- Primary Subject: Video Game Characters Who Deserved Better
- Key Update: These beloved characters and their story arcs had so much more to give, but developers thought otherwise.
- Status: Confirmed/Personal Opinion
- Last Verified: February 5, 2026
- Quick Answer: From Jackie Welles' premature exit in Cyberpunk 2077 to Lady Dimitrescu's fleeting reign in Resident Evil Village, this list highlights seven beloved video game characters whose compelling arcs were cut short by sudden deaths, pacing issues, or unsatisfying conclusions.
Some characters stay with you long after the credits roll. Sometimes, not because their stories were perfectly told, but because you can't stop thinking about what might have been. The alternate version where they got a few more hours of screen time. The ending that let them breathe, or the arc that reached its natural conclusion instead of getting cut short.
This list is for those characters. The ones who made us care deeply, only to leave us wishing the story had given them just a little more. Some died too soon. Others faded into the background when they deserved the spotlight. A few had their stories incomplete, like a sentence that trails off as you're thinking about it. What unites them is that bittersweet feeling of attachment mixed with longing.
Consider yourself warned: we're diving into major spoiler territory here.
Jackie Welles: Cyberpunk 2077
Jackie Welles has everything you'd want in a partner-in-crime. He's loyal, funny, and genuinely believes in you when nobody else does. He's even the main driving force behind Cyberpunk 2077's marketing. So, I went into Night City expecting that same friendship to be the core of my game.
And in many ways, it was. Just... not for as long as I'd hoped.
That's because the story compressed Jackie's narrative into nothing more than a prologue character. Now, I don't think there's a villain here. Open-world games face brutal constraints when it comes to pacing, and something always has to give. But I can't help imagining a version of Cyberpunk 2077 where we got at least a few more hours with Jackie before his emotionally meaningless death. They could've used his narrative to build up into a gut-wrenching moment because I'd lived that friendship, and not just as a witness to a mere summary.
Jesse: The Last of Us Part II
The Last of Us Part II is cruel by design. It wants you to feel the weight of violence, the randomness of loss, the way death doesn't wait for a convenient narrative moment. I understand and respect that vision. It's a bold, creative choice that makes the game unforgettable, even when it's hard to stomach.
Jesse's death is meant to be surprising. He dies while uttering a dialogue. No buildup. No dramatic last words. Just sudden, awful silence.
Part of me appreciates that commitment to realism. But a larger part of me keeps thinking about who Jesse was before that moment. He was the calm one. The guy who showed up to help, even when he had every reason to stay behind. His story with Dina, his impending fatherhood, and his quiet steadiness while Ellie spiraled into obsession. All of it has the hallmarks of being a character with so much more to give.
I don't know if more screen time would have made his death more impactful. Probably not. But I find myself wishing I'd gotten to know Jesse before the story took him away. He felt like a friend I was just starting to understand, and then he was gone.
Aerith Gainsborough: Final Fantasy VII
I've made my peace with Aerith's death. It's one of the most iconic moments in gaming for a reason, and I understand why it had to happen the way it did. The story needed that loss. Cloud needed that loss. Why? Because we all needed to feel the true cost of fighting Sephiroth.
That said, understanding something and accepting it are completely different things.
What stays with me isn't the death itself. Rather, it's knowing it could never be prevented. Final Fantasy VII gives us so many choices as we go on Cloud's adventure. You customize the party, choose your materia, weapons, and your approach to every battle. The game teaches us that if you're prepared and have the skills, then you can overcome any obstacle. Then Sephiroth descends, and then none of it matters. There's no secret sequence, no hidden item, no perfect playthrough that lets you save her.
I know that's the point. I know tragedy often works precisely because it can't be avoided. But there's still a version of me out there who thinks of a "what if" story.
Dominic Santiago: Gears of War
Dom's arc across the Gears of War trilogy is one of sustained heartbreak. He lost his children before the first game began. He found his wife, Maria, tortured beyond recognition, and what's worse is that he had to end her suffering himself. By Gears 3, he's running on empty but still fighting because stopping would mean confronting the enormity of what he's lost.
His sacrifice is one of the most affecting moments in the series, and maybe in gaming history. Driving a truck into a fuel depot and Marcus screaming his name turned that moment into an icon in Gears history.
Now that I'm calling myself an adult, I see that moment in a different light, and I wish for a different kind of ending.
Dom's entire journey had been about enduring despite unimaginable loss. What would it have meant for him to survive? To find, against all odds, something worth living for? His story seemed to be building toward a question of whether healing was possible after going through so much pain. A heroic death is powerful, absolutely. But I sometimes wonder if letting Dom live, fighting for some fragile peace, might have had a different meaning.
Desmond Miles: Assassin's Creed
For five games, Desmond Miles was the anchor of this franchise. He connected every historical adventure to a larger modern-day story, slowly transforming from a confused bartender to a full-fledged Assassin.
Then Assassin's Creed III ended his story in an ancient chamber, and to this day, I'm still not sure that it's the right ending for him.
Desmond touches a glowing orb, saves the world from an impending solar flare, and then dies. I remember sitting through that moment and just thinking, "Wait, that's it?"
I understand that long-running franchises face difficulty in terms of continuing a plotline. Especially during that time, when Assassin's Creed pumps out a game year after year. But I can't help but only imagine that the franchise would not be in the dire situation that it is today if Ubisoft simply made Desmond the star of the modern-day timeline. Instead, his ending felt less like a conclusion and more like a door closing on possibilities.
Alcina Dimitrescu: Resident Evil Village
When RE: Village was first revealed, we all fell in love with Lady D. A nine-foot-tall vampire aristocrat with such elegance, but she stalks you throughout an old castle? Count me in. And for what it's worth, we've all embraced her appeal. We saw her front and center in trailers and pretty much every promo material. I couldn't wait to be hunted inside her domain.
Castle Dimitrescu delivers on that promise beautifully. The atmosphere is thick with dread, her daughters are creepy, and Lady D herself pursues you with a persistence that makes Mr. X seem polite by comparison. It's one of the best sections of the game.
It's also over in like an hour and a half.
Don't get me wrong. The rest of Village is good, and the overall experience holds well together. But there's a lingering sense that the game peaked in its opening act. That's not necessarily a bad flaw in design, but it also does mean that I spent the back half of the game missing Lady Dimitrescu. She made such an impression in such a short time that, truly, all I wanted was for more.
The Bloody Baron: The Witcher 3 - Wild Hunt
The Bloody Baron questline is one of the most intriguing stories in The Witcher 3. The Baron is a deeply flawed man. An abusive drunk whose violence destroyed his family. But he's written with enough complexity that you understand how he got there. That his cruelty has been born from a recognizable human weakness rather than simple villainy. You spend time untangling his history, weighing his sins against his suffering, and wondering whether someone like him can ever truly change.
Depending on your choices, the Baron either leaves seeking help for his comatose wife or hangs himself in despair. Neither ending is happy, which fits The Witcher's world perfectly. This side quest raises some profound questions about accountability. About forgiveness. About whether redemption is possible for people who have caused such tremendous harm.
It's not an easy question to answer. But I find myself wishing we'd gotten to see him try. To either watch him succeed in being better or regress for the worse.
And that's it! These characters stuck with us because they made us feel something real. We connected with them, and that connection outlasted the stories that contained them. Maybe that's the strange silver lining here. The fact that we're thinking about these characters means that they felt true, even for just a moment.
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