Stepping into the shoes of Aymeric Cassel, with Alex as Aurore by my side, still sends a shiver down my spine even in 2026. The Firestarter mission is that fork in the road where everything in Phantom Liberty tilts—one wrong word, one misplaced glance at Colonel Kurt Hansen, and the whole house of cards collapses. I've replayed it more times than I'd like to admit, so let me walk you through what actually goes down inside that stadium.
The drive to the EBM Petrochem Stadium always gets my palms sweaty. Alex, still wearing Aurore’s face, runs through last-minute pointers—stay calm, mirror Aymeric’s arrogance, and for god's sake, don't crash the wheels. I’ve learned the hard way that running over a pedestrian right before a high-stakes spy gig is not the vibe. The stadium looms ahead like a concrete beast, teeming with Barghest soldiers who look ready for a war and wouldn't hesitate to sniff out a rat. Once we park, a dossier on Aymeric pops up on my HUD, listing his habits and quirks—handy when your life depends on small talk.
Murphy, Hansen’s hulking right hand, escorts us through the base. You can chat him up or stay silent; the real test sits behind a reinforced door waiting to pour you a drink. Honestly, that walk feels like an eternity. By the time we reach the private lounge, I’m usually muttering under my breath, “Just keep it together, V.”
Then comes the blabber. Hansen isn’t a man you can sweet-talk with half-truths. He tests us with questions about the twins' business, their tastes, their luck at the roulette table. I’ve memorized the safe answers by now: “We are in no hurry,” “I do not waste energy,” and if I won big during You Know My Name, I mention the heaps of eddies. I always refuse the shot—no way I’m dulling my senses—and ask to see his knife. It’s a delicate dance. One false step and Hansen’s paranoia would ignite, turning the lounge into a bloodbath. But if you play it smooth, his guard drops just enough for Songbird to whisk you away to the mainframe lab while Alex stays behind with the colonel.
This is where I always create a manual save. No joke, right here. Because the next few minutes tear the entire narrative in two. Down in the humming server room, Songbird looks at me with those desperate, glitching eyes and begs for help escaping. Meanwhile, Reed’s voice crackles through comms, urging me to activate the ICEbreaker and neutralize her. I’ve stood frozen in that lab more times than I can count, my thumb hovering over the button. Boy, what a gut-punch. Johnny doesn’t even have a smart comment—he’s just as torn as I am.
Helping Songbird Escape
If I side with Songbird, we reject the ICEbreaker. She siphons the core data, and I give Alex the signal through gritted teeth. Alex takes a deep breath, then ends Hansen on the spot—clean, professional, no glory. Songbird seizes control of the stadium’s defenses, and the chaos erupts. Alex, realizing we’ve gone rogue, just vanishes into the smoke. No hard feelings, I guess. The escape that follows is a bullet-ridden sprint through corridors and helicopter wreckage. I grab the iconic weapon from Hansen’s old meeting room if the damn locker doesn’t glitch out, then fight through Murphy and his goons near the Panzer tank. Stealth? At that point, I’m too wired to tiptoe. Guns blazing feels right.
We duck through a maintenance shaft into the sewers—ignore the terrified workers, just blast the drones—and emerge into the Badlands. Songbird gets whisked away in a car, and I’m left waiting for her signal to kick off the Killing Moon mission. That whole sequence leaves me breathless and wondering if I’ve just made a pact with a rogue AI pretending to be a woman.
Helping Reed Capture Songbird
But oh, if I punch the ICEbreaker… things go sideways fast. Songbird catches on immediately and screams a warning to Hansen. The moment he realizes he’s not standing next to Aurore, he grabs Alex by the throat and rips her face plate off in one vicious motion. I can still hear that sound in my nightmares. Songbird, desperate beyond reason, reaches across the Blackwall and becomes a literal Cyberpsycho of untold power. When I stagger back to my feet, the lab is a charnel house, and So Mi has vanished.
Grabbing my weapons from the overturned lockers near the destroyed helicopter, I follow a trail of dead men. Hansen intercepts me at the exit with a rolling grenade, and suddenly it’s a boss fight that makes my cyberware sizzle. Distance is key. He’s a bullet sponge at range, but once his health drops to 70%, he ditches the gun for that wicked knife. He dashes, he dodges, he’ll pin you with a throw and go for a cinematic finisher. I stick to high ground, dash constantly, and plink away with precision rifles. When he finally crumbles to his knees, I never let him live. Too much blood for a dictator to walk away from. I end him with his own Fang knife through the face—Reed thanks me later, and honestly, it’s a neat little catharsis.
From there, it’s a sprint past drones to the garage, where Reed screeches up in his car and pulls me inside. MaxTac swarms Dogtown, and we watch them bag Songbird like a feral animal. Then it’s off to call a Netrunner (or dig into your own 10 Intelligence stat) for the Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos quest.
Years after its release, this mission still haunts me. No matter which side I pick, someone I care about ends up in pieces. Cyberpunk 2077 never tells you you’re right; it just hands you the consequence and dares you to live with it. So, take a breath, hit that manual save, and ask yourself: is V chasing heroism, survival, or just a ghost of a chance? I’m still not sure.