As I sit here in 2026, thinking back on my time in Night City, it's not the chrome or the neon that lingers most—it's the people I lost along the way. Cyberpunk 2077, for all its rocky launch history (thank goodness for the 2.0 update and Phantom Liberty!), has always had one thing absolutely nailed: its characters and their stories. And boy, does it know how to make you feel their absence. Over the years, I've replayed it more times than I care to admit, and each playthrough, those deaths? They never get easier. It's a testament to the writing that, even now, saying goodbye to these digital souls can leave a real ache in your chest. Let's talk about the ones that hit hardest, the moments where Night City truly showed its teeth.
🕊️ The Friend Who Was There From The Start: Jackie Welles
Ugh, Jackie. Just thinking about him gets me. He wasn't just a partner-in-crime; he was family. Whether you were Street Kids, Corpos, or Nomads together, that bond was instant and real. The prologue heist was supposed to be our big break, our ticket to the major leagues. We fought our way through Arasaka Tower, and for a minute there, I really thought we'd made it. Then... that gut-wrenching moment in the Delamain. Him handing you the Relic, his voice getting weaker. Man, I was not ready for that. Not hours into the game. It sets the tone for everything that follows—in Night City, nobody's safe, not even the guy who feels like your brother. His ofrenda later in the game? I'm not crying, you're crying. It's a brutal, perfect introduction to the game's central theme: loss.
🔥 The Rockerboy In My Head: Johnny Silverhand
Johnny's a special case, isn't he? You spend the entire game with this arrogant, charming, infuriating ghost in your head. At first, he's just a glitch, a problem to solve. But slowly, through all the bickering and the shared memories (those flashbacks are chef's kiss), he becomes... a part of you. Keanu Reeves absolutely killed this role. By the end, when you're sitting on that terrace in Mikoshi, having to choose... it's agony. Do you let him take your body and live, knowing you'll fade away? Or do you claim your few months of life, severing that connection forever? Both options feel like a kind of death. Letting go of Johnny, whether by giving him control or locking him out, is saying goodbye to the most constant companion you've had in Night City. It's a quiet, devastating kind of pain that sits with you long after the credits roll.
👑 The Queen of The Afterlife: Rogue
Rogue's death... oh, this one hurts. If you choose the path where Johnny takes control and teams up with her for the final assault on Arasaka, you get to see a legend in action. She's fierce, capable, and carries the weight of decades of history with Johnny. Fighting alongside her feels epic—until Adam Smasher shows up. She goes out like a total badass, sure, getting a grenade in his face. But watching her fall after you've spent so much time earning her trust, learning her history through Johnny's eyes... it feels like losing a pillar of Night City itself. The Afterlife just wouldn't be the same without her. It's a heroic death, but a profoundly sad one.
🏜️ The Nomad Patriarch: Saul
Now, Saul annoyed me at first. All that stubbornness, constantly butting heads with Panam. But that's what makes his arc—and his death—so brilliant. If you side with the Aldecaldos for the finale, you see him transform. He softens, accepts Panam's (and your) help, and steps up as a true leader. When Adam Smasher turns his guns on the nomad convoy, Saul sacrifices himself to protect the family. He dies an honorable death, a warrior's death, protecting his people. It's a moment that completely recontextualizes his character. He went from being an obstacle to a hero, and losing him right after that change? It packs a serious punch.
🕸️ The Netrunner Who Never Got A Chance: T-Bug
Sometimes it's the briefest connections that sting. T-Bug was with us for what, an hour? But her sharp wit and calm professionalism during the Konpeki Plaza heist made her instantly likable. When Arasaka counter-hacked her and fried her connection... it was the first real "oh crap" moment. We never even see her body. She's just gone. A voice cut off mid-sentence. It's a sudden, cold reminder of how disposable everyone is in this world, even the skilled ones working from the shadows. It set the stage for the relentless brutality to come.
🎭 The Most Tragic Story: Evelyn Parker
Evelyn's story is just... brutal. She masterminded the heist, dreamed of a better life, and got utterly destroyed by Night City's underbelly. Finding her through Judy's questline is a descent into horror. Assaulted, tortured, broken. And when you finally rescue her, the damage is too deep. Her suicide in Judy's apartment is one of the most quietly devastating scenes in any game I've played. There's no big boss fight, no dramatic music—just the aftermath of unimaginable cruelty. It's a harsh commentary on the city's treatment of those it considers expendable, and it's a death that haunts you and Judy forever.
🤖 The Ghost in the Machine: Alt Cunningham
Alt's death is unique because, in a way, she never really died. Johnny's flashback to finding her body—Keanu's performance of pure, raw anguish there is phenomenal—shows the moment she was killed. But she lived on as an AI beyond the Blackwall, a ghost of her former self. Helping V and Johnny separate (or merge) creates this profound, weird bond between the three of you. She's a reminder of what was lost, a love story cut short, and a glimpse into a terrifying digital future all at once. Her "existence" is a tragedy stretched across decades.
🦂 The Casualty of Chaos: Scorpion
You barely know Scorpion. But his death during the Panam questline hits hard because of its sheer pointlessness and the impact it has on the family. It's a plan gone wrong, a communication failure, and a good person dies for it. Seeing Mitch's grief and the Aldecaldos mourn drives home that your actions have real, painful consequences for these people who are just trying to survive. It's not a grand, storybook death; it's a messy, sad accident, and that makes it feel painfully real.
🕵️ The Agent With Two Paths: Solomon Reed
The Phantom Liberty expansion gave us another impossible choice. Solomon Reed, played with weary gravitas by Idris Elba, is a man trapped by duty. If you choose to help Songbird escape, you're forced to confront him. Drawing your gun on him in "The Killing Moon" is heavy. He doesn't even really fight back. He just... accepts it. His final line, "It's too late," whether you shoot him in the head or the chest, is dripping with regret. After working with him, seeing his complicated morals, having to be the one to end him? It's a different kind of heartbreaking—one of futility and broken trust.
☠️ The Ultimate Sacrifice: V Themselves
And then there's your own death. Or rather, the choice to embrace it. One of the endings lets you give your body to Johnny, letting his construct live on while you fade away. After fighting so hard to survive, to find a cure, choosing to let go... it's a powerful, somber moment. You're not just saying goodbye to Night City; you're saying goodbye to yourself, to all the relationships you've built. It's the final, ultimate cost of the journey.
Looking back, what makes Cyberpunk 2077's story endure into 2026 isn't just the chrome or the gameplay—it's this. It's the way it makes you care, then isn't afraid to take those characters away. Each death serves the story, deepens the world, and leaves a mark on V (and on you, the player). They're not cheap shocks; they're the emotional price of admission to Night City. It's a game about legacy, memory, and what we're willing to sacrifice. And honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way. Even if it does mean I need a tissue box handy every time I replay it. What was the death that hit you the hardest? Let a girl know in the comments. 😭
