Red Dead Redemption 2 is a game that lets you live out the full spectrum of morality, from noble gunslinger to unrepentant outlaw.
It doesn’t force you to play one way or the other, so you decide what kind of person you want to be.
Let’s just say I took full advantage of that freedom and indulged in the most evil-ish deeds the game had to offer. For me, the latter became my guilty pleasure.
I did things in that game I’d never do in real life. I robbed, lied, and terrorized my way through towns, making enemies left and right. I bullied drunkards, threatened beggars, and even lassoed a charitable woman right after donating to her cause. But regardless of how deep I fell from honor, I couldn’t bring myself to harm animals or children (though I’ve met a few that made me reconsider). That was my unspoken rule. Even the worst outlaws have a code, after all.
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+ 3I happened to walk into a cabin and saw a sweet old lady lost in a book about her outlaw sons. She wasn’t exactly fond of me being there, but I decided to stick around and add a little drama to her last moments. Then there were the times I sat back and watched as NPCs met their unfortunate fates, like the guy who got drowned in an outhouse full of filth. Disgusting? Absolutely.
Or that one time I let a Chelonian preacher drown because his cult was too obnoxious. There was also the time I bullied a loan shark victim a little too much and accidentally killed them. Well, that escalated quickly. I was just trying to shake them up a bit, not send them to their grave.
Then there was the blind beggar to whom I gave money, only to turn around and antagonize him for no reason other than to kill time. His reaction left me with a short-lived pang of regret.
I stumbled upon that widow as well—one of many I created, apparently. She ran up to me, crying, calling me a monster for killing her husband (which I barely even remembered). I tossed her a couple of dollars as if a few measly coins could make up for the destruction I left behind. She refused, of course, because dignity mattered more than my pitiful hush money. That two-dollar bill was met with a disgusted glare and a heartfelt curse that followed me all the way down the street.
click to enlarge + 3It was moments like this that made me pause, laugh, and question just how much of a terrible person I’d become in this virtual world. I bumped into someone who just needed a hand to get home. He asked if he could ride on the back of my horse, and I, in a moment of peak villainy, told him to walk. He sounded genuinely defeated. I felt terrible for half a second… then rode off, leaving him in the dust.
There were times when I rode into town just to antagonize everyone in sight, picking fights with anyone who dared look at me the wrong way. I’d shove people into the mud, start bar brawls for no reason, and see how much chaos I could cause before the law inevitably came after me. One of my favorite pastimes is tripping NPCs while they are carrying something, just to watch them stumble.
Next up were my ill-fated attempts at robbing trains. In theory, I wanted to be a ruthless outlaw, pulling off the perfect heists, but more often than not, I’d botch the whole thing. I’d leap onto a moving train only to mistime my landing and get trampled under the wheels.
click to enlarge + 3Or I’d threaten passengers and somehow end up falling off the train myself, watching as my supposed victims continued their journey, unfazed. Every failed robbery just made me double down, trying again and again, determined to make it work until the Pinkertons showed up and reminded me I was terrible at this whole outlaw business.
I can’t say I haven’t had my moments of regret.
One time, I walked into a father and son arguing about money. The dad was a drunk, clearly wasting away what little they had. I thought I’d help. I was going to donate a few dollars, but before I could, the father took a swing at me. Reflex took over, so I shot him. The boy collapsed in tears, and for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to just walk away. So, in some misguided act of mercy, I took the boy out too.
Ironically, these moments have always pulled at my heartstrings, whether in films, stories, or real life, sometimes even bringing me to tears. But in RDR2, I found them nothing but thrilling. The game’s world is so alive, so reactive, that I couldn’t help but push its boundaries to see what would happen.
It’s not something I’m proud of, and after a ruthless session, I’d sometimes step away from the screen, touch some grass, and reconnect with nature. I’d watch birds, listen to the wind, maybe even appreciate a sunset—just to cleanse my soul after the absolute menace I had become in-game.
But the next time I booted it up, that same devilish grin returned.
Because, at the end of the day, RDR2 is a masterpiece of a playground, and sometimes, being a little evil (just a little) is a guilty pleasure, I can’t entirely give up.
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