I walk the rain-slicked streets of Night City in 2026, the ghost of my past playthroughs whispering in the chrome-plated wind. The memory of Cyberpunk 2077 is a complex one—a masterpiece of atmosphere and ambition, yet one whose mechanical heart, its crafting system, often beat with a hollow, metallic thud. It was a system present but not profound, a feature that felt like finding a beautifully designed, state-of-the-art vending machine in a back alley, only to discover it dispensed the same generic soda you could find littering every gutter. As I look toward the shimmering horizon of Project Orion, I dream of a sequel that doesn't just iterate but alchemizes, transforming base components of gameplay into something truly precious and personal.
The original game's approach to gear was a torrent, a ceaseless digital downpour of jackets, guns, and mods that flooded my inventory until every item felt like a drop in a neon ocean. This looter-shooter philosophy, while comforting in its constant reward, often clashed with the soul of a deep role-playing experience. I longed not for more, but for meaning. Weapon modifications promised transformation but often delivered only marginal statistical whispers, their impact on the chaotic ballet of combat as subtle as a single new light in a Times Square billboard. The entire ecosystem of loot and inventory management could feel like tending a garden in a sandstorm—constant effort for fleeting, uprooted gains.
Crafting itself existed in this paradoxical space. The game granted me the power to forge powerful weapons, weave specialized clothing, and birth linear upgrades for my arsenal. Yet, this potential was shackled by the world's own abundance. Why craft a legendary pistol when a comparable one could tumble from the grip of a fallen ganger in the next firefight? There were no secrets locked behind the crafting menu, no legendary schematics that whispered of unique power. The act became purely transactional, a utility loop I engaged with for four primary, pragmatic reasons:
| Crafting Motivation | Emotional Result |
|---|---|
| Creating Ammo & Meds | 😌 Relieving, but repetitive. |
| Earning Quick XP | 📈 Efficient, but soulless. |
| Turning Junk into Eddie$ | 💰 Profitable, but impersonal. |
| Re-making Lost Gear | 🔄 Convenient, but uninspired. |
This cycle wasn't without its meditative appeal—the digital equivalent of knitting while watching the city burn—but it failed to capture the creative thrill of true invention. If the pinnacle of my engineering skill was bulk-producing handgun rounds, the system was less a forge of innovation and more a fancy ammo press.
For Project Orion, my hope is not for complexity for its own sake, but for purpose. The crafting system must become a sanctuary for the unique, a back-alley clinic where I can perform surgery on the very soul of my gear. Here is the blueprint for my dream:
🔧 Exclusive Genesis: Crafting should be the sole midwife to certain legendary items. Imagine schematics found on encrypted datashards, requiring rare components harvested from the heart of corporate black sites or won in high-stakes brain dances. The reward must be something the open world cannot provide—a weapon with a unique firing signature, armor woven from adaptive smart-fabric that changes its refractive index, or cyberware that bends the rules of reality in a way no store-bought chrome ever could.
🎨 Deep Customization: Beyond stats, crafting should be a canvas. Let me not just install a scope, but calibrate its lens to filter the world through a permanent, personalized hue—my own cyberpsychosis rendered as a visual filter. Let clothing mods affect social interactions in nuanced ways, with a hand-crafted jacket opening doors (or closing them) based on its bespoke design language. The system should feel less like a spreadsheet and more like a jazz improvisation on the theme of my character's identity.
💡 Intrinsic Rewards: The act itself must be satisfying. The crafting interface shouldn't be a menu but a haptic symphony, a mini-game of aligning circuits or stabilizing unstable compounds that requires skill and focus. Success should bring a burst of creative fulfillment as potent as any stat increase, making the journey of creation as memorable as wielding the final product.
The old system was a vending machine. Project Orion has the chance to give us a micro-forge, a personal relic of a bygone analog age thriving in the digital future. It can be the difference between assembling a prefabricated kit and composing a symphony from raw noise. In the silent moments between firefights, I want to retreat to my apartment's workshop not out of necessity, but out of passion, to tinker and create something that carries not just a damage stat, but a fragment of my own story into the endless night. That is the crafted future worth fighting for.