Waiter: Excuse me, Sir? Sam Fisher: Yes? Waiter: Phone call for you. And he found somewhere to go looking, a city called Valletta. He caught a whisper in the wind that maybe his daughter's death hadn't been an accident. He hopped off the grid and went walkabout, looking for a reason to go on living. Left America and Mom and apple pie, left it all behind. Left Third Echelon, left the life he knew. Irving Lambert died by Sam's hand that day, and so did Sam. It set him up, turned him loose, and told him to pull the trigger on his best friend in a dirty New York City basement. She was the one thing in his life that humanized him. A drunk driver killed him, some anonymous asshole who ran down his daughter and vanished.
America killed him, asked him to make one sacrifice too many, cross one line too far.
Dialogue Merchants' Street Market Victor Coste: The thing you have to understand is this: The Sam Fisher you knew is dead.
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