Cyberpunk 2077. Oh, where do I even begin? If I had to sum up my experience with this game in one word, it would be: Fucking insane. But that doesn’t really capture the chaos, the beauty, and the haunting melancholy of it all. It’s a game that not only redefines what a cyberpunk story can be, but also how we think about ourselves, our choices, and the world we’re inevitably destroying.

Let’s start with the world. Night City. It’s alive in a way that few other open worlds can claim to be. It’s packed with crowds, cars, criminals, psychos, cops, militants—every kind of character you can think of. It’s a city where legends and losers, kings and pawns, all share the same sky. And what’s fascinating is how fragile the boundary is between the two. One moment, you’re soaring on top of the world, and the next, you’re tumbling straight down into tragedy. It’s a place where nothing lasts, and yet everything matters.

This game is beautiful. The world is drenched in neon and grime, but in a way that makes it feel real. The graphics, the art direction—everything’s so meticulously designed, it almost feels like you’re stepping into an actual dystopian future. And the music? It’s not just background noise. It pulses through your veins, elevating every moment, making you feel like a hero one second, and then a fallen one the next. It’s like they knew exactly when to drop the beat to make you feel like you’re living in your moment in Night City.

I played this game right after Baldur’s Gate 3, and let me tell you, my head was still deep in RPG mode. And it worked. I didn’t just play as V, I became V. My V. The decisions I made, the people I helped, the choices I had to live with—every single one felt personal. Nothing in this world is simple. Decisions weren’t just about “right” or “wrong” because that line doesn’t exist here. Every choice felt like it could either get you killed or save someone you cared about. It was brutal and exhilarating.

But the deeper themes are where this game really gets you thinking. Much like The Witcher 3, there are layers, but this time, it’s the philosophy of the self that stands out. What does it mean to exist in a world that’s already doomed? A world where you weren’t even meant to live in the first place? Are you chasing glory? Revenge? Vengeance? There’s a constant tension between those ideas, and the game constantly forces you to reflect on the kind of person your V is becoming. There’s no easy moral compass here. The world isn’t black and white—it’s a thousand shades of grey, and you’re left to navigate them all, hoping that somehow you can still come out with some sense of purpose.

And what struck me most was the endings. There are no “good” endings in Cyberpunk 2077—just choices that lead to better or worse fates. There’s no ideal conclusion. It’s a reminder that in a world this broken, sometimes survival is the best we can hope for.

What did I learn? Well, honestly, it’s this: Never stop fighting. The world may be crumbling around you, your existence might not make sense, but you keep pushing forward. Because in the end, that’s what keeps you alive.