Rust

When first gazing upon the Store page of Rust, I was enraptured by delusions of grandeur, revolving around navigating a desolate isle, teeming with quarrelsome creatures, that sought to tear the very appendages from my hearty frame. While I once naively toyed with ideas of leading a throng of warriors to hold uncontested dominion over an island, enthralling the unwary and instilling Welsh valour into the loyal denizens of my internally conjured fantasies, I must confess that my illusions were shattered by the harsh reality that is Rust.
The entire premise of Rust is one of survival, an inane psychological design to gauge the limits of man’s threshold for stress, paranoia and brutality. A sphere of unhinged delusion, where you are coerced to wander aimlessly throughout bogs, radiated patches of greenery and derelict dwellings, until you scavenge enough debris to form a gremlin’s caricature of an abode. In the entirety of my sojourning in Rust, I have ascertained that every single individual you will encounter is tainted with the malefic demeanour of an Englishman. They are unruly, unwashed, show animosity to all forms of life and exist for the sole purpose of invoking harm upon others.
Even the youth and womenfolk harbour a tainted, dilapidated spirit that must be quashed through flame and war, lest you wish for them to run amok, planting the seeds of dissent among the masses and conspiring eternally for your swift and gruesome downfall. If you ever espy one of these wretched kobolds, irrespective of how beguiling they may appear, you must resolve yourself to the grim task of beating them within an inch of their life and bestowing such manners of grisly torment that they quail and plead for clemency. Yet despite their pleas for supplication, the hand of justice must not abate, for every wound you incur, and every strike against the cranium that the bludgeon inflicts, you propel these wretched apparitions closer to the rays of God. Their shrieks of agony are merely indicative of the Devils wails, as his fingers, once enclosed around the necks of the unwary, are now being forcefully loosened, permitting these souls wading through the mires of damnation to finally envisage the light of Duna’s pious rays. In sooth, while some may callously refer to your acts of mercy as ‘torture’ and ‘abuse’, we of the erudite few, ken that such harsh actions emerge merely from the ashes of necessity.
I myself fondly recall holding these youth and maidens steady with an iron grip. There, my associates and I laid in wait, luring unsuspecting and virile youth, via sleeping bags, into spawning inside enclosed metallic cages, where we struck them until they were obedient enough to hearken to our every whim. Then we coerced these often bawling and shrieking adolescent children, into performing gruelling tasks of indentured servitude, hopping at our dictation and doing so with such eagerness, that one could only presume it was because they wished to be unbound from their fetters.
There was one lad, who was particularly loyal. A stout ginger, of 14 years. Initially, we lulled him into a false sense of security, with promises of firearms, ammunition and amicability, luring him ever closer to a gladiatorial pit we concocted for the uninitiated to duel each other with an assortment of hatchets, torches, clubs and swords. When this naïve fledgling stumbled upon the crux of our deceit, his destiny had emerged. We initiated the shaggy, crimson haired lad into the ways of conflict and flame and dubbed him by the sobriquet of ‘Waggles’, for his original epithet was ‘Timothy’, which we perceived as crude and bewraying lechery.
It shall be regaled in the scriptures of yore, that Waggles spent the remainder of his days as an austere champion of the arena, where he engaged in bouts of glory against various thralls, that we held under duress and offered the privilege of freedom if they slew our esteemed paladin. Yet none triumphed against him, for with every pugilist and unruly ragamuffin, brimming with ferocity, he slew with wanton abandon and utter ease. Thus, after two dozen cadavers lay strewn in his wake, we saw fit to release Sir Waggles into the wilds, a land he eternally coveted to capriciously frolic about upon.
This decision was determined, because although Waggles’ heart was once as dark as his pigment, through the seax he emerged as a paragon of morality. Instilled with the virtues of the Welsh, of honour, integrity, dignity and the ability to resist and fend back all manners of insidious temptation. In sooth, he was reborn, resurrected, with his will tempered through trials and tribulations, which many men would quiver and quake afore. Yet he, despite all manners of adversity remained robust and resolute, roaring defiantly against the horde of vermin that challenged him and met their untimely demise.
Earnestly I cherish the memory of rescuing this stripling lad from the clutches of depravity, and many more did I extricate from the perils of debauchery. Thus, I must sincerely appreciate the opportunity that arose, via this game, in being able to enact my visions and desires to liberate those shackled by the faux notions of avarice, wroth and sloth, permitting them to instead travel down into the realm of fortitude and glory.

The game your friends want you to play more than you want to play yourself. It's okay.

Worst feature: East-europeans playing on NA servers so they can kill you in your sleep.
Best features: Killing those east-europeans in their sleep.

In Rust, you start naked, armed with only a rock and false hope. You’ll spend hours building a shelter, hunting for food, and avoiding 420NoScopeMaster69, who’s lurking just to ruin your day. Team up with someone? They'll eventually betray you, steal your stuff, and leave you wondering why you ever trusted anyone in the first place.

It’s not about survival—it’s about how long you last before someone stabs you in the back.

Final Verdict: 10/10, trust issues forever.

ruzzia is a terrorist state

every time i play this game i something great happens and then it is all ripped away by a 9 year old with an eoka screaming racial slurs
10/10 would recommend

I almost have 1000 hours in this game. I can say by far this game is so fun and competitive but if you have any social life outside of games say bye bye to that, also make sure to hug your family because you won't come out of your room for days on end scared when you walk away you will hear a rocket flying at your base and lose the last 50 hours of work you did so to sum it up this game makes me wanna commit suicide 10/10 GAME WOULD RECOMMEND!

You play as a solo and make the best plays but never keep the loot because of big groups. So you realize unless you dedicate your life to the game you wont progress. 10/10 or -10/10 depends on the day