I wander the neon-drenched streets of Night City, my pockets heavy with the spoils of a thousand battles. The year is 2026, and the echoes of the game's turbulent launch are a distant memory. Cyberpunk 2077 has truly blossomed, a phoenix risen from the ashes of its own ambition. As a player, I feel the weight of choice in every skill I allocate, every word I speak through my chosen Lifepath, and every piece of chrome I slot into my flesh. The arsenal at my disposal is staggering—a symphony of tiered weapons and cyberware that lets me compose my own legend. Yet, amidst this cacophony of visceral freedom, one element feels like a relic, a vestigial limb in an otherwise evolved body: the crafting system. It's a feature that, frankly, feels like an afterthought, only whispering its relevance when you've hit the peak and the world has nothing new to offer.
For me, crafting in Night City never felt like a core part of the experience. It's not a make-or-break situation; it's more of a take-it-or-leave-it kind of deal. Since the monumental 2.0 update and the Phantom Liberty expansion, the game has outgrown any conceivable need for it. The world is simply too generous. From the moment I could freely explore, side gigs holo-called me with urgent whispers, and every corner held a new NCPD scanner hustle. I was hoarding eddies and an arsenal worthy of a small army long before the iconic, gravelly voice of Johnny Silverhand first echoed in my skull.
The loot flow is constant, almost overwhelming. Corpses and crates yield a never-ending stream of formidable gear. My journey through Act 2 was defined by this abundance:
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Weapon Wheel Woes (of Plenty): I constantly juggled multiple Iconic, high-tier weapons, each vying for a spot in my quick-select menu.
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Chrome for Days: Ripperdocs always had something new to offer, making cyberware upgrades a matter of credits, not crafted components.
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The Disassembly Dilemma: Looting everything became a habit, but only to disassemble the junk. It was a mechanical chore, not a creative pursuit.
This brings me to the heart of the issue: crafting feels utterly disconnected from the world. Installing cyberware requires a trip to a ripperdoc—a tangible, immersive interaction with a character in a specific location. But crafting? It's hidden away in a clandestine menu tab. There's no smoky backroom workshop, no charismatic fixer selling rare schematics over a drink at the Afterlife. It's a sterile, UI-based activity that lacks the soul of Night City's bustling markets and shadowy bars where I'd otherwise procure resources.
Furthermore, the system drowns in its own obscurity. Crafting specs and components get lost in the avalanche of loot. After a certain point, my eyes only sought the glow of Tier 5's orange icon. Everything else was just vendor trash or disassembly fodder. This problem is magnified by the absence of a New Game Plus mode. In a game where becoming overpowered in a standard playthrough is almost a given, a crafting system meant for long-term progression feels redundant. What's the point of grinding for the perfect craft when you're already a god of the asphalt?
Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying crafting is completely without merit. It's blessedly non-invasive and optional. For the true completionist or the player emotionally attached to a particular Iconic weapon they found early on, upgrading it via crafting is a path to preservation. Some weapons, locked behind schematics, are genuinely unique and powerful.
| Crafting's Role | Reality in 2026's Night City |
|---|---|
| Primary Gear Source | ❌ Overshadowed by abundant world loot. |
| Immersive Activity | ❌ Confined to a menu, no world interaction. |
| Progression Necessity | ❌ Made redundant by easy power ceiling. |
| Iconic Weapon Upkeep | ✅ Niche use for beloved gear. |
| Optional Completionism | ✅ Exists for those who seek it. |
Looking ahead to Project Orion, the next chapter in this universe, CD Projekt Red has a clear opportunity. They've already proven with Cyberpunk 2077's current state that a deeply satisfying RPG experience can thrive without a prominent crafting system. The studio's strength lies in world-building, narrative, and player agency—not in convoluted resource grids.
My poetic takeaway? Night City's soul is in its chaos, its stories, and the chrome you rip from your enemies' cold, dead hands. Crafting feels like trying to write a sonnet in the middle of a riot. Sometimes, the most elegant design choice is to streamline, to remove the vestigial, and to double down on what makes the experience sing. For the future of this franchise, I believe letting crafting go the way of the dataterm would be a bold, and ultimately hella satisfying, choice. The eddies, the loot, the sheer visceral joy of combat—that's the true currency of Night City. Everything else is just static on the line.