A message in a bottle from someone who lives with a relic in their head.
I love the game, but I feel like the Relic is missing something.
I'll try to make you understand simply through a personal testimony. See in it whatever inspirations and references you want.
I'm epileptic. Unlike many people, it's not light that triggers my seizures, but sound.
The first time it happened, I was alone at home on my bed.
Suddenly, my eardrums felt submerged, the world around me rustling like I was underwater.
Then I started hearing, still submerged, things that weren't there. They were auditory hallucinations.
A piece of music played in my head—I couldn't tell you the name, because I forget them every time. But they play perfectly in my mind, with their melody and vocals.
Then I heard my parents telling me I was going to die.
Then I woke up the next day.I had to use the strength of my aching arms to lift my body, because my legs alone couldn't do it.
Every muscle in my body hurt like I'd overworked them in my last workout.
And above all, my tongue was split open on the sides and covered in bruises. That's probably the hardest part. You eat out of necessity, but it hurts so much you cry with every movement of your tongue, like playing with an open wound or a bruise.What comes next is the fear. They can forbid you from driving a vehicle, and therefore from working in many places.
Just like a whole bunch of other jobs. But in a way, that's life, and many people have to deal with different problems.But as I was saying, it's sound that triggers my seizures. Anywhere, anytime, during any activity. At work, while gaming, walking, at night while I'm sleeping—I can be woken up by that sound, those musiques.
It just takes a different sound, a voice too deep, a sudden noise, and instantly a shrill noise starts, a descent underwater.
But it's not always the end, because sometimes nothing happens. It goes away as quickly as it came, and no one notices anything.
Except people wonder why you're not responding, so you apologize, ask them to repeat, and act like nothing happened.
Other times, the music starts. Then you know you only have a few seconds to react and protect yourself. Inevitably, you know you're going to lose control. That when you wake up, it'll take an extra night of sleep on top of your usual ones to recover, and nearly a week to eat without pain.
And then one day, after being woken up in the middle of the night by the music, thinking you'd protected everything.
In the morning, you find bloodstains on the light switches, objects moved, a piece of furniture broken. But you're alone in the apartment.
You learn then that in the aftermath of your seizures, your brain restarts and acts on its own, without you remembering, without you controlling it.
So the fear settles in and becomes omnipresent. Because the medications only dull and delay the problem. Of this disease that worsens over time.
Yet I wasn't afraid in Cyberpunk; I had to wait for Phantom Liberty to realize that V and I were living something similar.
That the Relic could impact our missions. Yes, but here's the thing: the Relic is scripted.
We know it can happen, but at a scripted moment.
If anywhere, anytime—during stealth, in combat—it could activate, forcing us to find a hiding spot, to protect ourselves. It would become an anxiety-inducing entity that accompanies us. That terrifies us.
That makes us aware of what we live with. The fear of losing control.
Thanks for reading. And thanks for the game. Take care of yourself.
I love the game, but I feel like the Relic is missing something.
I'll try to make you understand simply through a personal testimony. See in it whatever inspirations and references you want.
I'm epileptic. Unlike many people, it's not light that triggers my seizures, but sound.
The first time it happened, I was alone at home on my bed.
Suddenly, my eardrums felt submerged, the world around me rustling like I was underwater.
Then I started hearing, still submerged, things that weren't there. They were auditory hallucinations.
A piece of music played in my head—I couldn't tell you the name, because I forget them every time. But they play perfectly in my mind, with their melody and vocals.
Then I heard my parents telling me I was going to die.
Then I woke up the next day.I had to use the strength of my aching arms to lift my body, because my legs alone couldn't do it.
Every muscle in my body hurt like I'd overworked them in my last workout.
And above all, my tongue was split open on the sides and covered in bruises. That's probably the hardest part. You eat out of necessity, but it hurts so much you cry with every movement of your tongue, like playing with an open wound or a bruise.What comes next is the fear. They can forbid you from driving a vehicle, and therefore from working in many places.
Just like a whole bunch of other jobs. But in a way, that's life, and many people have to deal with different problems.But as I was saying, it's sound that triggers my seizures. Anywhere, anytime, during any activity. At work, while gaming, walking, at night while I'm sleeping—I can be woken up by that sound, those musiques.
It just takes a different sound, a voice too deep, a sudden noise, and instantly a shrill noise starts, a descent underwater.
But it's not always the end, because sometimes nothing happens. It goes away as quickly as it came, and no one notices anything.
Except people wonder why you're not responding, so you apologize, ask them to repeat, and act like nothing happened.
Other times, the music starts. Then you know you only have a few seconds to react and protect yourself. Inevitably, you know you're going to lose control. That when you wake up, it'll take an extra night of sleep on top of your usual ones to recover, and nearly a week to eat without pain.
And then one day, after being woken up in the middle of the night by the music, thinking you'd protected everything.
In the morning, you find bloodstains on the light switches, objects moved, a piece of furniture broken. But you're alone in the apartment.
You learn then that in the aftermath of your seizures, your brain restarts and acts on its own, without you remembering, without you controlling it.
So the fear settles in and becomes omnipresent. Because the medications only dull and delay the problem. Of this disease that worsens over time.
Yet I wasn't afraid in Cyberpunk; I had to wait for Phantom Liberty to realize that V and I were living something similar.
That the Relic could impact our missions. Yes, but here's the thing: the Relic is scripted.
We know it can happen, but at a scripted moment.
If anywhere, anytime—during stealth, in combat—it could activate, forcing us to find a hiding spot, to protect ourselves. It would become an anxiety-inducing entity that accompanies us. That terrifies us.
That makes us aware of what we live with. The fear of losing control.
Thanks for reading. And thanks for the game. Take care of yourself.
