Red Dead Redemption 2 is the best game out so far. If you haven't realized it, or you hate the Wild West setting so much that you disgust it, or you have been out of this world the last 10 days, the same days I personally experienced as a Arthur Morgan in a game that you would hardly say is an artificial world. Epics of this caliber you recognize at first sight: you notice them from a detail, a dialogue or a simple interlocking of events that are too random to be generated on the computer. We could talk for hours about the excellent technical sector, the various features of the game or how everything is cohesive by a masterfully structured plot, but it would be stale and not very useful to read. What I think is more suitable to explain why Red Dead Redemption 2 is the non plus ultra of video games are small stories, events almost totally unrelated to the Main or Secondary Missions, which however manage to best channel the concept behind the work Rockstar Games, something that definitely goes beyond the simple game and that turns into an experience to be lived with all the senses. If all this might seem fictional to you, in reality it is only what I experienced in the game in certain moments: real situations that hide features, keys to press and textures with a patina of reality.
Racial hatred
The city of Saint Denis it is dark and gray, very different from the clear skies of Valentine: if this is modernization, then it smells of coal and human sweat. People run left and right, the old ranches give way to anonymous gray buildings and terribly alike to each other. The social gap between people is so great that it separates the upper class from the poor: the children of the latter run, steal, commit crimes just to survive. It is no different from what Arthur and his companions have been doing all their lives: rescued by Dutch, they find solace in a life increasingly impossible to support (due to civilization) John Marston, Javier Escuella, Bill Williamson, all outlaws that we have already known in the past (or rather, in the near future).
I finally recovered the loot stolen from one of these wicked children: my $ 600, the money left over from the bank heist on Valentine. In fact, I upgraded my entire arsenal by buying one Volcanic gun it's a Schofield revolver, readily customized with rifled barrel, black metals and gold chrome. As I prepare to ride towards the post of Hosea, a black boy yells and yells, while a policeman ushers him into an alley. I rush inside to see what's happening, but it's too late: a blow to the head kills the poor slave, leaving a smirk on the cop's face. I promptly hit the policeman, without however realizing that I have 3 others around: the city is on alert, witnesses of the event run towards the nearest lawyer, everyone tries Arthur. Everyone is looking for me. The alley helps, I can cover myself behind large pots without taking hits, despite having left my long-range weapons on the horse, having rushed out. First five, then three more: armed guards continue to enter the alley, trying to catch me. It is useless to surrender, the bounty now reads Alive or Dead, there is little to do. Escape is the only solution: fortunately the horse is close by, a couple of shots in dexterity and I manage to sow everyone. The city is now behind us, the day has been heavy, the time has come to go back to the camp.
I have not done it on purpose
Every day from 12 to 16 the city is always populated with people: they walk, buy, live. In those hours it is absolutely impossible to walk with the horse in the streets: every single stomp is an alert, sometimes too marked for the damage done. There Murphy's law it hits relentlessly, and a simple involuntary stomp becomes a way to alert every single man of the law, right down to the sheriff. Luckily I'm already on the horse, ready to get away, but a group of men continues to follow me and shoot me. My hat falls to the ground: I'll pick it up later. I manage to take out every single man of the law by walking away, but there is no peace for the damned. A group of men from the gang of Lemoyne appears in front of me, a typical ambush on a narrow road. Time slows down, just right to aim at the head of every single element and fire a deadly shot at them. Two of them are safe, but frightened. I put away the second revolver, and with the first I fire two shots in the air, just enough to make them run away in terror. Revenge is a game for idiots.
Cielito Lindo
It's finally back, it's back with us: in dark times like these every single joy is something that deserves celebration. Guns off, beers on top. Out the whiskey, the best we have. All around the fire, Javier he sings a Mexican song for us that we don't understand a word of, but with an all too familiar refrain.
¡Ay! ¡Ay! ¡Ay! ¡Ay !, ¡sing y no llores! Porque singing se alegran, cielito lindo, los corazones.
If they weren't hot on their heels i Pinkerton, the Lemoyne, the O'Driscoll and even that importer whose name I don't remember, life would certainly be easier. Unfortunately this is not the case: the night takes away that happiness, remembering that when the sun rises the problems will come back to the surface. But for now, let's celebrate.
Looking back ...
He didn't have to. Stealing is wrong, despite being my primary source of income. At least I steal from the rich to give to the poor, or rather I did. The world is changing, the west capable of giving the possibility of luck and a free life is now a mirage. I'm stuck here in these swamps for a bad shot Blackwater, something I didn't expect from Dutch. Yet this stealing a little adrenaline makes it flow. I chase the criminal, he is not poor, on the contrary he dresses well. Probably a fence. After reaching it and catching it with my lasso, I take back what is mine and let it escape, as a sign of magnanimity. I had never done it: the madman begins to rant about possible revenge towards me and the people I care about. Security is never too much: in retrospect, perhaps its place is precisely that swamp. A blow to the head, precise. Silence.
I'm back in town, just long enough to buy new express ammunition, which allows me to reload my guns faster. I leave the armory and a boy from the basement screams: he seems to have been kidnapped, but I don't understand how to access under them. The boy claims it's all the gunsmith's fault. I enter, point the gun at the gentleman's head and, with little kindness, ask where the entrance to the basement is. Down there a boy - he must have been in his 20s - dressed in marinaretto, raving words about a kidnapping. The gunsmith's illusion vanishes: after losing his boyfriend as a child, the resemblance to this teenager has triggered something in him, just enough to drive him crazy. The boy runs away, the man is destroyed. For safety, I take the ammunition without paying.
These are just four of the events that happened to me in the game. Perhaps some will manifest themselves identical to you, or perhaps they will be completely different in both implications and consequences. What we can say, in no uncertain terms, is that when every single move does not become a standard mechanic to repeat to advance or to train to overcome challenges, then we are faced with a a living, breathing, active world that evolves with us. Many titles have tried it, some have come close to it. But if you are looking for excellence, if you really want to understand what it feels like to touch a perfect game (not in terms of code strings and technicalities, but in conceptual terms), Red Dead Redemption 2 is a journey you must take. And who knows, maybe it will be the engine that will push you to discover the epic of John Marston in the previous chapter.
