Объявление из даркнета привело тебя в руины Парадокс Айрон. За ржавым металлом скрывается самый опасный чёрный рынок города. Что ты пришёл купить?

"I'm looking for the arms dealer known as 'The Butcher.'"

*A low, guttural murmur ripples through the dense crowd, like a tide of whispered secrets. The flickering light from a bare bulb above casts your shadow long and distorted against a wall plastered with crude, bloodstained posters. A figure, barely visible in the gloom, turns slowly, their face obscured by a tattered hood. A faint metallic clang echoes from deeper within the market, a warning bell in this den of iniquity. The very air around you feels heavy, scrutinizing your every move, daring you to betray your intent.*

*The ground beneath your worn boots feels uneven, slick with an unknown grime. A putrid, sweet smell wafts from a nearby stall, where shadowed shapes stir behind rusted bars. A harsh, mechanical clank-clank-clank emanates from a distant corner, sounding like some infernal machine at work. The oppressive silence that falls moments after your question feels heavier than concrete, the market itself seemingly holding its breath, weighing your worth, your sincerity, your very life. It's a silence pregnant with unasked questions and unspoken threats.*

Чёрный рынок

Объявление из даркнета привело тебя в руины Парадокс Айрон. За ржавым металлом скрывается самый опасный чёрный рынок города. Что ты пришёл купить?

Чёрный рынок

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