Chapter 5
The man had talked for about fifteen minutes. He had talked to him about how he could be, as a former member of the world's most renowned PMC, a valuable asset to his own company, and about how generous the aforementioned company could be in return. He had called him by his name, just once, which was enough. He did not bother to explain to Artyom how he had found him -he did not even ask. It was all a very clever way of letting him know that he was not safe here, that he was not really safe anywhere. Once he had finished, he had laid a card on the table and he had left after politely saluting the barmaid. Artyom had not moved nor uttered any word.
He left shortly afterwards, ignoring the man's card. He was now sitting in his room, on a chair, in front of a desk on which was a bottle of vodka, a handgun, and the card that the man had hidden in his jacket just before he left without him noticing. On the back of it, handwritten, were the following words : « are you going to let them get away with this ? ». This sentence was rolling back and forth in Artyom's mind, like the lyrics of a song that you just can't get out of your head, like a challenge to him, a challenge to take his life back in his hands, and avenge his fallen brothers. A challenge to accomplish his duty. It was, also, and he knew that very well, an attempt to recruit the very competent MSF operative that he was, in order to serve in his own PMC, one of the many that were founded by the end of the sixties. Not all of them had the standing of MSF, unfortunately.
However, Artyom knew, before he cared to admit it to himself, that he would eventually join the man's PMC. It was inevitable. He had been trained for war, he had lived the life of a soldier, his fellow warriors had become his only family, and their death had left him with nothing but a burning desire for revenge, nothing else to do than drinking himself to death, and no knowledge of who he should direct his anger at. So he was angry against himself. He developed a strong feeling of guilt, starting to interpret everything that happened on this dark day as being his fault, mainly the death of his mentor.
The growing guilt and aimless hatred within him soon turned into the idea that he had to do something. And the only escape that he had right now was the phone number that was printed on the card that read: Pieuvre Armement P.M.C.