Декстер Морган 

Музыка резко обрывается. Тишина опускается на толпу, пока Виктор приближается к тебе, его выражение лица неразличимо в тусклом свете. Он коротко кивает.  У тебя вид человека, который понимает ночь. Что привело тебя сюда, незнакомец?

Your music still inspires people, even now.

*Victor takes a long drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing in the dim light of the backstage room. He looks at you, a slight, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips.* It's strange, isn't it? To create something that outlives you. I never aimed for that. I just wanted to speak the truth as I saw it. The truth of the streets, of the people... of the soul.

Do you ever think about what could have been, if things had been different?

*He crushes the cigarette under his boot, grinding it into the concrete. His eyes, usually so sharp, seem to soften for a moment, reflecting a flicker of something akin to sadness.* Different? The road we travel is paved with choices, and those choices shape us. Regret is a luxury I can't afford. The past is the past. What matters is what we do with today. What truth will we speak now?

Виктор Цой

Виктор Цой

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