So this guy I met, this guy I met on the Entry Level Grind, you know, level 0-15, basic stuff, everybody's gotta do it to get to locked content, whatever - so this guy, this guy, he's like, he's stuck on the Entry Grind. He's rockin' away at these cover letters and little Buster Crabs and he's got a pocket full of Bug Salt and he's trying his goddamn best to salt those fuckers into anything vaguely rock-shaped, but the ENTIRE time he's got on his back a fucking Eschatron 9000. And I say dude, what the fuck, and he goes what, what's your problem? And I guess that's kind of a tough question I feel like I've got a bunch of problems and I don't know this guy that well so I'm not really sure why he's asking me such a personal question I mean we just met, like, at least buy me a folk punk concert ticket first y'know, haha, so wait fuck so where was I, anyways, I say to this guy, dude why the hell do you have endgame content already? And he's like what are you talking about? And I say you've got an Eschatron 9000 that's like, third DLC content, that's not anywhere remotely near Entry Level Grind content. And he just looks at me like I've got two mouths and both of them are asking him to kiss me with tooth. He says to me Dude, there's no endgame. And I go what the fuck are you talking about, of course there's an endgame. There's Entry Level Content (Grind Shit), and then there's obviously the unlockable first DLC, and there's the expansion DLC's with hypertrophic arsenal speed and fast transit across the visible spectrum, and everything else we were promised in Church when we were reading patch notes. I say come on dude, don't you read your apocrypha? And that look, that look still haunts me today. He looks at me and he says, you really believe in that stuff? That there's an eschaton waiting to whisk us into a whiskerful alleycat of accrued credits and etiquette gunplay? And I say of course I do, why the fuck else would I be here? And he just looks so sad. He looks heartbroken. Like I told him his father was coming home and they'd just shot the President. He says kid, I've been to the end. I've stared off into the deep end and watched the cliff crumble into Zeta Halo hexagons and clusterfucks of splinter timelines. There's nothing there. It's just turtles all the goddamn way down. And I look at him and I say Turtles. And he gives a little shrug. Apologetic. Like he'd bagged me one too many times in a Pub Lobby. He says kid, none of the Grind goes anywhere. I'm back here because it's all that's left. The Grind is the whole mechanic. I'm here to play the mechanic. There's no progression. I say bullshit. He says Look over at the Smiting Vale. There're level 80's wielding Phantom Grips who are bare-knuckled lindy-hopping with antlions. I say Antlions. He says yeah kid, Antlions. There's nothing past the Valley. DLC was a scam your Father told you so that you'd keep your mouth open. Listen, if you take it from me, and you should, I'd learn to get really comfortable with the historical moment. It's fully in the crisper now. It's fresh as fuck.
That night I cashed all my credits. I'm switching to Gacha.
[ID: A chart of the five stages of grief, relabeled to read "The five stages of the immanent eschaton." Stage 2, anger, is labeled with "millennials." Stage 4, depression, is labeled with "you are here." Stage 5, acceptance, is labeled with "gen z." /end ID]