
Game intel
Cyberpunk 2077
Cyberpunk 2077 is an open-world, action-adventure story set in Night City, a megalopolis obsessed with power, glamour and body modification. You play as V, a m…
Every now and then, the Cyberpunk 2077 community throws up a moment that stops me in my tracks. This is one of them: a player has just defeated Adam Smasher-the game’s ruthless final boss-on the hardest difficulty, completely naked of cyberware. No upgrades. No bonus HP. No quickhacks. Just pure skill and stubborn determination. If you know anything about how Cyberpunk 2077 is built, you’ll realize how nuts that actually is. I’ve beaten Smasher myself a few times on normal and hard-but with a full suite of chrome and nerves of steel (literally). This is a whole different ballgame.
The CD Projekt RED 2.0 update doubled down on the idea that cyberware is your lifeline. Before 2.0, you could cheese armor with clothing and maybe get away with skimping on upgrades, but now? Cyberware literally determines your armor and often gives you the active abilities you need to survive boss attacks, escape room-filling explosions, or regen health mid-brawl. Stripping that away basically means playing on “perma-hardcore.”
And Adam Smasher isn’t just a big health bar—he’s coded as the ultimate predator, built to punish hesitation or sloppiness. On Very Hard or above, a single misstep can erase you. Most guides absolutely require quick hacks, damage boosts, and the kind of nonsense speed or healing you get from Sandevistan, Berserk, or other late-game chromed-out options. But Enisiph (that’s the player behind this madness) proved you can memorize attack patterns, maximize bare-bones weapon handling, and squeeze every ounce out of basic timing. This takes serious hours in the Dojo (read: getting repeatedly pancaked until you figure out a pixel-perfect dodge).

This run has me thinking about what Cyberpunk 2077 really wants from the player. Most of the game’s fantasy is about becoming an unstoppable force through technology. The marketing (and let’s be real—the core mechanics) shove you towards maxing out chrome, stacking augmentations, and gleefully hacking your way past human limitations. But there’s another side: the way RPGs let you express mastery through raw play, not just through stats or upgrades. Enisiph’s run is a radical act of player agency, flipping the bird to Night City’s relentless hustle for the latest upgrade.
I’ve always felt that the game was at its best when it gave you room to experiment with builds or impose your own limits—pacifist runs, brawler-only, fists of fury. This goes further, because it actively contradicts the game’s framing (“you must chrome up to survive!”). It shows there’s still a real RPG at the core of the bombast.
Honestly, moments like this are why I keep playing and talking about Cyberpunk 2077. When the game first launched, it was notorious for bugs, but over time the systems have been seriously refined. Even so, there’s always chatter about whether open-world RPGs are too easy, too railroaded, or just “numbers go brrr.” Community-driven challenge runs are the answer: they push developers to reconsider difficulty assumptions and reveal just how elastic a game’s systems really are.

I’d love to know if CDPR sees feats like this as intended or a gap in their balance logic—either way, it’s a win for players who like to test limits. Maybe next time around we’ll see more explicit challenge modes, or at least a nod to those who reject cyberware on principle. Given the trend of “challenge run” culture in everything from Zelda to Elden Ring, it’s wild to see Cyberpunk 2077 join those ranks.
A player beat Cyberpunk 2077’s final boss, Adam Smasher, on hardest difficulty with zero cyberware—a run that defies the very ethos of Night City. It’s a testament to sheer skill, system mastery, and that indomitable “gamer vs. game” spirit that keeps RPGs alive and unpredictable.
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