I start the game as Arthur Morgan — a walking contradiction.
A tough outlaw, a gentle soul, and a man who apologizes to his horse more than he apologizes to people.
I hunt, I fish, I help every stranger alive…
and Dutch keeps saying “Trust me, Arthur.”
Bro, I don’t even trust myself near the ‘Greet / Antagonize’ buttons.

Arthur’s journey hits harder than any shotgun blast.
He goes from “Let’s rob a train” to “Let’s fix our sins before the credits roll.”
Character development?
Peak.
Therapy-level peak.

Then there’s Dutch.
At the start? A charismatic philosopher.
By the midpoint? A confused TED Talk speaker.
By the end? A man whose moral compass got stolen by Micah and honestly, I don’t think Micah even knows how to read a compass.

Speaking of Micah…
If hatred burned calories, I’d be shredded.
Every time he opened his mouth, I aged 3 years.

And then comes John Marston, quietly grinding in the background,
trying to be a decent cowboy who keeps getting dragged into chaos like:
“John, help us rob this, help us escape that, help us not die today.”
Man didn’t choose the outlaw life —
the outlaw life chose him and then sent him an eviction notice.

When the story shifts from Arthur to John,
it feels like losing a brother but gaining a legacy.
The farm, the family, the slow rebuilding…
It’s like Rockstar said:
“Here, cry a little, cowboy.”

• Started as Arthur → Became a philosopher with tuberculosis.
• Trusted Dutch → Immediate regret.
• Micah spoke → My controller took emotional damage.
• Ended as John → Just a man trying to pay off debt and keep his horse alive.

RDR2 is beauty + heartbreak + cowboy existential crisis.
If you finish this game and don’t stare at the credits in silence…
you didn’t play it right.

10/10 – This game didn’t just break me.
It left me sitting on my couch whispering, “I gave you all I had…”