Near Istanbul, June 29 2039
The journey across Bulgaria was mostly uneventful with Sokolov’s influence buying them enough time to reach Istanbul in one piece. Now, the City of Mercenaries stood before them in all its glory.
Seagrove was fascinated by the striking contrast between the outskirts poverty and the wealth of the downtown skyline, millions of lights turning even the darkest night into day even as the outlying areas drowned in darkness.
Such was the wealth of corporations, he thought, as he sat on a rock near his tank, admiring the sunrise. The first sun’s crimson reflecting on the towers of glass and metal made it look like the entire horizon was on fire.
It was a breathtaking sight, yet Seagrove’s mind was racing with worries. The truth was that it was a miracle they made it this far. His combat leadership combined with Sokolov’s contacts brought them here, but the near future depended on Blackwood’s ability to secure the passage in a city full of hostile corporations that now considered them outlaws. Direct violence was prohibited within the city limits and the city itself acted as a safe haven to all but the worst of criminals, but Blackwood’s and Sokolov’s skills would be tested to the limit to keep them from obtaining that particular brand.
He nearly jumped in surprise when Sokolov suddenly sat next to him with a cup of coffee in his hand. A wide grin appeared on his face as he noticed Seagrove’s discomfort.
“You should not let anyone sneak up on you, my friend.”
Seagrove frowned.
“We’re friends now?”
Sokolov grinned again.
“No. It’s just something people say.”
The grin faded as he patted his pockets. Finally he found a half-empty pack of cigarettes. Methodically, as if it was the most important thing in the world, he pulled one out and lit it with a lighter he stored in the same pack. The acrid smell of low-quality cigarette smoke filled the air. Almost as an afterthought, Sokolov offered the pack to Seagrove, who just shook his head.
The silence dragged on with both men just admiring the view. Seagrove finally turned towards the other man.
“Why?”
Sokolov raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Why did you join Blackwood? It wasn’t just for the credits.”
Sokolov turned away, gazing towards the horizon, the cigarette limp on his lips. Seagrove was about to pick himself up and leave, not expecting to receive an answer, but Sokolov gestured for him to stay. When he finally started talking, his response caught Seagrove off-guard.
“Tell me. What is history?”
Seagrove frowned, unsure as to what to reply.
“History is history. Everything that happened.”
Sokolov smiled.
“No. History is just a collection of stories people tell. And I happen to like stories. I was there when the Hellhounds fell and when the Remnant took their revenge before retreating east. Good stories, those.”
“But what does that have to do with us?”
Sokolov finished smoking his cigarette and looked up, exhaling the last breath of smoke against the ruby sky.
“I have a feeling your story will be a good one.”
伊斯坦布尔附近，2039年6月29日
穿越保加利亚的途中风平浪静。得益于Sokolov的影响力，一行人毫发无损地抵达了伊斯坦布尔。现在，宏伟的佣兵之城就在他们的眼前。
郊区的贫困和市中心的繁华形成了鲜明的对比。当其他偏远地区沉浸在黑暗中时，无数的灯光将这里变成了一座不夜城。
这就是财阀的力量吧，Seagrove这样想道。他正坐在坦克旁边的岩石上，欣赏着日出。阳光反射在高楼表面的玻璃和金属上，看上去仿佛整个地平线都在燃烧。
然而眼前的美景并不能抹去Seagrove的忧虑。事实上，他们能够走到今天已经是个奇迹了。他的作战才能以及Sokolov的关系网将他们带到了这里，但未来取决于Blackwood是否有能力保障大家走过这个充满敌对势力的城市。在这里，直接的暴力是被禁止的，因此这座城市成了逃犯们的避风港。至于如何避免被贴上犯罪分子的标签就要看Blackwood和Sokolov的本事了。
这时，拿着咖啡的Sokolov悄无声息地在他身边坐了下来，把他吓了一跳。察觉到Seagrove对此感到不爽的Sokolov笑了起来。
“你不该让别人偷偷接近你，我的朋友。”
Seagrove皱起了眉头。
“现在我们是朋友了？”
“不，只是别人都这么说。”
Sokolov的笑容渐渐消失了。他从口袋里掏出半包香烟，不紧不慢地抽出其中一根并用打火机点燃。廉价香烟的刺鼻气味在空气中弥漫。然后，他将那包烟递给Seagrove，但Seagrove只是摇了摇头。
两个人就这么一言不发地欣赏着眼前的景色。终于，Seagrove转向了Sokolov。
“为什么？”
Sokolov假装震惊般地睁大了眼睛。
“什么意思？”
“为什么加入我们？你不只是为了钱吧。”
Sokolov转过头去，凝视着地平线，嘴边的烟垂了下来。不指望能得到答案的Seagrove站起身来准备离去，但Sokolov示意他留下来。他的回答出乎Seagrove的意料。
“告诉我，什么是历史？”
Seagrove皱起眉头，不知该怎么回答。
“历史就是历史，曾经发生过的一切。”
Sokolov笑了笑。
“不，历史是人们所讲述的故事的集合，而我很喜欢故事。地狱犬衰落的时候，幸存者复仇的时候，我都在那里。那些故事真的很棒。” 【P.S.：第二次Showdown的剧情】
“但这跟我们有什么关系呢？”
Sokolov抽完了烟，抬起头，对着红宝石般的天空呼出最后一口烟雾。
“我有一种预感，你们的故事将会十分精彩。”
The journey across Bulgaria was mostly uneventful with Sokolov’s influence buying them enough time to reach Istanbul in one piece. Now, the City of Mercenaries stood before them in all its glory.
Seagrove was fascinated by the striking contrast between the outskirts poverty and the wealth of the downtown skyline, millions of lights turning even the darkest night into day even as the outlying areas drowned in darkness.
Such was the wealth of corporations, he thought, as he sat on a rock near his tank, admiring the sunrise. The first sun’s crimson reflecting on the towers of glass and metal made it look like the entire horizon was on fire.
It was a breathtaking sight, yet Seagrove’s mind was racing with worries. The truth was that it was a miracle they made it this far. His combat leadership combined with Sokolov’s contacts brought them here, but the near future depended on Blackwood’s ability to secure the passage in a city full of hostile corporations that now considered them outlaws. Direct violence was prohibited within the city limits and the city itself acted as a safe haven to all but the worst of criminals, but Blackwood’s and Sokolov’s skills would be tested to the limit to keep them from obtaining that particular brand.
He nearly jumped in surprise when Sokolov suddenly sat next to him with a cup of coffee in his hand. A wide grin appeared on his face as he noticed Seagrove’s discomfort.
“You should not let anyone sneak up on you, my friend.”
Seagrove frowned.
“We’re friends now?”
Sokolov grinned again.
“No. It’s just something people say.”
The grin faded as he patted his pockets. Finally he found a half-empty pack of cigarettes. Methodically, as if it was the most important thing in the world, he pulled one out and lit it with a lighter he stored in the same pack. The acrid smell of low-quality cigarette smoke filled the air. Almost as an afterthought, Sokolov offered the pack to Seagrove, who just shook his head.
The silence dragged on with both men just admiring the view. Seagrove finally turned towards the other man.
“Why?”
Sokolov raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Why did you join Blackwood? It wasn’t just for the credits.”
Sokolov turned away, gazing towards the horizon, the cigarette limp on his lips. Seagrove was about to pick himself up and leave, not expecting to receive an answer, but Sokolov gestured for him to stay. When he finally started talking, his response caught Seagrove off-guard.
“Tell me. What is history?”
Seagrove frowned, unsure as to what to reply.
“History is history. Everything that happened.”
Sokolov smiled.
“No. History is just a collection of stories people tell. And I happen to like stories. I was there when the Hellhounds fell and when the Remnant took their revenge before retreating east. Good stories, those.”
“But what does that have to do with us?”
Sokolov finished smoking his cigarette and looked up, exhaling the last breath of smoke against the ruby sky.
“I have a feeling your story will be a good one.”
伊斯坦布尔附近，2039年6月29日
穿越保加利亚的途中风平浪静。得益于Sokolov的影响力，一行人毫发无损地抵达了伊斯坦布尔。现在，宏伟的佣兵之城就在他们的眼前。
郊区的贫困和市中心的繁华形成了鲜明的对比。当其他偏远地区沉浸在黑暗中时，无数的灯光将这里变成了一座不夜城。
这就是财阀的力量吧，Seagrove这样想道。他正坐在坦克旁边的岩石上，欣赏着日出。阳光反射在高楼表面的玻璃和金属上，看上去仿佛整个地平线都在燃烧。
然而眼前的美景并不能抹去Seagrove的忧虑。事实上，他们能够走到今天已经是个奇迹了。他的作战才能以及Sokolov的关系网将他们带到了这里，但未来取决于Blackwood是否有能力保障大家走过这个充满敌对势力的城市。在这里，直接的暴力是被禁止的，因此这座城市成了逃犯们的避风港。至于如何避免被贴上犯罪分子的标签就要看Blackwood和Sokolov的本事了。
这时，拿着咖啡的Sokolov悄无声息地在他身边坐了下来，把他吓了一跳。察觉到Seagrove对此感到不爽的Sokolov笑了起来。
“你不该让别人偷偷接近你，我的朋友。”
Seagrove皱起了眉头。
“现在我们是朋友了？”
“不，只是别人都这么说。”
Sokolov的笑容渐渐消失了。他从口袋里掏出半包香烟，不紧不慢地抽出其中一根并用打火机点燃。廉价香烟的刺鼻气味在空气中弥漫。然后，他将那包烟递给Seagrove，但Seagrove只是摇了摇头。
两个人就这么一言不发地欣赏着眼前的景色。终于，Seagrove转向了Sokolov。
“为什么？”
Sokolov假装震惊般地睁大了眼睛。
“什么意思？”
“为什么加入我们？你不只是为了钱吧。”
Sokolov转过头去，凝视着地平线，嘴边的烟垂了下来。不指望能得到答案的Seagrove站起身来准备离去，但Sokolov示意他留下来。他的回答出乎Seagrove的意料。
“告诉我，什么是历史？”
Seagrove皱起眉头，不知该怎么回答。
“历史就是历史，曾经发生过的一切。”
Sokolov笑了笑。
“不，历史是人们所讲述的故事的集合，而我很喜欢故事。地狱犬衰落的时候，幸存者复仇的时候，我都在那里。那些故事真的很棒。” 【P.S.：第二次Showdown的剧情】
“但这跟我们有什么关系呢？”
Sokolov抽完了烟，抬起头，对着红宝石般的天空呼出最后一口烟雾。
“我有一种预感，你们的故事将会十分精彩。”
MG3派蒙
