'Twas the Night Before Cryo 🧊 'Twas the night before Cryo, when all through the Marsh, not a Runner was looting — the darkness too harsh. The kits were all stocked in the Vault with great care, in hopes that the Compiler soon would be there. The Rooks were all nestled, low-stakes in their beds, while visions of Vault keys danced in their heads; and chat with their emotes, and I with my knife, had just settled in for the worst night of my life. When out on the comms there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my pod to see what was the matter. Away to the cryo bay I flew like a flash, tore open the hatch and spilled half of my stash. The frost on the floor of that derelict deck gave a shimmer of dread — I was already wrecked — when what to my wondering visor should appear, but a three-stack of sweats in their gold-tier gear. Then a little old Runner, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than Wardens his blades they all came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: "Now, Traxus! Now, MIDA! Now, CyberAcme too! On, Arachne! On, NuCal! Sekiguchi, come through! To the top of the Archive, to the Compiler's hall! Now stab away, stab away, stab away all!" As loot that before a bad third-party flies, when it meets with a shotgun, drops right where it lies, so up to the vaults all the Runners they flew, with a sack full of keys — and the butter knife too. He was dressed all in chrome from his head to his boot, and his shell was all tarnished with frostbite and soot; a bundle of Enzymes was slung on his back, and he looked like a looter just opening his pack. His HUD, how it glitched! His shields, how they glowed! His Cradle was buffed and his backpack o'erflowed. The hilt of his blade he held tight in his teeth, and the frost, it encircled his head like a wreath. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and stabbed all the sweats, then he turned with a jerk; then slotting a key in the vault door he chose, and giving a nod, up the lift shaft he rose. He sprang to the exfil, to his squad gave a whistle, and away they all flew like a Misriah missile. But I heard him exclaim as he dove through the light: "Welcome back to the Factory — lose it all tonight! 🔪" #StabFactory 🔪

50. Thousand. DAU.

🚨 MARATHON NEWS NETWORK — THE NO SPIN ZONE 🚨 The numbers are IN, folks, and the doom desk is very quiet tonight. 1.7 MILLION copies sold. In March, they told you 1.2 million and buried us. That's half a million Runners who showed up AFTER the funeral was scheduled. Marathon OUTSOLD Gears of War. Marathon OUTSOLD Saros. I'll say that again for the people in the back refreshing SteamDB: a game they called dead in week one beat two first-party exclusives. The analysts say the free week and the PvE update "did little to move the needle." Folks, you don't move a needle that's already pointed where you want it. 50,000 daily players. That's a sold-out baseball stadium. Every. Single. Day. MLB The Show needed $192 million to fill a ballpark. We do it for free. And here's the stat the other networks WON'T show you: 17% of players have over 100 hours. 2% have over 500. That's 34,000 Runners with 500 hours. Wolverine's main story is 15 hours. Our people have played THIRTY-THREE Wolverines, back to back, and they're still in the queue. Half of Wolverine's players are already at GameStop trading in the disc. And if you noticed daily players dip a little? Our viewers have JOBS, folks. Employment is the only thing that's ever beaten a Runner. The game for adults is doing adult numbers. The spin stops here.