A Love-Hate Review of Rust (Mostly Hate)

Ah, Rust. Where to begin? The game that promises freedom, survival, and an exhilarating multiplayer experience—but instead delivers a ruthless cycle of frustration, betrayal, and relentless punishment. I’m not sure if it’s the thrill or the sheer misery of it all that keeps me coming back, but let’s break it down anyway.

The Hate:

First off, Rust is hard. Not in a fun, challenging way, but in a “you’ll spend hours crafting only to have it all stolen or destroyed by someone who’s played for 10 times longer than you” kind of way. You start with nothing—literally nothing but a rock—and then proceed to get hunted by every other player on the map who already has guns, armor, and a fully-built fortress. The sense of progress is nonexistent, and every minute feels like you’re one step away from losing everything you’ve worked so hard for. Oh, and let’s not forget the raids—your base gets blown up in the middle of the night, and you get to watch as someone takes all your hard-earned gear, laughing while you rage-quit.

And the community? A toxic cesspool. Players will camp your base just to ruin your day, or worse, lure you in with false promises of alliance, only to betray you the second you turn your back. You’ll spend hours scavenging, crafting, and building just to have some group of 10-year-olds in full armor roll up and wipe you off the map in five minutes. It’s a grind, and not the fun kind. It’s the kind where you know the game doesn’t care about your feelings, your effort, or your time.

The learning curve is insane. You’ll make rookie mistakes, like forgetting to lock your doors or not hiding your stash well enough, and boom, everything is gone. The game gives you no mercy, no tutorials, and no hand-holding. You’re thrown into the chaos and expected to survive or die trying. And the worst part? You’ll die a lot. This game isn’t about feeling like you’re making progress; it’s about enduring wave after wave of frustration and coming back for more because for some reason, you think “this time will be different.”

The Love (If You Can Call It That):

But—and this is a big but—there’s a sick kind of thrill buried deep in the chaos. It’s not the satisfaction of building something beautiful, because let’s be honest, that won’t last long. No, it’s the adrenaline rush of sneaking up on a rival base, hoping you’ve got what it takes to raid them before they catch you. Or the desperate moments when you’re low on health, hiding in a bush, praying the player you just shot doesn’t notice you as you reload. Rust is a game that delivers intense, heart-pounding moments, where one wrong move means the difference between life and death. And somehow, those fleeting moments of survival feel incredibly rewarding.

But let’s not kid ourselves. Those moments are few and far between, overshadowed by the constant struggle and agony of having to start over every single time someone destroys your base or wipes your progress. The game is basically a vicious cycle of losing and trying again, with barely any payoff. But somehow, despite all that pain, there’s a part of you that craves the chaos, the unpredictability, the sheer terror of knowing that at any moment, everything could go up in smoke—and yet, you keep playing.

Conclusion:

At its core, Rust is a brutal, unrelenting experience that will test your patience, your sanity, and your will to live (in-game). The highs are brief, fleeting, and often overshadowed by the endless grind and cruel players. The thrill is real, but so is the frustration. If you're looking for a game that will make you question your decisions and leave you cursing at your screen, Rust is the game for you. You’ll rage, you’ll cry, but for some twisted reason, you’ll keep coming back. It’s a love-hate relationship you can’t escape.