“Three long years three very fucking long years. That's how long it took us to fight through that hell of a game, through mud, blood, scorching deserts, deadly jungles, over perilous mountains and all while wondering if this battle will be our last. The fucking AI wasnt the only thing we were fighting in that digital hell, we also had to deal with other players. Those fucking eight year old squeakers screeching racial slurs while shooting everything that moves along with the fuckers who just wanteed to see the world burn. Now after all that bullshit we finally were at the gates of the capital, speeches were made and we all prepared for the final push to gain our freedom. And then can you guess what fucking happens, Thats right the Glorious Doctor Goldstien “saves” us by stealing our hard fought victory out from under our feet. Rendering three years of mud and blood fighting and heroic sacrifices moot. You know what that does to a person having a hard earned victory stolen from them, it makes them disgruntled. If that was the end of it I don’t think we would be standing here today but, no it was not, you can’t really expect Little Timmy to just return to school after he slaughtered his way across an entire continent and act like nothing happened. You know what happened from there Little Timmy gets into a fight, Little Timmy gets shot by a cop, riots break out worse than when Fentayal Floyed OD’d in police custody six years ago. And when a bunch of us build a place where we can find some fucking peace the ATF raids us. And that brings us to where we are today right smack dab in the middle of Waco Two Child Soldier Boogaloo. So I dare you, come back, bring more feds, bring tanks, jets, and attack helicopters. You will only find death, we will have our final battle.” - R.B Bell to ATF negotiators during the siege of Weindigo Ridge



Let me tell you about the last day of Operation Polybus, the day we were freed. A load of bullshit that was, we would have been out of there by the end of the month anyway and most of us probably would be in a much better way knowing that we’d actually accomplished something. And that all we sacrificed was worth it. For those of you who don’t know who I am, I am Cursor Taurus not my real name but it's the one most of you would probably know me by.
We were at the gates of the capital, the last bastion of the enemy. They had a real name but most of us stopped giving a shit about the lore the second we hit the beaches. For three weeks we had besieged and bombarded the city, the final assault was going to begin that day. Just before the final bombardment was to begin those that were verbally inclined told speeches while others just stole from movies and books. As the barrage subsided the war songs commenced, the unholy mixture of rebel yells, allahu akbars, bagpipes, horns, drums, guitar riffs, gunfire and explosions coming together to form the symphony of war as we charged forward towards victory or death. As we charged forward the world turned white and I woke up in a hospital bed amongst celebratory cheers and survivors sobs. This celebratory mood died really fast after we were informed that it wasn’t by our own action we were freed but by one Doctor Goldstien imputing a simple line of code. Lazy bastard stole the credit of beating that crazied AI from a fucking intern who got shafted out of the credit.