My journey into Night City was a baptism by neon, a delayed descent into a world I first glimpsed through the fractured lens of its tumultuous birth. Entering through the polished gateway of Phantom Liberty in 2026, I experienced a metropolis not just patched, but reborn—a living, breathing entity where every alleyway in Dogtown whispered secrets and every side mission felt like a vital thread in the tapestry of my own legend. I became so entangled in building my V, in shaping her destiny, that leaving any stone unturned felt like a personal betrayal to the city that had become my second skin. Yet, amidst this symphony of chaos and chrome, a single, persistent note of dissonance hummed in my implants: the inability to truly see my own transformation reflected in the mirror.
I Long to Be a Sculpture of Steel and Synapse
One of the most profound disappointments in my time as a mercenary was the chasm between the power thrumming within my veins and the mundane reflection staring back. Visiting a Ripperdoc was a transaction of pure utility, a swap of subcutaneous hardware with no visual fanfare. I ascended to the peak of cybernetic capability, my nervous system a latticework of S-tier mods, yet my outward appearance remained stubbornly, disappointingly human—save for the occasional shift in my armaments. My V was a ghost in the machine, her immense power invisible, while the streets teemed with walking art installations like Lizzy Wizzy, her body a sonnet sung in polished metal and fiber-optic lace.
The diversity of cosmetic cyberware existing within Night City's code is a treasure trove left deliberately locked away from the player. We have become archivists of our own digital souls, sharing meticulously crafted Vs across forums, yet we are denied the final brushstroke: the external manifestation of our internal upgrades. Adding visual cyberware mods would not just be a feature; it would be the final key to unlocking true somatic integration, allowing us to wear our upgrades not as hidden tools, but as a second skin, as integral to our identity as our chosen hairstyle or tattoos.
Imagining this system, I dream of it going further. It's not beyond the realm of a studio like CDPR to weave this visual evolution into the world's fabric. What if, as my chrome quotient increased, NPCs reacted? A fleeting glance of fear from a citizen, a nod of respect from a veteran Maelstrom, or a corpo suit muttering about "going full borg" under their breath? These micro-interactions would be like sonar pings in the dark, hinting at my slow metamorphosis from human to something… more. This small detail could make Night City feel even more like an organism with a nervous system, one that senses and reacts to the shifting metal beneath its citizens' skin.
A Shift in Perspective: To See the Chrome I've Become
I understand the purist's argument for the first-person prison. It forged an intimate, unbreakable bond with Night City's grit. Yet, as I yearned to see the chrome I coveted, the argument for an optional third-person perspective in a sequel grew louder. The current community workarounds are like viewing a masterpiece through a keyhole—functional, but a betrayal of the artist's intent.
For one, a tactical third-person view could revolutionize close-quarters combat, transforming a frantic slash-fest into a balletic display of controlled violence. While CDPR mastered the visceral panic of first-person melee, adding an optional wider lens would grant blade enthusiasts the spatial awareness of a spider sensing vibrations in its web, allowing for more strategic, fluid engagements.
This ties beautifully into the existing Transmog system, a quality-of-life feature I adored. Why should this philosophy stop at fabric? A similar system for non-functional cosmetic cyberware seems a logical, glorious next step. If I can make my tactical vest look like a vintage bomber jacket, why can't I make my standard ocular implant gleam with the menace of a Maelstrom's optic? Being able to finally see my V, a sculpture of my own design, cutting a swath through Arasaka troops would be the ultimate payoff for hours spent in the character creator.
The Modding Community: Architects of Our Unrealized Dreams
My desire is clearly not a solo cry in the datastorm. The modding community has long been building the chrome-plated utopia I crave. Browsing the "Appearance" tab on Nexus Mods reveals a staggering truth: fans have already done, with passion and precision, what the base game would not.
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CyberArms & Ceres Face Cyberware: These mods don't just add options; they transform V into a walking testament to transhumanism, from full android conversions to facial structures mirroring Night City's unique NPCs.
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Xposed Cybernetics & Head Cyberware: For those who wish to embrace the body horror inherent to the genre, mods exist to replace organic jaws with skeletal cyber-frames or adorn the skull with external tech, creating visions that are equal parts terrifying and magnificent.
The existence of over a thousand such mods is a testament to a shared hunger. This vast, player-created gallery proves the concept is not only desired but achievable. Integrating a fraction of this philosophy officially would be a nod to that passion, a way to elevate player agency from mere role-play to physical embodiment. It would acknowledge that in a world about the fusion of man and machine, the visual representation of that fusion is paramount.
In the end, this is a dream for the future, perhaps for the project codenamed Orion. It wouldn't be a deal-breaker—Cyberpunk's strength lies in its world and the freedom to become V, a blank(ish) slate compared to the defined legacy of a Geralt. But to fully realize that power of becoming, to complete the circuit between player and avatar, I hope CDPR lets us see the chrome. Let us become not just ghosts in the machine, but its most dazzling, terrifying, and beautiful operators.
