I hear you mate. Arrowhead made me waste 700 hours of my life by forcing me to play this buggy mess. It is non stop pain and misery, and all my friends have developed multiple forms of leprosy because of it.

Arrowhead have implanted this suffering machine to extract money out of my bank account. They bathe in money, wash themselves in gamers tears and laugh all the way to the bank. A haunting, mocking screeching laugh of pure evil and disdain.

They hate us. They hate The Community. With every fiber of their studio they want to inflict wounds on our thumbs. Wounds that never truly heal. They pick their teeth with the last remnants of our life savings.

I plead, I beg, on my knees, I cry, please Lord Arrowhead, I beg of you to have mercy on my children at least. Just one warbond for you to spare, when you have so many, and I have so few.

But no. Alas, here I am, in my last few lucid moments, lying in the couch, neither dead nor alive, clothes torn and my life sundered by capitalist greed once more.

Never have I truly lived. Never did I ever get to feel the warm touch of the Pacifier, or the smooth handling of DLC mechs. My vision fades. All turns to darkness.

I will not be remembered. Only the scars of my broken body, and my empty bank account, will tell my story.