A cartoonish howl erupts overhead in Cyberpunk 2077 as I walk past an apartment block, but I barely glimpse a falling shadow before somebody gets splattered up my ankles. An NPC wearing nothing but pink hotpants strolls into oncoming traffic, and nobody bats a Kiroshi. Later, I pass a cloaked gentleman peeing into a trashcan under a bridge in Heywood. He looks up, acknowledges me, and slowly walks away – still peeing, still making eye contact .
The thing about Cyberpunk 2077's jankier past is that every so often, I have to ask myself a strange question: is that a bug, or is that a feature? The thought flashes through my mind a lot while exploring Night City, a dystopian metropolis of hyperbolic proportions, as I try to draw sense from senselessness. But whether it's River Ward being a terror behind the wheel or NPCs acting strangely, Cyberpunk's unapologetically dark, tongue-in-cheek sense of humor is a huge part of why I love it – accidental or otherwise. The rough charm and harsh realities of this cold, unflinching city offer a refreshing take on what an open world could and should offer: laughs aplenty, yes, but a message behind each one.
