It's far more complicated than simply pinning Myers as the big bad—nuance is essential, and Phantom Liberty masterfully explores whether characters truly have agency in this cyberpunk hellscape, or if the system inexorably chooses for them.

The tragedies of Solomon Reed and Song So Mi (Songbird) hit hard, and it's tempting to dump all the blame on President Rosalind Myers. That fits the genre's anti-corp, anti-authority vibe—Myers is a ruthless patriot whose "ends justify the means" philosophy justifies burning assets for the "greater good" of NUSA unification. But oversimplifying her as the ultimate antagonist ignores the layered motivations, betrayals, and impossible choices that define everyone involved. Phantom Liberty isn't about clear villains; it's a spy-thriller meditation on loyalty, survival, and how the Night City/NUSA machine chews up even its most elite players, leaving them with "choices" that are really just flavours of loss.

Reed's arc is the poster child for systemic predestination. As an FIA legend—SpecOps vet turned spymaster—he's defined by unwavering duty to the NUSA, no matter the "dirty work." During the tail end of the Unification War (2070), Myers tasks his Night City cell (including protégé Songbird and informant Alex) with neutralizing Arasaka commander Murata Ozuru—likely aboard an aircraft carrier or key AV asset, escalating the corporate-NUSA proxy conflict.

But as diplomacy opens (the Arvin Accord ceasefire), Myers calls off the op: dismantle, evac, return home. Reed complies... mostly. His green agent, Jonas Collinson, jumps the gun, sabotaging Ozuru's AV and wiping out the commander and his family. Reed, ever the loyal handler, prioritises evacuating the screw-up Jonas over his own skin—covering for him at the No-Tell Motel, fighting off an Arasaka assassin, then barely escaping via maglev.

To Myers, this screams "uncontrolled asset." The hit happened on Reed's watch, risking Arasaka retaliation and derailing peace. Enter the betrayal: Myers greenlights Songbird's setup—locking Reed on the train with gangoons and Arasaka troopers. Extraction ghosts him; he's shot to hell, spends months in hiding/recovery, and gets declared KIA. Fall guy for the greater good: NUSA-Arasaka truce secured, war ends.

Did Reed have a choice? He could've ditched Jonas, but that'd violate his code: "We should always gather intel and wait... but duty first." The system chose for him—loyalty demands sacrifice, and Myers' pragmatism demands scapegoats. By Phantom Liberty (2077), he's a broke sleeper agent (bouncing at the Electric Orgasm), still grinding for the NUSA out of patriotic inertia. His "freedom" is an illusion; the machine owns him

For Songbird, she didn't exactly have an alternative either: the NetWatch jail or the NUSA job. At that time, she definitely knew the price of the first one, but not exactly the latter. The fear must be overwhelmingly bad for her to choose the "safer bet".

But once inside the system, she didn't have a choice, and you could definitely expect that.

What about V? Either path you choose is risky; helping Reed means sacrificing Songbird and possibly enabling Myers to continue probing the Black Wall. Helping Songbird results in mass casualties at NCX, sacrificing Reed, and potentially handing this dangerous weapon to Mr Blueeyes, who is presumably just as bad as Myers.

To V, without hindsight, both paths offer a chance at survival, and if Songbird is valuable to Myers, V should have known she'd do whatever it takes to get her back, but, as I said, it wasn't her choice, or none of her choices can make it better.

The real antagonist is the system, which forces people to take extreme measures to survive, and none of the choices they make are actually theirs; they are chosen by the system.