So we’re doing this all over again, huh? Well, revisiting Red Dead Redemption 2 after seven years feels sort of funny. I mean, sure, we all have replayed the game after our first campaign run or got hooked to its online mode if you’re a roleplayer. But for me, this doesn’t just feel like replaying a game that I last touched two years ago for my fourth playthrough. It feels like going back home right in time as RDR 2 turns 7 today.
A home that still smells like gunpowder, campfire, and moonshine. The kind of home where I know exactly which horse will come trotting and from where once I let out a loud whistle. Ever since 2018, I’ve played plenty of games on my PlayStation 4, and now PlayStation 5 and PC. That’s right – I upgraded to keep up with the “next gen.” I’ve lost hundreds of hours to sci-fi galaxies, neon cityscapes, viking raids – and yet, nothing fills the same quiet space RDR 2 does.
When I get bored with the usual run-of-the-mill AAA open world games, I find myself reinstalling RDR 2 like it’s a guilty pleasure of mine to slow myself down with a game as grounded as this western tale. I’ll tell myself it’s “just for a ride,” but within minutes I’m brushing my horse, looting cigarette cards, and talking to strangers I already know by name.
And that’s the magic of it, isn’t it? Red Dead Redemption 2 doesn’t pull you back because of its graphics or deep gameplay design — it does it because of its familiarity. It’s the one game that still makes me slow down, breathe, and remember what loyalty to a story, to a place, and to a man like Arthur Morgan actually feels like.
The Year Rockstar Told Us to Slow Our Damn Horses Down
I still remember booting up Red Dead Redemption 2 in 2018 on my PS4 and thinking, Oh wow, I’m really about to spend 30 seconds watching this man clean his gun in real time. While everyone in the open world gaming was fast-traveling between points of interest, whether it was Insomniac’s Spider-Man or Assassin’s Creed Odyssey, Rockstar broke through the norm and told us to slow down.
And somehow it worked. RDR 2 was the first game I played in a long time that demanded patience. I didn’t want to rush through its world; rather wanted to be a part of it and live it. It felt like the game was forcing me to ride slowly, listen to my horse breathing, and actually look at the trees instead of my mini-map, and that was the real beauty of it.
For the first time, in a long time, in a video game, I wasn’t a superhero, or a god, or some chosen one with magic hands. I was Arthur Morgan – a man who needed to shave, clean his guns, and politely greet strangers before robbing them. Every tiny system and area felt handcrafted as Rockstar did not rely on the Procedural Generation trickery most AAA studios go for.
Horses didn’t spawn randomly; rather, they existed in stables. Guns got dirty after repeated use and sometimes jammed mid-fight. Mud stuck to your boots after a storm when you could practically smell the rain. It wasn’t realism for realism’s sake. It was Rockstar mocking us, saying, “You think you want fast-paced fun? Nah, son. You’re gonna sit by a campfire and enjoy it.” And I did. Hundreds of hours later, I still do.
RDR 2 spoiled me for other open-worlds. When a random guard in another game repeats the same “halt, who goes there?” line for the 100th time, I just sigh and think – buddy, the townsfolk in Valentine remember me for accidentally head-butting their sheriff once. That’s the magic that RDR 2 brought to gaming. Man, it gave us a living world instead of just an “open” one. And seven years later, no one’s topped it.
Arthur Morgan Taught Me More About Life Than Any Self-Help Book
I’ve played a lot of video game protagonists, right from Kratos, Geralt of Rivia, V, you name it. But out of all of them, Arthur Morgan lives rent-free in my head. He’s the kind of guy who can shoot six O’Driscolls before breakfast, then quietly sketch a bird in his journal by noon. And I’ll be honest: I see a lot of myself in Arthur.
I can be all calm and polite, tipping my hat, greeting strangers like a gentleman. But as soon as some guy bumps into me outside the saloon, it’s a showdown, partner. Arthur’s temper, his humor, his sense of weary decency, it’s all painfully relatable. I mean, he’s not a saint if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s a man trying to be better, even when the world keeps proving it doesn’t matter. That kind of moral tug-of-war only hits harder the older you get.
There’s a line he says to Hosea – “Be loyal to what matters.” That one stuck with me the first time I heard it. It’s simple cowboy wisdom that somehow applies to life, work, friendships, and even how I pick which game to replay every year.
Arthur’s also weirdly charming in a “g’day to you, sir” way. While collecting bounties around the map, I’d catch myself channeling Dr. King Schultz from Django Unchained and acting all polite and throwing around big words until someone decides to test my patience. Then, well, I stop being Dr. Schultz and start being Clint Eastwood real fast.
But what made Arthur timeless wasn’t just his cool lines or voice acting (even though Roger Clark deserves an Oscar for that one). It was his evolution. The man who started as Dutch’s loyal bulldog ends up questioning everything. His morality, his loyalty, and even his faith in people till the day he dies.
I felt that. We all did. We’ve all had a “Dutch” in our lives – a person or idea we followed too blindly until it burned us. Arthur’s realization, where he says that you can’t change the past, but you can still do right before it’s over, is the kind of writing that sneaks up and sucker-punches you right in the heart. And let’s not even talk about that final ride. Every time “Unshaken” plays, I can feel the weight of every bad choice I made. Damn, I cry every single time I hear it (rest in peace, D’Angelo).
Arthur Morgan didn’t need to be cool; he needed to be true. And that’s why seven years later, he’s still the best protagonist Rockstar has ever created.
The Wild West Still Lives In Mods, Memes, and the Hearts of the Unshaken
You’d think after seven years, the frontier would’ve gone quiet. But nope, the campfire’s still burning, thanks to a fanbase that’s as loyal (and unshaken) as Arthur himself. On PC, RDR 2 has become the wildest modding playground this side of the Mississippi. You’ve got ultra-realistic mods that make the grass sway like it’s in a nature documentary, survival overhauls that strip away the HUD and force you to navigate by the stars, and mods that let you play as a literal grizzly bear. Because of course someone did that.
Then there’s Red Dead Online. Sure, Rockstar didn’t give it the love it deserved, but the community did. There are in-game photography groups, fashion contests, and people who’ve written actual cowboy novels using photo mode. One player even recreated entire Western movie scenes shot-for-shot – including The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. And of course, the meme clips. Oh, the clips!
The horse launches, the poker games, the drunk fist fights, the absolute chaos when someone fires a gun in Valentine, and the entire town goes John Wick; that’s what players have been at since the Online mode was launched. Even a mod that forces you to watch unhinged memories of an NPC you just shot further elevates the madness that these modders have created to keep the game alive.
Seven years later, this world still owns me. Not because it’s perfect, but because it feels real. Because Arthur Morgan feels real. Maybe that’s what “be loyal to what matters” really means. It’s not about sticking with something flawless; it’s about standing by something true.
And for me, that truth is a dusty, fading sunset over the Heartlands, a loyal horse by my side, and a dying outlaw still trying to do right in a world that’s moved on. Even after all this time, I still can’t quit Arthur Morgan. And maybe that’s the point.
