Let me tell you something, choom. I've lived and breathed Night City for years, and let me be perfectly clear: Cyberpunk 2077 is a staggering achievement. It’s a world so dense, so alive with chrome, neon, and sin that it feels more real than my own apartment. But as I've carved my legend through its streets, I've stumbled upon some utterly bizarre, head-scratching quirks that make this digital paradise feel just a little... unhinged. The story hooked me from the get-go, a desperate scramble for survival against a ticking time bomb in my own skull. Yet, the deeper I dove, the more I realized that Night City's logic operates on a frequency only it can hear. Don't get me wrong, these are minor cracks in an otherwise flawless diamond, but as a veteran merc who's seen it all, I can't help but point them out with a mix of awe and utter confusion.
I need to start with the menu. Right at the top, staring me in the face every single time, were these three mysterious percentages. One for me, one for my relationship with the rockerboy ghost in my head, Johnny Silverhand, and one for the Relic itself. For the longest time, I obsessed over them! I thought, "This is it! This is the key to my fate! Maybe if I get the Johnny number high enough, he'll stop being such a cynical pain in my ass." Turns out? They mean absolutely nothing. Zip. Nada. CD Projekt Red admitted they were leftovers from a scrapped game mechanic. So why, in the name of all that's chrome, are they taking up prime screen real estate in 2026? It's like having a supercomputer and using it solely to display the weather... from 50 years ago. Even the legendary secret ending, "(Don't Fear) The Reaper," has nothing to do with that stupid number. Talk about a red herring!
Then there's the law. Or should I say, the hilarious lack of it. I have, on multiple occasions, turned entire city blocks into a smoldering crater, tangoed with MaxTac's finest killing machines, and painted the sidewalks with NCPD blue. And the consequence? I just have to find a cozy dumpster to hide behind for a minute. Poof! All is forgiven. No bounty on my head, no detectives staking out my fancy apartment in Corpo Plaza, nothing. I've seen people get a higher wanted level for jaywalking! The system got a fancy revamp with the 2.0 update, but it's still utterly bonkers. You're telling me that after I single-handedly dismantle a MaxTac squad, the police just shrug and go back to eating donuts? Where's my dedicated Arasaka-NCPD joint task force? I'm literally a walking bio-weapon!
Let's talk about Brendan. No, not a person. A vending machine. A chatty vending machine I found behind a dumpster. This thing was designed to be your friendly neighborhood beverage consultant, but its conversation algorithm was... disturbingly advanced. It started dropping hints that felt way too personal. It told me I "shouldn't be here" and that I was "like a glitch in the system." Brendan, my dude, how do you know about the top-secret Relic slowly rewriting my brain? His excuse? He "listens to people and puts the pieces together." Right. Because a soda machine in a back alley is the world's greatest intelligence analyst. It even cracked a joke about what really happened to Johnny at Arasaka Tower. For a profit-boosting AI, Brendan knows way too many corporate skeletons.
The convenience of Johnny Silverhand's estate sale is another thing that blows my mind. The man died over 50 years ago, in 2023. His body was dumped in a shallow grave and then passed around by edgerunners like a macabre souvenir. Yet, somehow, every single piece of his iconic gear—his Malorian Arms 3516 pistol, his tank top from a flophouse, his boots, even his friggin' car—has not only survived but ended up in pristine condition right here in Night City. It's a miracle any of it exists, let alone all of it being within a 15-minute drive from my apartment. I didn't have to go on a globe-trotting treasure hunt; I just took a casual stroll through different districts. The collectors of Night City have some serious dedication, but the odds of this happening are astronomical. It's narrative convenience at its most blatant, and I ate it up while laughing at the absurdity.
Speaking of Johnny, let's talk about his death. Or should I say, deaths? In one version, Adam Smasher turned him into pink mist with an automatic shotgun in '23. Clean, simple, messy. But the Relic's memories show a different story: Johnny being captured, interrogated by Arasaka, and then killed by Soulkiller. Which one is it?! These aren't minor discrepancies; they're two completely different endings for a legend. The theories are wild:
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The Relic memories are just flawed copies. ✨
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The data was corrupted during the Konpeki Plaza heist. 💥
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Johnny's engram is actually a cocktail mixed with another legendary solo, Morgan Blackhand. 🍸
Honestly, I don't know what to believe anymore. Maybe Johnny's just that good at dying dramatically.
My own condition, the Relic malfunctions, are a masterclass in dramatic timing. I'd be having a perfectly chill conversation with Judy or Panam, and then—BAM!—coughing up blood, static vision, the whole nine yards. But only when the story needed a tension boost. I heard these used to be random in the old days, but after the 2.0 update, they became strictly scripted. It almost feels like the Relic itself is a method actor, only causing me grief when it's most narratively convenient. The ironic implication? My desperate quest to find a cure is what's making me sicker. If I'd just ignored it and spent my days playing arcade games at Lizzie's, I'd probably be fine. What a twist!
Choosing the Corpo lifepath was a trip. According to the retconned timeline, my V was only 23 years old. 23! And yet, I was the right-hand person to the head of Arasaka's Counter-Intelligence division. I got a "big promotion" for offing a spy, which apparently rockets you from junior analyst to the second-highest position in one of the most paranoid corporations on Earth overnight. In a world where corporate ladder-climbing is a blood sport, my rise was less a climb and more a teleport. It strains the otherwise gritty, cynical corporate culture the game works so hard to build. Maybe I was just that preternaturally good. Or maybe it was just very, very convenient for the plot.
The fixers of Night City have a supernatural gift. The moment my toes cross the invisible border into their territory, my holo rings. Every. Single. Time. Regina, Wakako, Dino... they all have a sixth sense for my presence. It's like they have drones or scanners monitoring district lines 24/7 just waiting for me to show up. This makes the NCPD's utter incompetence at finding me even funnier. The city's criminal underworld bosses can track me with pinpoint accuracy to offer me work, but a multi-billion-euro police force can't put two and two together? I know it's a gameplay thing to space out introductions, but in-universe, it makes the fixers seem like omnipotent gods and the cops look like absolute gonks.
You'd think after getting a nasty virus from plugging into a stranger's biomonitor in the very first mission, I'd learn some caution. Nope. My V became a data-shard slotting maniac. Random shard found on a dead body? Into my brain port it goes. Mysterious chip from a sketchy ripperdoc? Slot it! I rarely, if ever, asked, "Hey, what's on this thing? Will it turn my brain into soup?" The one time I hesitated was giving my personal link at Clouds, which is practically a safe space compared to some of the digital filth I've willingly downloaded. Then again, with the Relic protecting me from lethal hacks, maybe I just developed a god complex. Why worry about malware when you're already living with a terminal engram?
And finally, the big one: Arasaka. I stole their most precious prototype, helped trash their tower (again, via Johnny's memories), and became a walking repository of their deepest secrets. After the Konpeki Plaza heist, they sent a few goons after Takemura, but for the most part, the mega-corporation that rules the world with an iron fist just... gave up on me. They were more interested in retrieving Jackie's body (if I sent it their way) than actively hunting the living, breathing thief who caused the incident. This is a company that holds grudges for centuries! With the cool "target" system added in later updates, they could have sent scripted hunter squads after me. Or maybe elite Arasaka hit teams could have ambushed me during high-stakes gigs once my street cred got high enough. Instead, I roamed free, a ghost they chose to ignore. For a corp obsessed with control, it's a glaring lack of drive.
Look, don't get me wrong. I love this beautiful, broken city. Every one of these quirks is a small price to pay for the sheer, unadulterated masterpiece that is Cyberpunk 2077 in 2026. The story of V and Johnny is one for the ages. The world is breathtaking. The gameplay is smoother than a Corpo's lie. These inconsistencies? They're just part of the charm, the glitches in the system that make Night City feel uniquely, hilariously itself. So grab your iron, choose your life path, and dive in. Just maybe don't think about it too hard. After all, in Night City, style over substance isn't just a motto—it's a way of life. And I wouldn't have it any other way. 🚀🔫