It's killing me, it's murdering me. No, those confounded baseline of a aerospray horde hasn't struck me a nerve yet, but they are there, wilting the grounds with their ink. It's Murch, we got a problem. Big problem. You see? I spot many, many, nice gear afoot in the square. In fact, most of my funds are going to these fresh fashion.
The Dynamo roller was unlocked today, standing there, staring back at me as it hung from the shelf with the sheen radiating off the coils, and metal components. It was teasing me in fact, how long I've been without this brute for a long while for a week. It was calling for me, calling for a companionship that I must postpone for a while.
I'm tired of your carp, Murch. But they have states I wanted, but I am sick of...GOING UP AND SPENDING 50K OR 30K ON YOUR COD. Alas, I can't express murder like how I do in Skyrim. I can't waltz up and punch you square in the face, then ravage for your valuables. No, the game is just too nice for me.
So I spend half of the day, grinding. Acting as a guard in the middle of the turf, even for a carbon roller user, this is embarrassing. I am not covering my turf, I am spamming my bombs. It works but...I am tired of the battle tactic I adapted towards. You with splattershots, aerosprays...I can name them all, take advantage of your distance!
I am not meant to REACH that far, and my carbon takes too loads to strike someone down. I am only meant to recover the turf. I am also a support unit.
Finally, another day spent and I am broke out of my wits. That dynamo roller still sets there, mounted there, shining brightly as it will be much later to be used by me. I hate Murch, I hate you.