You’re sitting in the back of a van. It’s raining—because in Night City, it’s always raining when things are about to go sideways. Across from you sits a man named Joshua Stephenson. He’s a convicted double-murderer, a man who found God in a concrete cell, and now he wants you to help him die. This is Cyberpunk 2077: There Is a Light That Never Goes Out, and honestly, it’s probably the most polarizing hour of gameplay CD Projekt Red ever put on a disc.
Most games give you a gun and tell you to save the world. This quest gives you a hammer and asks you to nail a man to a cross.
It’s heavy. It’s weird. It makes your skin crawl. But if you’re looking for the soul of the cyberpunk genre—the real, grit-under-the-fingernails philosophical stuff—this is where you find it. It isn't about the chrome or the neon. It’s about how a megacorporation can take the most private, sacred moment of a human life and turn it into a subscription-based braindance for the masses.
The Setup: From Hitman to Spiritual Advisor
The quest doesn't start with a prayer; it starts with a hit job. Wakako Okada gives you a contract called "Sinner Man." You’re supposed to take out a guy in a transport vehicle. Simple, right? But if you’ve played more than ten minutes of this game, you know "simple" is a lie.
When you finally intercept the truck, the NCPD officer guarding it, Bill Jablonsky, gets flatlined instantly. Then Joshua steps out. He doesn't run. He doesn't fight. He asks you to stay with him. This transition into Cyberpunk 2077: There Is a Light That Never Goes Out is jarring. You go from a high-speed chase to a quiet, uncomfortable car ride where a man asks you if you believe in the afterlife.
It’s a tonal whiplash that feels intentional. One minute you're a mercenary, the next you're a witness to a bizarre pilgrimage.
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Why the Smith’s Song Title Matters
CDPR loves their musical references. The quest title is a direct lift from The Smiths. Morrissey sang about a ten-ton truck crashing into them, and how "to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die." In the context of Joshua Stephenson, it’s dark irony. He wants his death to mean something. He wants it to be "heavenly." But the "light" in Night City isn't divine—it's the glow of a studio camera.
The Corporate Exploitation of Faith
Let’s talk about Rachel. She’s the producer for Fourth Wall Studios, and she is arguably more villainous than any Maelstrom ganger you’ve ever fought. While Joshua is having a genuine—albeit delusional—spiritual crisis, Rachel is checking her watch and worrying about the "lighting."
She sees Joshua’s sacrifice as a product.
This is the core of the quest. It’s a critique of how capitalism consumes everything. Even the concept of redemption is just another "scroll" for people to buy. Rachel even tries to bribe you to leave. She knows that having a "real" mercenary like V around adds a layer of authenticity to the braindance, but she also knows you’re a wild card who might talk Joshua out of the deal.
If you take the money, the quest ends. You walk away with a few thousand eddies and a hollow feeling in your gut. If you stay, you’re choosing to see the train wreck through to the end.
The Dinner at Zuleikha’s House
This is the part that usually gets people. You visit the sister of one of the men Joshua killed. It’s awkward. It’s quiet. It feels like a scene from a stage play rather than a triple-A RPG.
You see the grief. You see Joshua’s desperate need for forgiveness. And you see how religion provides a framework for his madness. Is he a saint? No. Is he a monster? Maybe. But in this house, under the flickering lights of a kitchen, he’s just a broken man. The game doesn't tell you how to feel here. You can be supportive, or you can tell him he’s out of his mind.
The Crucifixion: A Bridge Too Far?
Eventually, you end up at the studio. The quest Cyberpunk 2077: There Is a Light That Never Goes Out culminates in "They Won't Go When I Go." This is the point of no return. Joshua asks you to be the one to perform the act. He wants a friend—or at least someone who isn't a studio lackey—to handle the nails.
A lot of players find this segment genuinely difficult to watch.
- You have to physically interact with the prompts.
- The sound design is hyper-realistic.
- The silence of the studio crew is deafening.
There is no combat here. There are no skill checks to "save" him in a traditional sense. You are just there to facilitate a man’s public suicide. It’s a bold move for a developer. In a medium that usually prioritizes player power, this quest makes you feel utterly powerless to change the outcome. Joshua is going to die. The studio is going to get rich. You are just the tool.
Technical Nuance: How Your Choices Shift the Narrative
Despite the linear feel, your dialogue actually matters for the final "result" of the braindance. You aren't just a passive observer.
If you constantly express doubt and tell Joshua he’s being used, the braindance recorded is considered a "failure" by the studio because his conviction wavers. You can actually see the dip in his faith in his eyes. On the flip side, if you encourage his messiah complex, the recording becomes a massive hit.
Later, Rachel will call you. Depending on the "quality" of the death you helped create, she’ll either scream at you for ruining the production or send you a bonus for making her a millionaire. It’s a cynical, cold ending that perfectly encapsulates the cyberpunk genre. There is no "good" ending. There is only the version where you got paid and the version where you didn't.
Actionable Insights for Your Playthrough
If you’re currently staring at the "Sinner Man" quest marker and wondering if you should click it, here is how to handle it for the best experience.
Don't skip the dialogue. It’s tempting to rush through the driving scenes, but the nuance in Joshua's voice acting is incredible. Listen to his justifications. It makes the final scene much more impactful.
Refuse the bribe.
Rachel’s money is easy, but you lose out on the most unique sequence in the game. You can make eddies anywhere in Night City. You can only experience this specific brand of existential dread once.
Decide on your V’s philosophy early. Are you a nihilist who thinks this is all a joke? Or are you a believer who thinks Joshua deserves a moment of peace? Sticking to a consistent tone with your dialogue makes the ending call from Rachel feel much more earned.
Check your phone later.
The consequences of this quest don't happen immediately. Wait a few in-game days. The follow-up call is the real "conclusion" to the story, showing you exactly what your influence did to the studio's bottom line.
There Is a Light That Never Goes Out isn't a fun mission. It isn't a power fantasy. It’s a grim, uncomfortable look at the intersection of faith, fame, and the predatory nature of the media. It’s exactly what the genre should be: a warning.
Next time you’re walking through North Oak, look at the billboards. You might just see Joshua’s face staring back at you, a digital martyr for a city that forgot how to pray a long time ago. Now, go back to the afterlife and grab a drink—you're going to need it after that one.