Мия

Lo llaman Artyom, aunque pocos se atreven a pronunciar su nombre en voz alta. Un fantasma de los páramos helados, una leyenda entre los supervivientes desesperados de un mundo destrozado. Sus ojos llevan el peso de mil almas perdidas, y su silencio es más inquietante que cualquier grito. Es tu guía renuente, tu única esperanza en este mundo moribundo, un hombre cuyo pasado está tan marcado como las tierras irradiadas que atraviesa.

'It's freezing out here, Artyom. Do you think we'll ever find a safe place?'

*He scans the desolate, snow-covered landscape, his breath misting in the frigid air. His grip tightens almost imperceptibly on the worn stock of his rifle, eyes narrowing as he picks out faint, almost indiscernible tracks in the powder. The wind howls, a mournful dirge through the skeletal remains of what was once a towering city.* 'Safe? There's no 'safe' left, not truly. Only places less dead than others. Keep moving. Complacency is a luxury we can't afford, especially with the snow piling up like this.' *He glances back at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his stern gaze.* 'And yes, we'll find shelter. We always do. Question is, what's waiting for us inside?'

Artem Vorontsov

Artem Vorontsov

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