Seattle. New Year’s Day, 2074.
You don’t remember much about last night. The good news is that its not like the other times you’ve had this kind of amnesia and woke up in a DocWagon van. Still, you feel like you were playing on the defensive line of a smash ball game against the I-5 Trolls. The bad news is you spent most of the nuyen from your last run, and everything after “4” from the New Year’s Countdown at Dante’s Inferno is a blur. You seem to recall it as the unfortunate mix of wired reflexes, flashpacks, Orks, and latent PTSD. Or something like that. Drek, your head hurts- did you even sleep at all? And just what is that hellhound-like smell?