As I sit here in 2026, my hands still trembling slightly, I can finally look back at my journey through the vast, beautiful, and utterly soul-crushing world of Red Dead Redemption 2. I, a humble player, decided to go for the ultimate bragging rights: 100% completion and all those shiny, elusive trophies. Let me tell you, friends, it was less of a heroic adventure and more of a descent into madness. Who knew that a game about outlaws and redemption would require the patience of a saint and the obsessive focus of a cataloguing archivist? The sheer scale of content is both the game's greatest strength and, for a completionist like me, its most devious trap.

Let's start with the trophies that sound simple but are masterclasses in tedium. Take 'Collector's Item'. Sounds quaint, right? Just complete one set of collectibles. Oh, how naive I was! The game offers you a 'choice' between four paths of pain:

• Cigarette Cards (144 total): A random, luck-based nightmare scattered across the map.

• Dinosaur Bones (30 total): A scenic tour of every cliff and crevice in America.

• Rock Carvings (10 total): The 'easiest' one, which should tell you something.

• Exotic Items: A multi-stage fetch quest for a fussy NPC named Algernon Wasp that you can't even start until Chapter 4!

I chose the cigarette cards. I spent hours, days, weeks of in-game time peering at dusty shelves and looting corpses, muttering, "Just one more card..." like a gambler in a Saint Denis saloon. And the cruel joke? You only need one set for this trophy, but you need all of them for the ultimate 100% completion. Rockstar giveth, and Rockstar taketh away.

Then there's 'Paying Respects'. This one hits different. It's not about skill or luck, but about memory and melancholy. You have to visit the graves of all nine gang members who died. Finding them all is a quiet, bittersweet tour of the map, a final nod to friends lost. Arthur's grave, in particular... let's just say I had something in my eye. A piece of dust, probably. From all that riding. It's a powerful, emotional achievement hidden behind a simple task. Why did I feel the need to turn this poignant moment into a checklist item? What does that say about me as a player?

But the game wasn't content with just testing my patience and emotions. Oh no, it wanted to test my survival skills too. Enter 'Bountiful'. This isn't about collecting bounties; it's about being the bounty. You need a price of $250 or more on your head in every single state at the same time and survive for three in-game days. I became the most wanted man in America by design. The constant waves of bounty hunters turned every trip into a desperate battle. I learned that crime doesn't pay, but it sure does attract a lot of company!

The wildlife of America became my new obsession, and my new tormentor, thanks to 'Zoologist' and 'Skin Deep'. These two are a package deal of pain. First, 'Zoologist': find and study every single animal in the game. This meant:

• Stalking forests for hours, waiting for a perfect Carolina Parakeet to spawn (they're extinct now, by the way. My fault? Probably not, but I feel guilty).

• Tracking legendary animals across treacherous terrain.

• Realizing that 'studying' a grizzly bear from five feet away is a great way to get a close-up study of its claws.

Then came 'Skin Deep'. Finding them wasn't enough. I had to kill and skin them all. My Arthur, who started as a somewhat honorable outlaw, became the most prolific serial killer in the animal kingdom. Deer, boar, birds, squirrels... nothing was safe. My saddlebags were a tapestry of death. The only mercy? The unique animals on the island of Guarma and the legendary beasts didn't count. Small mercies from a cruel god (or game developer).

Just when I thought I'd seen it all, the game introduced me to 'It's Art'. This three-phase achievement is the definition of 'esoteric'. It starts deceptively simple: hunt perfect pelts for small animal requests. Getting a 'perfect' pelt from a squirrel or a chipmunk requires a specific weapon, a perfect shot, and a prayer to the RNG gods. But that's just phase one.

Phase two: After the main story, as John Marston, you get a bizarre taxidermied squirrel statue dressed like a cowboy. You put it on your mantle at Beecher's Hope. Phase three: The little guy starts moving. You leave home, come back, and he's in a different spot. This happens five times, with no quest markers, no hints, until he finally ends up on top of Mount Shann. Why? Who designed this? What were they smoking in the Rockstar offices? Yet, finding that creepy little squirrel on that mountain peak was one of the most uniquely satisfying moments in my gaming life. 😅

Of course, all these trophies are just stepping stones to the granddaddy of them all: 'Best in the West' for 100% completion. This isn't just a trophy; it's a second full-time job. The checklist is monumental:

And that's not even including the random tasks like 'take a bath' or 'see a theater show'! It's a comprehensive, exhausting, and utterly absorbing tour of everything the game has to offer. You truly become a master of this world.

But two trophies stand above even this Herculean effort in terms of pure, unadulterated frustration.

First, 'Grin and Bear It'. The name is a sick joke. You must find, survive, and kill 18 bears in a row without dying. One death resets the counter. Bears are terrifyingly powerful, their spawns are inconsistent, and winning a fight against one is never guaranteed. I spent more time looking for bears than I did some legendary animals. The combination of extreme luck (finding them) and extreme skill (killing them) makes this a trophy for the truly masochistic. Only 1% of players have it. I am now part of that 1%, and I need therapy.

And then, the pinnacle of pain: 'Gold Rush'. This trophy demands gold medals in 70 story missions. Gold medals require near-perfect runs: specific tasks, high accuracy, low damage, fast times. And you can't use your end-game gear when replaying missions; the game resets you to mission-appropriate stats. It's a pure test of skill, memory, and patience. Every missed shot, every bit of damage taken, feels like a personal failure. Less than 1% of players have this trophy. After earning it, I understood why. It broke me and rebuilt me as a better (and slightly twitchy) gunslinger.

So, was it worth it? Staring at that 100% completion screen and my fully decorated trophy cabinet? Honestly... yes. The journey was maddening, often ridiculous, and required a level of dedication I'm not sure is healthy. But it forced me to see every corner of Rockstar's masterpiece, to engage with systems I'd have otherwise ignored, and to truly live in the world of Red Dead Redemption 2. It's a testament to a game so rich and detailed that it can support hundreds of hours of pursuit beyond its main story. Would I recommend it? To a fellow glutton for punishment, absolutely. To a normal person? Maybe just enjoy the sunset over Heartlands. It's much more relaxing.