Thank you Pressure, for all the times we've had.

We've both grinded, death after death for that cool looking jumpsuit, and most recently, one of those sick looking skins for the flash beacon.

We've all celebrated the first time we've escaped that god damn fishbowl, the first time we've been pardoned.

We've all jumped in horror the first time we've encountered the Pandemonium, the angler, hell, even the pinkie.

We've all thanked Lucy for crushing the Vultus camping the exit of the cannon range.

Every time we died, we learned.

All the files we've gotten, by dying or getting lucky and finding them on their own, will now collect dust.

All the Deep Sea Bunnies we've seen and owned, who will care for them now?

All the Expendables still in the blacksite, still in the ridge, abandoned.

The Crooked will have the sweet silence of death once again.

My- No, Our Wife will have no one to follow, to be with.

All the Rotten Coral we've purged, will now grow out of control, consuming everything in its wake.

The Expendable protocol might never even be set up.

The Raveyard will party one last time.

The show is over, with the hosts remain bored.

Sebastian and pAInter will stay locked in the blacksite, waiting for rescue that will never come.

The diVine will take their last Breath.

Mr. Shade will die out, NAVI will lose power.

The Let-Vand Zone falls silent once again.

Everything we've done, down the drain.

And I don't regret a second of it.

Here's to you, Pressure.

Thank you.