安裝 Steam
登入
|
語言
簡體中文
日本語(日文)
한국어(韓文)
ไทย(泰文)
Български(保加利亞文)
Čeština(捷克文)
Dansk(丹麥文)
Deutsch(德文)
English(英文)
Español - España(西班牙文 - 西班牙)
Español - Latinoamérica(西班牙文 - 拉丁美洲)
Ελληνικά(希臘文)
Français(法文)
Italiano(義大利文)
Bahasa Indonesia(印尼語)
Magyar(匈牙利文)
Nederlands(荷蘭文)
Norsk(挪威文)
Polski(波蘭文)
Português(葡萄牙文 - 葡萄牙)
Português - Brasil(葡萄牙文 - 巴西)
Română(羅馬尼亞文)
Русский(俄文)
Suomi(芬蘭文)
Svenska(瑞典文)
Türkçe(土耳其文)
tiếng Việt(越南文)
Українська(烏克蘭文)
回報翻譯問題
Six hasn't been the same since he left Vietnam. He can seldom close his eyes without opening them again at fear of Charlies lurking in the jungle trees. Not that you could ever see the bastards, mind you. They were swift, and they knew their way around the jungle like nothing else. He remembers the looks on the boys' faces as he walked into that village and... oh, Jesus. The memories seldom left him, either. Sometimes he'd reminisce - even hear - Tex's southern drawl. He remembers the smell of Brooklyn's cigarettes like nothing else. He always kept a pack of Lucky's with him. The boys are gone, now. He knows that; it's just that he forgets, sometimes. And, every now and then, the way that seven looks at him with avid concern in his eyes... it makes him think. Sets him on edge. Makes him feel like he's back there... in the jungle.
Wishing you peace and joy this holiday season and in the New Year.
Sincerely,
Lemonski