Let me set the scene: it’s 2026, I’m polishing off my third annual playthrough of Phantom Liberty, and the neon-drenched misery of Dogtown still gives me that warm, chrome-plated glow. But here I am again, staring down Mr. Hands’ latest gig—'Run This Town'—and the big question hasn’t aged a day: who gets Hansen’s throne? The wily operator Jago, the brutal bulldog Bennett, or… both? I’ll be honest, my first time around I was just mashing buttons and praying my Reflex check didn’t screw me. Now, three years later, I’ve learned the choombatta’s playbook, and let me tell you, there’s only one move that keeps my eddies fat and my conscience—well, whatever’s left of it—clean.
Right out of the gate, V slides into the Aguilar cosplay and saunters into that bunker meeting. The Voodoo Boys are, predictably, about as cooperative as a glitched-out cyberdeck. No peace talks here—you’re mopping the floor with them before Jago even shows his cagey smile. Once he does, he spills the tea: Bennett’s in bed with Arasaka, and suddenly this isn’t just a turf spat, it’s corpo chess. Now, if you’ve got a taste for messy drama, you can hitch a ride with Bennett by sneaking downtown, de-chauffering his driver, and sliding into his car like you own the place. Tell him 'What if Jago weren’t a problem?' and you’ve just signed up for Team Bennett. The payoff? At the wake, Bennett caps Jago right over Hansen’s corpse—classy. Mr. Hands coughs up 8,000 eddies if you squeezed Jago’s contacts first; lose those and he docks you 2K for embarrassing him. It’s the equivalent of getting a C-minus and a stern talking-to.
But maybe you fancy yourself a smooth operator. Siding with Jago means skipping the Bennett car confessional and heading straight to the Black Sapphire. The catch? You’d better have Reflex 10 or you’ll be watching Bennett turn Jago into Swiss cheese before you can say 'oops.' Even if you nail the check, Jago’s hands stay clean while yours get bloody—and Hands (the fixer, keep up) grumbles about the spectacle. You’ll still get 8K, and later he admits over tea that Dogtown’s in decent hands. It’s the 'safe-ish' path, but it feels like settling for a synth-beer when you could’ve had the real thing.
Now here’s where my 2026 self smirks: the third option. When Bennett starts waving his iron around at the funeral, you draw your gun and hit them with the classic, 'You would plunge Dogtown into chaos?' Instead of a bloodbath, these two chuckleheads instantly bond over their shared love of not getting shot. They cook up a co-leadership scheme—Bennett as the face, Jago as the brains. No skill checks, no twitch-reflex panic, no extra cleanup. Everyone walks away alive (except Hansen, but who’s counting?). Mr. Hands practically purrs with delight and slides you 10,000 eddies plus a bonus for professionalism. That’s a 25% tip for making his life easier. As someone who’s spent years in Night City’s gig economy, I’ll take the path that pays my rent and doesn’t add to my cyberpsychosis.
Don’t get me wrong—there’s no golden ending that reshapes the whole game. None of these calls alter Cyberpunk’s finale or unlock a secret raygun. But let’s talk numbers: a 4,000-eddy difference isn’t pocket change, especially when you’re still saving up for that sweet Caliburn. And roleplay-wise, my V in 2026 isn’t a mindless merc; he’s a fixer’s fixer who understands that happy clients mean repeat business. Forcing a shotgun marriage between brains and brawn might feel a little 'corp' for some, but it’s the only outcome where the streets stay quiet and my wallet stays chunky.
So, whether you’re dusting off Phantom Liberty for the first time or, like me, treating it as a yearly ritual, the math is simple: Jago plus Bennett equals max profit and minimum headache. In a city that runs on betrayal, pulling off a win-win feels like actually sticking it to the system—and hey, Mr. Hands buys the next round of imaginary tea. Don’t overthink it, choom. Just don’t forget to dump those Voodoo Boys first. Some habits die hard.