Cyberpunk 2077 still inspires mixed feelings within me. I’ve been enjoying my recent playthrough on PS5 significantly more than I did on PC back in 2020. Though my initial time with the game wasn't too buggy, I did hit a hard crash or two and it tended to run hot and slow on my gaming laptop. Now, years later, the bugs have been squashed, the game runs smoothly, and I can relax on my couch while making my way through Night City at a leisurely pace.
Even now that the bugs are fixed, Cyberpunk 2077 still shows signs of the rush CD Projekt Red was in to get it out the door before it was ready. I've written before about the ways the game doesn't do much to reward exploration and how you'll run into locked doors far more often than an exciting discovery if you venture into back alleys. But, more than the lack of interiors, Cyberpunk 2077 reveals its rushed production in the thinness of its writing.
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To explain what I mean, I think it's helpful to look at a moment when Cyberpunk 2077 is, narratively, firing on all cylinders. Colloquially known as "Sinnerman," the quest line featuring Joshua Stephenson begins with that quest, moves into a second act called "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out," and concludes with "They Won't Go When I Go." It kicks off with a call from Wakako Okada, a fixer who runs a pachinko parlor in Japantown, asking you to rub out Stephenson, a convicted murderer who is out of prison on leave. If you agree to the quest, you meet with Bill Jablonsky, the husband of one of your target's victims. Jablonsky wants to watch as you kill him, and has you tail Stephenson's police escort until it gets hung up in traffic. You and Jablonsky
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