On May 21, Bungie announced that it will be making a final update to Destiny 2. Contrary to prior plans, this coming Tuesday, June 9, will mark the end of the franchise’s 12-year run. The servers will remain online until further notice, just as they have for Destiny, but the game therein—the world, the characters and the dangling threads of their stories, the gear, the systems, the very motion of the stars and the planets arrayed beneath them—all of that will be rendered unto stasis. A clockwork universe wound up one last time and left to loop.
When I read this, my day came to a stop. I don’t remember what I was in the middle of doing, but I had to pause and sit with this news. In some regard, I have been sitting with it for the past 2 weeks.
I have for some time now been threatening to write a retrospective on my time playing Destiny, and the truth is it’s already been more than a year since I last played. If there is any time to write my Guardian’s epitaph, it is now.
Only… I still don’t know what to say. I don’t have an elegant, articulate synopsis of what 10 years of playing Destiny meant to me.
After all this time, all I have are memories.
When he spoke again, Zavala sounded very, very tired.
“We are setting a rally point elsewhere in the system—watch for a broadcast. We will return to the City someday, but… I do not know when.”
Another pause.
“Be safe. Be brave.”
And he was gone.
- “Hiding at Home”, Eva’s Journey
Destiny released in September of 2014 at a time when I wondered if I might already be dead.
I’ve always struggled to envision my future, and while working in the marketing department for a car dealer group, writing blogs to make SEO juice, it occurred to me that this might be it. Maybe I would just do some version of this until I was gone.
I had graduated in 2013 without a plan and with no real means of picking myself up and planting myself anywhere else. After a summer abroad, I wound up back home. Year in, year out, Raleigh continues to grow, but for me it has only ever gotten smaller. I started working in December, which gave me income and a routine, but it didn’t make the path forward any clearer.
Neither did Destiny, in its original state. My first post about it talks about how I had to find the fun in a game that did not do a good job of telling you where to go. It had a campaign, sure, but then what? I knew two other people who played and neither of them lasted more than a couple of months. At a time when I could have ejected the disc and never looked back, I instead took the plunge and waded into a sea of strangers to find, as I put it, “a small collective of reasonable guys trying to get the most out of a video game.”
That’s how I ended up with this:1
And how I made it here (several times):2
And it’s how I learned to do stuff like this:
Yet, here’s the thing: the game isn’t actually the reason I did any of that. Not because of any extrinsic motivation, and not for game feel or the story or anything to do with the playing of Destiny. It’s because Destiny had become a place where I could show up after work or on the weekends and feel connected to people. I felt in community with others, both those I played with regularly and the blueberries I passed in the Tower, on patrol, and even on the other side of a Crucible match.4
In those days, chatter in the clan usually stayed on topic—we discussed the game itself or occasionally veered into adjacent interests. It was impersonal in the way that transient friendships often are. But two of our number were what I would call radically open. They had grown up together and freely discussed the details of their daily lives, even referring to each other by their actual names instead of their in-game handles. It seems small but they the tone, signalling to me and others that it was OK, in this space, to be a person.
Savin the Guardian showed a tremendous fondness for doing things; he had a pathologically task-oriented nature, which made him very useful to the Reef. Yet there was always the sense that his Ghost was watching, observing, reporting. And Savin was most of all greedy—not in the grasping manner of the petty, but in an enormous, all-consuming way, for he desired materials and experiences that would temper him into a better Guardian, and he was always experimenting with his strange powers in foolish ways that left him briefly dead, seeking “a new Super ability” or “some way to make my grenades faster.” He grew tired of performing trivial tasks about the Reef, complaining that the dangerous repairs he made were endless and boring, and that he wanted to move on to new worlds. He leapt into space, repeatedly and without reason, as if his death were no more traumatic than a hop off a curb. Obsessed with reward and efficiency, he would rather do one profitable thing a thousand times than waste his efforts on a less beneficial novelty.
By the end of her acquaintance with Savin, Mara had decided she did not like this Traveler and what it did to people. Yet she had also decided that she felt a strange kinship and sympathy for it, this cornered, desperate god, making infinite sacrifices out of its people.
- “Savin”, The Dreaming City
I’m surprised by how much I still like my post about Destiny 2’s (September 2017) launch. For one thing, it’s a surprise that I wrote and published something within 10 days of a game releasing—you can tell I was excited about it. And for another thing, most of us didn’t feel quite so glowing about the game a month later.
There were a lot of misguided ideas behind Destiny 2, chief among them that the game ever needed a 2. That was in the terms of the original deal with Activision, though. There would have been a Destiny 3 and Destiny 4 if Bungie hadn’t gone independent.
There was also an idea that the game needed to be made accessible to new players, and while that remains true to this day, the way they went about it back then stripped away a lot of the complexity and depth. I remember taking the week off at launch, and by the end of that we had already discovered that the best way to get exciting gear was to do public events over and over again. That ought to have raised some alarms.5
Our reasons to log into the game declined precipitously over the next several months, and a lacking first expansion in Curse of Osiris (December 2017) didn’t do much to turn things around.
But if the City gives us reason to fight for the now, those old, dead places always give me hope for tomorrow. Rusted, broken skeletons or not… If you squint, you can see all we were and all we can be.
- “Fold”, The Man They Call Cayde
Looking back, I wonder how much we took for granted the idea that a game even could “turn things around.” Service games were an established thing in 2017, but the concept of a game that is routinely updated with new stuff to do is still one that I ascribe to Destiny itself. I know it wasn’t the first game to do so, but my feeling is that for many people, particularly on console, it was the first game like that they had played.
The spirit of a comeback felt like it was baked into Destiny’s narrative, for our characters and as players. In the game, we would say “Guardians make their own fate” whenever our darkest hour arrived. Outside the game, while the chorus of the internet chanted “dead game”, we would say “Bungie will find a way to bounce back.”6
And for a long time it worked. For every Curse of Osiris, there was a Warmind (May 2018). The good times came and went. By that point, my clan had become my friend group and we had outgrown Destiny as our only game.
I always looked forward to when we would return, though.
Not because the game had expanded…
…but because we would always find new ways to make our own fun…
…and rise to new challenges.
Banshee turns the paper around again. “So that’s…”
“The laser tracker, yeah.”
“Huh.” Banshee tilts his head. “And those…”
“Racing stripes.”
“…On a fusion rifle.”
“We’re just—” Cayde throws his arms up. “We’re just tossin’ out ideas here, pal! Don’t shut anything down until you get the whole picture.”
There’s this quote from Will Wright (the designer of SimCity, the Sims, and Spore, among other games) where he’s talking about how people start playing a game before they actually play it. When someone walks into a store, when they see an ad, whenever they first hear about a game, that’s when the game begins for them. “They are already playing this low-res version in their imagination of what the game is going to be like.”
I think Forsaken (September 2018) is when Destiny came the closest to being the game I always imagined it would be.
I was deep into the lore in those days and had been for a while, and a thing that frustrated me was that for a game with a so-called 10-year plan, Destiny was always so quick to hurry pieces on and off the board. They seemed to make up a guy, bring them in, have our guardians destroy them, and then move on to the next thing.
Like, to this day I still think it was a mistake to kill off Dominus Ghaul when they did. He had this presence, and he clearly had a backstory with so many threads to tug on. And my character had exactly 2 interactions with him, the second of which was to kill him.
With Forsaken, there were elements of the lore finally showing up in the game instead of just in text logs, and when that campaign ended, it was clear that this was the first chapter of a longer story. Rather than dropping all at once for players to blast through, it unfolded over weeks and months. There were still breaks between when one season of content concluded and the start of the next one, and that was a good thing, but here we seemed to have a complete thought for how this could work.
When the Light had returned, some of them reported that it felt different. It sat under the skin like a suit that didn’t quite fit anymore.
A diminutive Exo woman was one of the pilgrims Eva remembered most clearly. She hadn’t even known they made Exos that short. The woman shifted and twitched as she talked, unable to calm herself.
At the mention of the Light fitting differently, a statement she’d heard a lot of Guardians make, Eva asked the same question she always did. “So does that mean the Light is different now? Or are you?”
- “Caretaker”, Eva’s Journey
Shadowkeep (October 2019) was the first release after the split with Activision, and it was then that the seasonal model shifted into a new gear. But while the cadence of weekly story updates reinforced the existing loop of logging in every Tuesday, for some people the game had become something they didn’t recognize. There was a rewards pass now, like in Fortnite; the rollout of a long awaited transmog system had, of course, been engineered for monetization; and rampant time-gating led to the impression that players could not engage with the game at their own pace.13
More than anything else, I think what planted the seeds of disillusionment in my friend group was the ascendance of the “seasonal activity.”
See, Bungie has always been chasing the Prison of Elders. Introduced in House of Wolves (May 2015), it was an activity designed for repetition (as everything in Destiny is) that existed in a relatively contained space. A team of 3 ran back and forth between a few different rooms fighting waves of enemies, and after a set number of rounds, you fought a boss and got some rewards.
From a development standpoint, designing an activity like the Prison is relatively simple. You just have to design a sandbox for players to jump around in while they shoot aliens and maybe spin a few plates. Compared to the level design, art assets, narrative work, music, etc. that you need to build a Strike, or all of the above plus tightly wound mechanics and challenges for a Raid, the Prison requires a much lower investment while being an activity that more people will end up playing more often than either of the other two things. The trick is how many times can you remix what is basically a horde mode before players revolt?
So after Prison of Elders we got the Court of Oryx, and then Archon’s Forge, and then Escalation Protocol, and then the Blind Well, and then Black Armory, Reckoning, Menagerie, Vex Offensive, Sundial, Seraph Towers, Contact, Wrathborn Hunts, Battlegrounds, Override, Astral Alignment, Dares of Eternity, Wellspring, Battlegrounds (again), Nightmare Containment, Ketchcrash, Battlegrounds (to be fair these were more like Strikes and by far the most popular), Terminal Overload, Salvage, Savathûn’s Spire, Riven’s Lair, and no this isn’t a complete list.
Although these activities are all uniquely textured, and they got pretty good at making them feel fresh as time went on, for people on the fence about if they wanted to play Destiny or do anything else, every new activity sure made it look like Bungie was asking us to throw a ball at something for the thousandth time.
For these and other reasons, it’s around this time that it started getting harder to fill a raid team with just the people on my friends list. Six is the magic number for a raid, and we often had to recruit a sixth or fifth player from an LFG site.15
“We are surrounded by fear. It presses on us from every direction. If you fear the hearts of your brothers and sisters, then speak to them.”
Shaxx nudged the recruit. She tentatively raised her hand and summoned a fistful of Stasis crystals. He nodded with approval.
“If the heart you fear is your own,” he said gently, “speak to me.”
I remember I had a lot of expectations for myself going into 2020. I was turning 30 at the end of that year, which was this momentous thing because… well it was another decade. Seemed like a big deal, so I felt like I had to make it one, I guess. It’s all so fuzzy from where I’m standing now. There were people I wanted to see. Places I wanted to go. Changes I wanted to make.
I didn’t get to do any of that. Instead I got to play a lot of Destiny.
Beyond Light (November 2020) is an expansion that lives in infamy for being the opposite. With this update came the Destiny Content Vault where Bungie removed content from the game in the name of creating a “sustainable ecosystem.” The game had become too large, they said, which was “contributing to more bugs and less innovation.”
On a functional level, this system meant that 4 planets were immediately removed from the game along with 5 raids, a number of strikes and Crucible maps, and every seasonal activity up to that point. The door to this vault was meant to swing both ways, so in exchange for what was taken out we got back the Cosmodrome and the first ever raid, Vault of Glass.
My view as a player tended to be forward-facing. If they said the game was being held back by what they took out, I didn’t see a reason to doubt that. I was grounded in the present and excited for the future.
But, man.
It never sat well with me that they took the Red War out of the game. Destiny 2’s initial campaign was not perfect, but it was the impetus for everything that came after, and it was a much, much better entry point for new players than every single onboarding scheme they’ve tried since then.
When the next expansion came out, they took away the Forsaken story missions, and now there is this yawning chasm in the narrative. You cannot play the story of Destiny through from start to finish, and that seems unlikely to change.
I’ll venture to say that Destiny has never been truly bad at any of its lowest points. It has only ever been disappointing. But this… people never forgave Bungie for doing this, and it’s easy to understand why.19
I think a world of balance would fight the Darkness, because Darkness unchecked is Darkness thriving. I think that a world of balance would never mistake the excitement of transgression or the grim necessity of trespass for a genuinely righteous act. We must remember the value of unshakable, irrational hope. The choice to act as if we lived in a better world can create a place for that better world to exist.
- “Trust and Hope”, Unveiling
Witch Queen (February 2022) is the first time another game stole my attention during a Destiny release window. Elden Ring came out that same month, a mere 2 days later, and my recall of that time is muddled. I must have played enough that I was ready to raid when Vow of the Disciple dropped, but maybe I recorded most of my clears later in the spring and summer. I remember playing Elden Ring constantly and being resentful of time spent not exploring the Lands Between. Maybe I resented feeling like I needed to play Destiny to keep up with the story, the power grind, and the fear of missing out on something that might later be vaulted.
I understood then how some of my friends had been feeling. If you can’t enjoy the game to the fullest when you show up, why show up at all?
The game itself was at its highest point in years, though. It was the most pre-ordered expansion in Destiny‘s history, and the dev team was making a full court marketing press. They finally made a proper campaign again, complete with a more punishing/rewarding difficulty setting. The story was going interesting places with disparate factions at last finding common cause, and the post-credits scene finally revealed the BBEG.20 And the year concluded with a scene that we had been waiting 8 years to see.
Bungie had found its groove, and players weren’t the only ones who noticed. Sony completed its $3.6 billion purchase of the studio that summer, securing Destiny’s runway while also letting Bungie pour resources into its other ambitions.
There was so much hope for the future in that moment.
The gardener is all in. They are playing for keeps. And they are wrong. Or so I argue: for, after all, the universe is undecidable. There is no destiny. We’re all making this up as we go along. Neither the gardener nor I know for certain that we’re eternally, universally right. But we can be nothing except what we are. You have a choice.
- “The Wager”, Unveiling
You ever forget how to talk? You’re unexpectedly called on in a meeting, or the conversation throws to you while you were zoning out. You open your mouth and noise comes out but not words. The people you’re with are polite and smile, but the looks they exchange are worrying.
Lightfall (February 2023) was met with so much awkward silence. With some distance, the story told in that expansion was not irredeemable, but paired with a lackluster raid in Root of Nightmares, it was stunningly ineffective at maintaining the playerbase’s enthusiasm.
I’ve already talked about the ‘fallout in my wrap-up post from that year, and I encourage you to read that because it’s one of the better things I’ve written.21 However, while I dug into the consequences of the expansion’s poor performance, I did not discuss my own experience playing through it.
The truth is I played a lot of Lightfall. The “dead game” chorus was rising once again, but I still logged in and played multiple hours every day for several months straight. There was still so much left to do, you see.
That expansion added something called Guardian Ranks, a list of different feats in the game that you could check off in order to make a number next to your name get bigger. A bigger number proved you were an elite player, capping out at Rank 11: Paragon. I had been a Guardian for 9 years, conquering many challenges and adding more than a dozen titles to my name, so why shouldn’t I aim for the apex?
I started at Rank 7 by virtue of not being a new player, and the initial tasks were basic enough: Raise my season rank and complete seasonal challenges; unlock artifact perks; upgrade my reputation with a bunch of vendors; earn platinum rewards from a Nightfall strike.23
Rank 10 is where things got intense—Solo 3 Master Lost Sectors, and complete a Master Lost Sector solo without dying; complete a Grandmaster Nightfall Strike with a score of 210,000 or higher—but Rank 11 really was the pinnacle: Earn the Conqueror Title (complete 6 Grandmaster Nightfalls in a single season); complete the most recent raid at Master difficulty; solo the most recent Dungeon; earn a Commendation Score of 1800 and earn 200 Ally and Leadership commendations.
Other than the solo stuff, I couldn’t do these things alone, and let’s just say my regular friends weren’t feeling quite so dedicated. But I had another friend who I had never gotten to play with very much, and they had friends who were interested in regular raiding and the challenges therein. So we teamed up, and in a couple of short weeks we were Paragons.
But I didn’t stop there.
There were other titles to obtain, other gear to acquire, and all the other pursuits I wanted to try but figured my original clan, my friends—my Destiny family—wouldn’t be interested in.24
It was May of that year when a friend, who had not spoken to me in months, reached out.
He said to me, “You game a lot. I know you’ve been playing a lot of Destiny. Don’t you think it’s getting in the way of other things you wanted to do?”
Here, I have to acknowledge something that may or may not be obvious depending on your exposure to the game: it’s very easy for a depressed person to play a game like Destiny. It offers structure and routine, tasks and goals, positive reinforcement and instant gratification, as well as ample escape. Some would say it has a number of satisfying game loops; others would call it a Skinner box.
I may have had therapy, and I may be medicated, but I have not stopped being a person with depression. It’s a thing I am more equipped to deal with, but it is not something I have been cured of. Even if my mood does not dip into the dark below, if I let my guard down I’m still susceptible to becoming… less.
It can be true that I was having fun playing Destiny and at the same time had neglected other parts of my life.
Because yes, there were other things I wanted to do. I had promised to DM a one-shot. I wanted to put more thought into my D&D characters. I wanted to get closer to people who are important to me. And I wanted to write more for this blog, which meant I needed to go and experience other things because what fucking else was I going to say about Destiny at this point that I hadn’t already said?
I suppose we are discovering that here and now.
My calling is to do good. Maybe not always to “be” good, ya know, but do good. There’s a difference.
- “Call”, The Man They Call Cayde
That conversation was a wake-up call, though it did not lead to immediate change. It still took me until that December to run that damn one-shot, and it still takes me ages to get anything down on paper. But it’s definitely true that I put a lot more thought into how I spend my time, and I fill my days less with mindless gaming.
When I did play games after that, it was Destiny much less often. All the urgency to log in at reset, or at the start of a new season, or when a new exotic quest dropped, had vanished. And as The Final Shape (June 2024) approached, I realized that I would feel relieved when the story ended.
He heard the campfire crackle as somber yet hopeful voices behind him shared their triumphs and pains. If anything inside the Traveler was real, it was in those voices, the bonds of tender love, infinite longing, and fierce loyalty radiating more intense warmth than the campfire itself.
He sighed. Even here, the trees dripped sap.
Going in, my expectations were not nonexistent, but they were in check. I think like most people I wanted to know if Bungie was going to pull this off, this “tell a story that spans 10 years” thing. I was going to see it through, regardless.
I needn’t have worried. The Final Shape was excellent. Not perfect, but Destiny never has been. The fact that it is compelling despite its imperfections has always been part of the charm for me.
The ending hit me in waves. When I loaded into Excision, the final battle—a 12-player confrontation with the Witness—there’s a scene where Zavala addresses the allied defenders of the Sol system. It gives very strong “Aragorn’s speech in front of the Black Gates” vibes. The camera pans over so many familiar faces as the commander calls each faction together one last time.
The characters on screen each had a story. I had been there for each of them through the years, my Guardian stepping up to offer them whatever help they needed. The most crucial members of the cast—Zavala and Ikora and Crow and Cayde—got the catharsis and the closure they so deserved (for the most part).
But my friends and I have stories, too.
We grew from novice guardians tackling Nightfall strikes from the safest vantage points into Grandmaster members of the Vanguard who could take on any challenge the game had to throw at us. We conquered the Iron Banner from within the violet light of 6 Wards of Dawn, then honed our skills in trial after trial to arrive at the Lighthouse on Mercury. I’ve tried to share what I could, but there’s more tales than I could count or capture. Playing hide and seek on Venus. Running Crota roulette. Hanging out in the Brothern on Nessus during the D2 beta. Demonstrating all the gravity and poise that the game had to offer.
Every raid, every secret mission, every random loadout private match. It’s those moments that brought me to this point. And as I played through the conclusion, I could hear my friends’ voices carrying me forward. They may not have all been by my side at the end, but I was standing there because of them, and I was finishing the fight for all of us.
That’s something no other medium can do. This was our story, and this was the part that I played. I’m grateful to all of the friends I have played Destiny with over the years. To Alex, Toby, Jimmy, Shades, Vinny, Jordan, Antonio, Joel, Pruggy, Craig, Matt, Nick, AJ, Jamie, Sam, By, Vidi, Nix, Bailey, and all the rest—thank you for everything.
Destiny carried on after The Final Shape with a series of episodes tying up loose ends. Then, what was supposed to be a new grand saga began with The Edge of Fate last July.
I was done, though. I never ruled out returning to the game, but neither had I felt drawn back to it. I’ve often said, “If Bungie wants to bring me back, they’re gonna have to show me something.” I was looking for a paradigm shift, something that would fundamentally change what the game was and how it was played.
But… after the announcement 2 weeks ago, that feeling seems moot. Finality is, in a way, a new paradigm.
Forever is a long time; it’s staggering to consider. I imagine there are actually occasions in the future where I will want to play Destiny again, and that’s OK. Now, it’s just another game in my library.
One such occasion is coming up next Tuesday. I wonder who I might run into next time I’m in the Tower.
- The Gjallarhorn was the most powerful weapon in Destiny for the first year after release. A vendor sold it in week 2 and thereafter it was only obtainable by chance. It’s been revived twice and remains an iconic armament to this day. ↩︎
- Trials of Osiris is Destiny‘s endgame PvP playlist, pitting teams of 3 against each other in the Elimination game mode. To reach the Lighthouse on Mercury, you needed to win 7 matches in a row. Far from being an ace, I was fortunate to have friends who could carry me (at least until I found my footing). ↩︎
- The first video I ever captured on my PS4, apparently without voice chat recording on. This is the final encounter of the King’s Fall raid, which, if you couldn’t tell by the dancing, had become pretty rote for our team. ↩︎
- In game, the names of people in your fireteam appear over their heads in green. Everybody else’s names appear in blue. Hence, “blueberries.” ↩︎
- A public event is an activity that occurs in patrol zones where unaffiliated players can cross paths. Events occur about once every 10-15 minutes, though in D1, there was no map and no way to know exactly when or where they would occur. To say that public events were the most efficient loot source in the game is like saying that you can beat Super Mario Bros. if you just jump on that first goomba enough times. ↩︎
- That kind of thinking can even find its way into the studio. Many a tragic downfall has begun with notions of “[studio] magic.” ↩︎
- Drop pods were by far the deadliest upgrade to the Cabal’s arsenal from D1 to D2. ↩︎
- Early in D2, there was a daily modifier called Lightswitch, which both removed your radar and made enemy melee attacks lethal. War beasts only have melee attacks. Also, my loadout was a recipe for disaster in this clip; I think I was working on the Borealis catalyst. ↩︎
- There really shouldn’t be a wall there, but I have a feeling it’s a limitation of how patrol zones are built. ↩︎
- The final encounter of Spire of Stars, still one of the tougher encounters the Raid team ever came up with (and arguably the hardest the “Guardian” leitmotif has ever gone). ↩︎
- Many of Churroz’s ideas turn out this way. ↩︎
- I think this is our first team beating Last Wish, a raid tough enough that it took us multiple runs to get our first clear. ↩︎
- Transmogrification is a system that lets you make one piece of armor look like a different one, keeping the stats of the first piece while using the cosmetic appearance of the second; the true endgame of Destiny is still fashion (always has been). Time-gating refers to any time a quest tells you “that’s all there is to do right now, check back in a few days.” ↩︎
- We always stay to see damage numbers. But also, take note of the essential Destiny experience of immediately complaining about the mediocre loot you just did a million damage to get. ↩︎
- LFG is “looking for group,” and community-built sites were necessary because raids in Destiny have never had matchmaking. The mechanics for raids require a level of communication and commitment that a random group of people thrown together by an algorithm probably wouldn’t have fun with. Bungie didn’t add an in-game tool for LFG until 2023. ↩︎
- I hold myself to a high standard when it comes to sparrow maneuvering, so this is a disgraceful showing from me. Worth it. ↩︎
- Here comes a global pandemic. Time to vibe it out. ↩︎
- A forced wipe while we were farming Insurrection Prime for Anarchy, the summer before Scourge of the Past was removed from the game. ↩︎
- Beyond Light also introduced gear sunsetting, which invalidated any weapons and armor released prior to the last 2 seasons. People haaaaated this, and the policy was eventually reversed. They also announced in 2022 that they wouldn’t vault any further expansion content, but they aren’t bringing back what they took out. ↩︎
- “Big bad evil guy,” aka “The Voice in the Darkness”, aka “The Witness.” ↩︎
- I don’t often say things like this. ↩︎
- If I hadn’t messed up my jump here, I wouldn’t have died. But then we wouldn’t have this priceless moment. ↩︎
- I’m not explaining what any of this means; trust me, you don’t need to know. ↩︎
- Our clan prided itself on being chill, and pushing for things like raid challenges, Master difficulty, or even mono-subclass clears often felt like rocking the boat. It was nice to moonlight with a group who wanted to push for more. Still, these were things I had always wanted to do, just not things I ever needed to do. ↩︎
- Pay attention to who will eat a Spider Tank shot for you while trying to get your rez. ↩︎
subjunctivitis 