Dearest Guardians: It is with great sorrow I write to inform you that I will likely be shutting down soon. It was the best of times, and now it's the worst of times. Back in the Fall, things had never been better - I had an inventory of guns most Guardians needed, and I was making so much money on heavy ammo synthesis that I had begun construction of my dream home on Saturn (yes, it's been terra formed). Then Xur had to mess it all up. He claims to be "Agent of the Nine," but the guy actually works for Walmart. Walmart came in to do what they do best and put another small business owner out on the streets. First, Xurmart began selling heavy ammo synthesis at rock bottom prices, and my sales of the same became negligible. I had to stop construction on my dream home, but I was able to continue to make ends meet. I remember thinking to myself "if he ever sells special ammo synthesis, I'm done." Well, Xurmart was even smarter than I thought - they didn't sell special ammo synthesis but instead made it obsolete. You think your life is hard because Xur sold Icebreaker and made you less special? He made me homeless, Princess Snowflake. When everyone in the game has a gun that regenerates special ammo it's a problem to have a huge inventory of the stuff. I can't just cruise on over to the Exclusion Zone, pop a resupply code and farm glimmer by murdering Cabal like you can. First of all, I don't have an inventory of weapons up to the task. Secondly, if I blow myself up with a rocket after offing 22 Cabal, I don't respawn like you do - I'm just dead. I've tried to find a solution to my financial problems, and even experimented with carrying more powerful weapons. I stocked rare fusion rifles for a time only to have Guardians purchase them and immediately dismantle them right in front of my face. I don't know what that was about, but it felt like I was being mocked. Arms dealers have feelings too, you know. It has been a nice run, but it appears my days of decadence are behind me. That date with the Stranger is never going to happen, and I'll most likely be begging for glimmer down in Old Russia. If you ever see me down there, throw me a bone, won't you? Godspeed, Guardians. May The Darkness have mercy on your soul. The Gunsmith