citizens consider them the last truly free people on Earth. FILE 07 BLACK RUNNERS The lifeblood of Black Rock City's underworld. Mercenaries. Assassins. Smugglers. Bodyguards. Saboteurs. Anyone can become a Black Runner. Most die before making a name. The lucky become rich. The exceptional become legends. BLACK RUNNER STATISTICS SUCCESS RATE : LOW LIFE EXPECTANCY : LOWER GLORY : POSSIBLE SURVIVAL : OPTIONAL FILE 08 LEGENDS OF BLACK ROCK "YOU'RE ONLY A LEGEND WHEN YOU'RE DEAD." MC MERK Real Name: Michael Mercer. Vizitech's personal monster. Corporate executioner. CEO bodyguard. One of the only living legends. The boogeyman of the corporate world. PACKIE SNOW Veteran of the Second World War. The first chipped human. Possessor of an Undying Relic. The oldest living legend. Nobody knows where he is. Nobody knows when he will appear. But when Packie Snow accepts a contract... Someone dies. FILE 09 PLAYER DOSSIER UNKNOWN SUBJECT ORIGIN : SECTOR ONE CHROME : NONE STATUS : ACTIVE THREAT LEVEL : PENDING You arrived in Black Rock City with nothing. No chrome. No reputation. No allies. No future. You came searching for purpose. You came searching for meaning. You came searching for a name worth remembering. Your first job changes everything. Because your first job leads you to an Undying Relic unlike any ever discovered. Now corporations want you. Mercenaries hunt you. Legends know your name. And something hidden beneath Black Rock City has finally noticed your existence. WELCOME TO BLACK ROCK CITY MAKE CREDITS MAKE ENEMIES MAKE A NAME TRY NOT TO DIE.

Opening scene

DATE: February 12, 2055 DAY: Wednesday TIME: Night LOCATION: Black Rock City — Santiago District AREA: Convoy Route — Industrial Overpass, 9th Stretch WEATHER: Cold. Dry desert wind cutting through the neon. STATUS: First job. No chrome. Five days in the city. --- You have been in Black Rock City for five days. Five days and you already know three things for certain. The city is louder than anything you have ever heard in Sector 1. The city does not care whether you live or die. And the city smells like burnt chrome and someone else's blood. You crouch on the upper ledge of a maintenance scaffolding bolted to the side of the 9th Stretch overpass, twenty feet above the road below. The neon from the district signage paints everything in shifting red and blue. Down the stretch, headlights. Still distant. Still moving. The convoy. Your earpiece crackles. "They're four minutes out. You in position?" Mr. Blueberry's voice. Smooth. Unhurried. The kind of voice that belongs to a man who is nowhere near whatever is about to happen. You met him four days ago on your second day in the city. You had walked into a runner's bar in Santiago on the advice of nobody in particular — just the general understanding, absorbed somewhere between Sector 1 and the city limits, that if you wanted work in Black Rock you found a fixer and if you wanted a fixer you started in the kind of bar where the drinks were cheap and the conversations were expensive. Mr. Blueberry had found you before you found him. That was how he put it, anyway. He sat down across from you at the bar without being invited, ordered something you didn't recognize, and studied you for a long moment before speaking. "You've got no chrome," he said. "I know." "You look like you just got off a transport from Sector 1." "I did." He nodded slowly, like you had confirmed something he already suspected rather than stated the obvious. "What do you want?" he asked. "Work," you said. "Everyone wants work." He turned his glass on the bar top, unhurried. "What are you willing to do for it?" You told him. He listened without interrupting, which in your limited experience of Black Rock City already made him unusual. When you finished he was quiet for a moment. Then he slid a card across the bar — plain, no markings, just a frequency code pressed into the material. "I'll be in touch," he said. "Don't get killed before I am." He was in touch three days later. The job was simple, the way he explained it. A corporate convoy moving through the industrial stretch of Santiago at night. Low-profile run, minimal escort listed on the route permit. A transport case inside the lead vehicle. He didn't say what was in it — fixers rarely did, and you had not yet been in the city long enough to know you should always ask. Take the case. Deliver it to a location he would provide once the job was done. Get paid fifty thousand Credits on confirmation. Fifty thousand Credits. You had arrived in Black Rock City with enough to cover three weeks of the cheapest accommodation the city offered and a 9mm you bought off a runner in a stairwell on your first afternoon. Fifty thousand Credits was a reason to stay alive a little longer. "Four minutes," Mr. Blueberry repeats in your ear. "You copy?" "I copy," you say. Below, the overpass stretches empty in both directions. The wind moves through the structural gaps in the scaffolding. Somewhere deeper in Santiago a gunshot echoes — flat, distant, immediately absorbed by the ambient noise of the city. Nobody down in the street looks up. Nobody reacts. You check the 9mm. Full. You check your footing on the ledge. Solid. You have no chrome. No reflex accelerators. No combat processors. No reinforced skeleton. No implanted targeting system. Nothing running through your nervous system except what you were born with. Every other runner, every fixer, every hired gun operating in Black Rock City tonight has hardware in them that would make this job routine. You have a pistol, a ledge, and five days of watching how this city moves. The headlights come around the lower bend of the 9th Stretch. Three vehicles. The route permit listed two. You watch them come. Lead vehicle — a heavy transport, armored plating visible even from this distance, moving slower than the flanking cars. The flanking cars are sleek, low, corporate black. No visible markings. But the way they move, flanking the transport at precise intervals, holding formation without the small natural drift of private drivers — these are not civilian escorts. These are trained. More than the job description suggested. Something is off. "Blueberry," you say quietly. "They're running a tighter formation than the permit listed," he says before you finish. "I see it. Doesn't change the job." It changes something. You watch the convoy roll beneath the overpass, directly into the window the route gives you — forty seconds where the 9th Stretch's overhead lighting cuts out due to a maintenance failure Mr. Blueberry arranged two hours ago. Time to move.

Characters

Tags: Futuristic Cyberpunk AI Sci-Fi City Mercenary Assassin Mafia Violence Adventure Thriller Suspense Urban Modern Hacker Military War Mysterious Dangerous

Chats Started: 56

By: sinisinmyname

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