Pathologic: Day Two, the only day during which the Haruspicus will gain more than he loses under any circumstances

(Or, in which money proves that it really is the root of all evil)

The morning of the second day has come.
Infected in the past 24 hours: 26 people
Died in the past 24 hours: 15 people
Gone missing: 9 people
Number of dead at the moment: 38 people
Number of infected total: 25 people

I am beginning to see where this game is taking me, and I am nervous.

When I start it up to play Day Two, I am immediately confronted by the fact that I (that is, my character) am ravenously hungry: almost dead from hunger, in fact. The slow creep of hunger in Pathologic is relentless; Artemiy’s body doesn’t stop burning calories just because he’s asleep, as it would in a more forgiving game. I was so proud to survive Day One while meeting my objectives that I’d almost forgotten that I still have eleven more days to get through. Eleven days of just trying to stay alive on top of everything else. It feels like being brought to heel by a leash. Don’t get cocky—this is only the beginning.

Just after midnight, I climb out of bed, drinking my last bit of water to quiet my stomach a jot. I step outside into the darkness, squinting through the thin gray drizzle that seems almost to seep from the clouds overhead. I set off through the streets. One of the storefronts had better be open, or I’ll have another dead Haruspicus on my hands.

Fortunately, I find one and spend my last pennies on some bread and meat. Rested and well-fed for the first time since my arrival, I contemplate my next move. I haven’t received any indication of what I should do next, so it seems like a good time to explore the more remote corners of the town.

My first stop is the town hall, an important-looking building just north of the Clot. It has two entrances. One opens on a clerk’s office. It’s the middle of the night, so the office is deserted. The other entrance leads to the jail, and it’s here that I receive my first real shock of the game.

The Sand Plague has already begun to spread.

And it’s not just the disease that’s claiming lives. As I wander down lamp-lit streets, I keep encountering knife-wielding maniacs who seem to have no other goal than to kill and rob people, in that order. Their murderous efforts are focused primarily on the townsfolk caught out of doors after nightfall, though they come after me too if we cross paths in a deserted area. As the proud new owner of a good reputation, I’m reluctant to get into any fights, but I can’t just stroll past innocent people getting stabbed to death. Coming to their aid rewards me with extra cash and the opportunity to harvest the would-be murderers’ organs. Unaware of the uses for organs and still suffering from the aforementioned reputation paranoia, I harvest only a few, leaving most of the bodies untouched. I feel proud of myself for acting so uprightly. I’ll regret my caution later.

With the sky beginning to brighten in the east, I strike up conversations around town, trying to ascertain what to do next. A shady-looking man in a tavern informs me that supplies around town are about to get very, very scarce. The herb twyrine, which is known to have medicinal properties, will become quite valuable once news of the Sand Plague spreads. Conspiratorially, he says that if I bring him ten stalks of twyrine, he can use it to work the town’s economics to our advantage. Having seen the already outrageous rates for a loaf of bread, I can’t imagine surviving if prices climb even higher and readily agree. I don’t know where to find twyrine yet, but I’m hopeful that I can find it before the end of the day.

Other people point me toward a small, dilapidated house on the edge of town. There, I’m told, I will finally receive the inheritance that my father left me.

Inside I meet a girl named Ospina, who is easily the most upsetting character I’ve met so far. For a kid she seems to know an awful lot about the Sand Plague, describing its effects in detail (“It makes your blood boil in your veins like eggs in a pot”). Maybe it’s her monkish clothing or the dank, rotting house that surrounds her, but practically everything she says in her wispy little-girl voice seems creepy:

“Can you tell me what is wrong with my eyes?” (Okay …)
“I have a hole under my heart.” (That’s ... kinda disturbing.)
“Needles still stick out of me.” (WHAT)

She even hints that she may not be entirely human, that she’s some sort of harbinger of doom. I don’t know whether this is a translation issue or some sort of figurative expression, but standing with her in that dim room, I have a hard time believing that she is anything but absolutely serious.

Needless to say, as soon as she gives me the box containing my inheritance, I beat a hasty retreat. The box contains a couple of recipes for twyrine medicine, information about my father’s secret laboratory, and a strangely shaped object that, according to my cryptic-as-ever diary, belongs to “the Betrothed.” This new mystery adds another yet layer to my long-term goals, as the Betrothed is an extremely important person—probably the most important person in the entire town. The problem is that I have no idea who this person is or why he or she is so vital to my plans. So I push that question to the back of my mind. I’ve got things to do, after all—the shadows are lengthening, and I still haven’t figured out how to get those herbs for Comrade Shady back at the tavern. I’m substantially richer, but my windfall has merely reminded me that prices are going to skyrocket soon. I need those herbs badly.

The way is made clear to me when I find the Odonghe people. Their name translates as “the Worms,” and they form the town’s underclass. Thousands of them are controlled by Fat Vlad, who employs them as cowherds, butchers, and factory workers. They are responsible for keeping the town’s supply of meat flowing steadily in from the fields. If not for this fact and their deep knowledge of twyrine’s properties, it’s doubtful that the rest of the townsfolk could stomach their offputting appearance and primitive culture. As things are, they barely tolerate the Worms, who have been forced to settle in the marshes outside town.

The Worms have plenty of twyrine available—for a price. All they ask for in return are healthy human organs. The trade screen comes up, and my heart sinks. I don’t have nearly enough to trade for the ten herbs required by the man at the tavern. I barely have enough for one.

I hurry back to town, my mind racing. I have to get enough twyrine to keep prices low for myself in the future. I have to. Where am I going to come up with enough organs to satisfy the Worms? The knife-wielding maniacs only come out at night. Everyone else is just a regular townsperson. They’re unarmed, innocent people.

But I need those organs. I need them now.

I’m on the riverwalk on the town’s west side, debating with myself, when a man walks by. I make a sudden decision. Looking around to make sure no one will see, I stab him in the back.

My reputation bar shrinks, but not by too much. Considering how many people’s organs I’ll need to get ten stalks of twyrine, that’s a good thing. My stomach crawls slightly at the thought, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I bend over the body, contemplating what I need to drop from my inventory in order to make space.

Then the reality of what I’ve done hits me. I murdered an innocent man. Just so I could accomplish a task given me by a none-too-savory character. Just so I could make survival easier for myself. I pause over the dead body, my fingers hovering uncertainly over the keyboard. What did I just do?

I end up harvesting him, in a twisted variation on “waste not, want not,” but I don’t kill anyone else, giving up the tavern man’s quest as a lost cause. I trek back to my father’s abandoned laboratory to complete the primary objective of the day (brew up a twyrine concoction for the Bachelor, using one of the recipes in my inheritance box). That crawling sensation in my stomach persists, fed equally by my dismay at what I had done and by a selfish fear of what will happen to me tomorrow when I’m at the mercy of drastically inflated prices.

There’s also a deeper unease underlying all of this. Already I’m beginning to see the game’s general trajectory, bearing me toward some dark horizon. If I resorted to murder just to save money, what will I be capable of once I’m really desperate?

Pathologic: Day Two, within the duration of which the Bachelor will be able to take part in the redistribution of power and gain special authority

At 7am:

The morning of the second day has come.
Infected in the past 24 hours: 24 ppl.
Died in the past 24 hours: 17 ppl.
Gone missing: 5 ppl.
Number of dead at the moment: 34
Number of infected: 23 ppl.

Less than eleven days remain.

Nobody wants to admit the Sand Plague might return--that it has already returned, that it's on their doorsteps. Children whisper about houses smeared with blood--silent houses out of which nobody returns. I have to convince Alexander Saburov, difficult man that he is, of the presence of the plague.

 

The Town of __________ 

The town is in the midst of an unstated panic. As frenzied citizens rush to the stores to stock up supplies, shopkeepers ask ten times (yes that's right--ten times) as many rubles for food, and nearly as much for medicine. At around 10am I visit Lara who wants to fortify a "House of the Living" against the plague; of course I'd love to help. After raising funds from the various well-to-does I run from shop to shop, buying out the last of the dwindling supplies and, biting back the urge to sate my hunger, return to Lara, arms full of supplies.

At the same time, I've been hunting down evidence of the Sand Plague. A handy tip points me to the Northeastern edge of town, where Isidor Burakh used to live. At around 2pm I find the house, tall and silent, covered in angry, scabrous blotches. Exactly what the children have been whispering about. Breathless, I walk inside to find the walls covered in filth--stained rags have been hung up, and the floor is in disarray. I walk to the back of the house to find a worried-looking woman, who tells me yes, this is the house, and yes it's as we've feared. The Sand Plague has come. I take the key to the house, evidence for Saburov, and turn to leave.

 

Russian interior decorating at its finest.

Blocking my exit are the woman's three sisters, pale and sick. They reach out to me, moaning, hoping for a cure. I feint to the left, then rush past the first one, straight into the arms of the second sister. She barely grazes me--just a light touch, but enough to infect. Sickened, I run out of the house, a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. Yes, the unused infection bar in the upper right hand corner has been activated--a smidgen of bacterium, nothing more. I pop a few pills, hoping that'll eradicate the disease, but to no avail.

I traipse back to the Saburov manor and thrust the key into the noble's hands. As the revelation dawns on him that yes this is the dreaded Sand Plague, he hurriedly stuffs a revolver in my hand and puts me in charge of sectioning off the town, of managing the plague myself. I'm the best qualified--the objective outsider, the middle-man. The townsfolk will look to me for guidance.

 

This dude is so scary he doesn't even need guidance. 

Of course, I'm all too glad for the revolver. The thing I regret, though, is not pawning it off for bread like Quintin (I'm not that desperate)--it's the suicide powder the kids are passing around. The kids decided at some point to play Plague instead of Tag, and set to raiding medicine stores for serums. According to rumor, this sickly yellow powder is strong enough to nearly destroy one's body in exchange for purging infection completely. Desperate for food, I sell off the powder at its (dramatically increased) resale price: enough to afford a meal or two. My best shot at a cure-all and I missed it.

Back to the House of the Living. By now it's 4pm and I've collected the requisite rations, so I tramp back to Lara's house. She's set up a large mansion west of the Clot (where Fat Olgimskiy lives) which will function as the "House of the Living" and, as a final favor, has asked me to deliver the foodstuffs for storage.

 

I don't want to think about how all those blood smears got there.

I arrive at the mansion to find it, too, covered in the same scabs. Inside an executor waits to taunt me. Yes, I just spent hours running errands all over town, pleading with nobles for money, and what lies at the end of it all? A "House of the Living" overrun with pestilence and disease. The executor laughs me out with a cackle as plague mist floods the room, and I run out of the house cursing.

 

I'm unsure what I ought to do for the rest of the day. Discouraged, I run home to find Eve, my friends-with-benefits roommate, wringing her hands about the plague rumours. She wants to get out of town before all hell breaks loose, and she knows who can help us: the sexually-ambiguous Andrey at the tavern. Andrey and I happen to be old friends from college, though neither of us can properly recollect how we met, or what our relationship was. He says he'd love to help us escape, but can't leave without his brother Peter, who happens to be a renowned architect (responsible for constructing the massive Polyhedron at the southwest corner of town).

By now it's 7pm. I'm tired, exhausted, and it's started to rain. I buy coffee beans from the tavern to keep exhaustion at bay; I keep popping pills to maintain proper immunity. I finally track down Peter's house and am greeted with this pleasant image as soon as I reach the top of the stairs:

 

Not only does this sculpture make me sweat blood: it also describes Peter's alcoholic personality perfectly. The guy is batshit crazy. He also has no desire to leave town. After some word games and interviews (prompting me to tramp back and forth across the town) I convince him to leave, then take a visit to the black market in the southern warehouses on my way to the train's departure at 10pm. I get a special discount, a free revolver and some bullets, then head to the train station. I knew it wouldn't be so easy of course. I mean, with only ten days remaining, there has to be some hitch, some catch, that will keep me from leaving this soon-to-be-hellhole. At the train cars are several guards and yet another gloating executioner, hovering behind them like death.

Naturally I can't leave. Of course I can't leave. One look at the executor behind the guard tells me any resistance would be futile. So what do I do? "Okay, you win. I will cancel my departure."

On my way home I stop in by the theatre. They're saying something about players, about choices, and I'm reminded this is only a game, that it's an "epidemic simulation"--and that in the end I wanted to reach the train station to find it empty, because leaving wouldn't be interesting. I'm here for the show, and I'm pretty sure I get my price of admission's worth tomorrow.