Destiny 2 feels less like a game and more like a never-ending subscription to pain. Paywall after paywall — you don’t just buy the game, you buy the expansions, the season, the dungeon key, the raid, the battle pass, and God forbid you want an ornament that isn’t basic. At this point, Bungie should just install a debit card reader on my controller.

And even when you do pay, you still don’t get the full picture. The story’s locked behind quests that feel like homework, the grind is absurd, and half the time the actual plot is delivered in lore books you’ll never read unless you skip school, stop showering, and dedicate your entire existence to learning Destiny’s space bible.

Gameplay-wise? Yeah, the gunplay slaps, no denying it. But it’s buried under endless chores. Wanna have fun? Too bad, you’re farming materials, chasing light levels, and running the same strikes for the thousandth time while hoping RNG decides you’re worthy. It’s like a part-time job you’re paying them for.

Honestly, unless you’ve got the time of a hermit monk and the patience of a saint, Destiny 2 will burn you out faster than your hard drive. If I could refund every dollar I’ve sunk into this slot machine disguised as a looter-shooter, I’d do it in a heartbeat.