I have a confession to make, partner: I spent dozens of hours in Red Dead Redemption 2 brushing Arthur Morgan’s horse, growing his beard, and making sure he got enough stew to keep those tuberculous lungs as happy as possible. Then Rockstar made me watch him wheeze his way into the great beyond. Twice, really, because John Marston already did the tragic gunslinger shuffle in the first game. At this point, I half expect the next protagonist’s loading screen to be a coffin fitting. 🤠

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love a gritty Western as much as the next person with a Stetson and a deep fear of tuberculosis. But both Red Dead Redemption titles are essentially the same tragedy wearing different bandoliers. They follow members of Dutch van der Linde’s gang, a crew whose glory days are always just out of reach, like a perfect pelt that despawns when you get close. Arthur’s story happens while the gang collapses, and John’s story is a violent epilogue where he hunts down the remnants. Both men are doomed, and the game makes sure you feel that futility for every single minute.

Here’s my first big question: if Dutch’s gang supposedly stood for something—robbing from the rich, redistributing wealth, being Robin Hood with worse dental care—why do I never get to see it? The golden age of the Van der Linde gang is mentioned so often it might as well be a campfire ghost story. Arthur and John were apparently there when Dutch had a social conscience and the camp wasn’t a support group for people who trusted a man with a plan that didn’t exist. But by the time I show up with my controller, the idealism has already collapsed. I’m just the guy who has to watch the dream die and then pay for the funeral.

That’s the problem with Red Dead Redemption’s take on outlaws. It nailed the “doomed, conflicted gunslinger” theme once—maybe twice—but now it’s starting to feel like a broken gramophone playing the same sad yodel. The Wild Bunch is clearly the big inspiration: aging outlaws charging toward a bloody end because the world moved on. That’s a fantastic two-hour movie. But across two enormous games, it’s more like watching the same train wreck from a drone, a security camera, and a very unlucky pigeon. At some point, even the most devoted cowboy fan has to ask: am I playing a story, or am I just being emotionally waterboarded?

Let’s be real with each other for a second. If Red Dead Redemption 3 hits the exact same notes—flawed but lovable hero, slow-motion death, sad harmonica music—what are we even doing here? Rockstar already proved that romantic outlaws are an illusion and that progress grinds gunslingers into dust. Saying it again would be like dragging a horse corpse through the desert and asking us to call it innovation. I don’t need another 70-hour mourning period. I’ve already grieved Arthur. I’ve already grieved John. My therapist has heard enough about a video game horse named Boadicea II, thank you very much.

So here’s my modest proposal for Red Dead Redemption 3: let the protagonist live. I know, I know, that sounds radical. But hear me out. The word “redemption” shouldn’t be a fancy synonym for “get shot in a field after a tragic montage.” Maybe redemption could mean breaking the cycle, walking away from the outlaw life, and, I don’t know, owning a ranch where the chickens don’t get killed by rival gangs. Maybe it could mean actually seeing Dutch’s golden age for a few chapters before it all goes sideways, although that still ends badly because we know the gang’s fate. Maybe it could mean moving forward with Jack Marston, who seems destined for the same bleak road as his father unless Rockstar lets him choose something else. Maybe it could even mean playing a genuinely decent lawman—though that would make the previous games’ portrayal of the law look like a particularly grumpy PR campaign.

The point is, I’m not asking for a Disney ending with a singing cactus. I’m asking Rockstar to imagine a Western where survival is just as powerful as a heroic death. It’s 2026, and I’m ready for a Red Dead hero who can actually use the money he stole, enjoy the cabin he built, and maybe pet a dog without knowing that dog will also die by Act Five. If Red Dead Redemption 3 is just another story of a conflicted bandit getting buried with his guns in the mass grave of the Old West, then congrats, Rockstar—you’ve made a very pretty, very long funeral. I’ll still play it, obviously, but I’ll be complaining the entire time from behind my tears. 😭