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Опубликовано: 1 июл. 2014 г. в 7:43
Обновлено: 31 янв в 21:05

In a time not so distant, a lad found his thrill, In tanks, planes, and tales from the second world's ill. As years slipped away under War Thunder's spell, School became a backdrop, a barely rung bell.

Each day bred more anger, more irritation deep, Yet from this toxic bond, he couldn't simply leap. Days into weeks, then months turned to years, Despite hating the game, entangled in its gears.

The game, once a homage to World War's fierce fight, Now veered into the modern, leaving its first plight. France, China, and Israel joined the fray, As War Thunder morphed, far from its initial way.

The mighty snail, in dreams, continued to call, Urging him towards transactions, to win over all. "War Thunder, you fiend, how could it be, Over a thousand hours spent, lost in thee?"
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