Classified Item
Bungie has the ability to expose information in the API that, for whatever reason, is not yet ready to be seen. We call these items "classified".
Sometimes classified items eventually are revealed to be real, in-game items. However, they are usually just junk data that made it into the API that isn't intended to be seen.
We include these items in the database solely to provide a complete view of what is in the API files. You should not take the presence of this item as a guarantee of something coming in a future update or attempt to analyze its presence too deeply. Doing so likely will only lead to disappointment.
This item is categorized as classified because:
- It is a dummy responsible for generating items purchased from vendors or obtained from opening engrams.
Exotic Perks
Webcatcher
Stats
| Defense | 0 |
Curated Roll
Lore
Moirai
Fate is woven with death.
Dinosaurs.
Neanderthals.
The Roman Empire.
Abraham Lincoln.
The USSR.
The United States of America.
The President.
Dance halls.
Football.
Record stores.
Game shows.
My whole family. Every one of them:
My brother Ben.
My sister-in-law Fernanda.
My niece Betty.
My nephews, Phillip, Benito.
My mother, who taught me English.
Opa and Oma, who taught me German.
My father, who taught me Spanish.
Gone. Gone. Now I'm the only one who knows their names.
I have to remember the others. As many people as possible.
There's no one else alive who can.
Teresa, who taught me Polish behind the bleachers after football practice.
My high school French teacher, who called my parents to ask them how I was confusing Polish with French.
All those boys in basic.
All those boys on the base.
Frankie, Enzo, Michal, and Walter.
All those folks we flew over.
All the ones Frankie missed.
Master Sgt. Grant, who gave me a new life.
Moscow's finest inadvertent Russian tutors, who should have checked their phone lines more carefully.
Mrs. Rodriguez on the third floor, who always brought tamales for Christmas.
Fellini.
Watson. Ginger.
…Hypatia.
The victims at Les Diablerets.
The neighbor kid who gave me that great Cambodian psychedelic record in exchange for helping his parents with their taxes.
The woman in yellow who gave me her number dancing at Latin Night at the Mirador.
(It's still in my pants pocket. Her name was Rosario… Cosas así, sólo me pasan a mí…)
Hundreds of cities.
Thousands of languages.
Millions of species.
Billions upon billions of human lives.
Ben.
Ben.
