Pathologic: Day Six, by the end of which the Haruspicus will find out how important a role mythic beings can play in our lives

(or, in which hope takes a beating)

The morning of the sixth day has come.

Infected in the past 24 hours: 165 people
Died in the past 24 hours: 110 people
Gone missing: 23 people
Number of dead at the moment: 660 people
Number of infected: 311 people

Less than seven days remain. A governmental emissary will arrive tomorrow.

---

The Bachelor has bad news for me. Possibly because it came from a butcher instead of from the twyrine bride, the heart that I brought him yesterday failed to produce a vaccine for the Sand Plague. Evidently, the low-level immunity possessed by the steppe natives is more low-level than it is immunity—their blood produces effective antibodies but in such low quantities that eventually the Sand Plague will overwhelm the immune system anyway. Once again, the Bachelor's experiment fails.

We are running out of time. The town is descending into anarchy as the Sand Plague, unchecked by any sort of cure, continues to extend its tendrils throughout the town. Bodies litter the streets as bandits and arsonists clash violently with guard patrols. Every now and then an infected person slips through the quarantine because the guards are too busy fighting off looters. Impatient with the Bachelor's and my fruitless search for a vaccine, regular townsfolk have decided to take matters into their own hands. At a loss to explain the mind-boggling scale of this calamity, they're looking for a scapegoat to blame for the epidemic's onset. It's a good old-fashioned witch hunt, and the witch they've settled on is the mysterious Devotress.

Artemiy Burakh is many things, but a sympathetic listener he is not.

The Devotress hasn't done much to dispel the dark rumors surrounding her presence in town. Children say that they have witnessed her killing a man merely by placing her palms on his eyes and holding them there until he stops struggling. Others whisper that her hands can "turn people's souls inside out," healing or killing them at her whim. The stories of the "bone cannibal" have resurfaced and seem to point to her. The Devotress's response is to say that she is actually two people—the sweet-natured "Klara," and a doppelganger who frightens children and speaks only in sarcastic riddles—which doesn't exactly allay the townsfolk's fears.

Here's the thing though: I believe her. Something fishy indeed seems to be going on; I meet her in two locations over the course of the day, and there's no way she could have been traveling between them without me knowing. The doppelganger is holed up in the graveyard with poor little Laska and informs me that the Apiary (or the first level of it, anyway) is now open to exploration, though she gleefully hints that I may not like what I find: "Absolute hell. You'll see." Meanwhile, Klara is hiding at Anna Angel's house and seems abjectly terrified by her predicament. She says she doesn't even know what she's doing in town. She has no memory of how she got here and feels trapped by the chaos and odd phenomena swirling around her. The Rat Prophet has been appearing to her too, scaring her with ominous pronouncements that she can't understand. If I can get some solid answers out of the Prophet, she says, at least then she can face the angry mob with some certainty about who she really is.

Having been the victim of misguided, rumor-fed hatred myself, I feel for her and agree to help, even though the hatch to the Rat Prophet's underground chamber is still in the middle of a plague zone. Infected areas have only gotten more harrowing; in addition to the increased numbers of contagious victims milling about in the streets, plague clouds are even more prevalent. There's even a new kind of mist accompanying this next stage of the epidemic: brown and fetid, it actually chases me around until either it catches me or I reach a safe haven indoors. It's almost as if the Sand Plague is developing agency.

This seems like a crazy thought until I meet with the Rat Prophet. (It's amazing how open-minded one becomes when one encounters things like a tuxedo-wearing person with a rat's head and a subterranean lair.) According to him, this mess has never been a wholly natural occurrence; if I don't believe him, perhaps I should ask my good friend the Devotress. After all, she's the personification of the Sand Plague itself.

I immediately call him a liar, which he shrugs off with a "believe what you want" attitude. Honestly, I'm not sure what to think. I certainly have no reason to trust him. Then again, unlike the town's conniving nobles, he has no reason to lie. If he is telling the truth, then the townspeople are right to fear the Devotress. As I climb back out of the hatch, I wonder what I will tell Klara. In the meantime, though, she'll have to wait. The Bachelor has another idea.

It's a long shot, he admits, but it's one of the only options left. The experiment with the blood of the steppe people failed, but there are other natives of the steppe: the cattle. The animals have been bearing up quite well throughout this ordeal—none of them have died of the Plague or even contracted it. Maybe the cure will come from them.

The only problem is that almost no cattle remain in the area. Most have already been slaughtered to provide food for the town as it languishes under quarantine. The only people who might have an idea where to find more cows serve in the Order of Bulls and live in the Apiary and the Abattoir. Up to now those areas have been closed to us. However, the imminent arrival of the State Inquisitor has led Fat Vlad to hastily lift his dubious lockdown of the Apiary, and as the trusted heir of Burakh I can now get in and speak with the Order. In fact, one of my Adherents, known as the "Mother Keeper," is a leader in the Order. She can tell me where to find a bull.

The battered door to the first section of the Apiary. Looks like even the guard isn't too happy to be standing in such close proximity.

The Devotress wasn't lying when she said that the interior of the Apiary is hell. Debris and furniture wall off some hallways; other rooms have boards nailed across the doorways. Through the gaps I can see Worms and butchers curled on the floor, silently suffering through their infection. Screams keep echoing from the depths of the building, and they are not screams of pain—they're screams of madness.

My Adherent is waiting for me up four or five flights of stairs. Since all of my Adherents are children, I'm not expecting an adult. But I also was not expecting to see a five-year-old flanked by three bodyguards:

Meet one of the cult's prominent figures, a girl who has not yet learned how to read.

"Mother Keeper" does know of a bull I can use, but she wants me to do a favor for her first. She and her followers want to return to their shrine deep in the bowels of the Apiary, but that part of the building is crawling with the infected. If I really want to test that bull's blood, I have to bring her 50 doses of immunity boosters in the next nine hours. No pills, no bull.

To put that number in perspective, I've accumulated less than 20 of those pills over the past six days. Thankfully, I haven't been popping too many of them thanks to my innate resistance as a steppe native, but I'm still staring at only 13 doses in my inventory when I exit the Apiary. The pharmacies around town stock them, but only in small quantities. Children on the street sometimes have them for trade, but with the infected areas swelling in size, there aren't many children around either. Briefly, I entertain the idea of killing and robbing some guards, who carry large quantities of medicine on them at all times. I quickly quash those thoughts. The crime I committed on Day Two is still a raw spot in my memory. If I'm going to get those pills, I'm going to have to run all over town, check every single shop, and hope.

It takes a sizable chunk out of my funds, but I meet the deadline with only half an hour to spare. "Mother Keeper" blithely tells me to meet the Worms at a hill south of town. They will bring the bull. I will bring whatever optimism I have left that all this scrambling around was worth it.

After exchanging curt greetings with the Worms, I inject the bull with a sample of the Plague, then take a blood sample back to the Bachelor. I wait with bated breath while he examines the sample under his microscope.

Once again, the experiment fails.

The bull's immune system is the exact opposite of what we found with the steppe people. When infected, the bull's body is able to slow the Plague's growth to a crawl. However, without any way to fight off the small amount that remains, the bull will die, same as any other creature.

I had figured that I would be angry, or at least annoyed, that all my energy and sacrifice was for nothing as usual. The most I can muster after hearing the bad news is resignation. I don't think I was honestly expecting good news in the first place. The only option left is to find the blood of some bull-human hybrid that can both retard the Plague's reproduction and kill whatever's left, and, as the Bachelor helpfully points out, no such animal exists. There is no final cure. We're done.

Before going to bed, I troop over to Anna Angel's house to see Klara again. Expectantly, she asks me what the Rat Prophet said. I reply that he said she is not responsible for the epidemic, that she is here to help people. By now I've decided that the Prophet was right, but I lie for two reasons. First, I just don't have the heart to tell Klara that, knowingly or not, she has the blood of the entire town on her hands. Second, I'm afraid of what she might do if she resigns herself to being an angel of death. She can be on our side for the time being. We're going to need all the help we can get.

Do you read Russian? UPDATED

If so, can you translate this tombstone for us? We can't even type the cyrillic otherwise we'd stick it through google translate. If you can, please leave a comment!

Click on it to enlarge.

I found this in the Cemetery. I'm very keen to find out what it says.

UPDATE: Thanks, Rory for the info. Apparently it reads:


Here lies FARKHAD
the most stubborn of all architects
This memorial we built on a truly excellent foundation
from brethren in grief
P et A gemini

or:

(I like brethren in grief better than disconsolate co-workers personally)

I'm sure I'll revisit this in the coming days. Thanks again.

Pathologic: Day Six, on which the Bachelor will be offered to choose from several different sources of contamination

At 7am:

The morning of the sixth day has come.

Infected in the past 24 hours: 163 ppl.

Died in the past 24 hours: 140 ppl.

Gone missing: 12 ppl.

Number of dead at the moment: 840

Number of infected: 335 ppl.

Less than seven days remain. A governmental emissary will arrive tomorrow.

I stagger out of Lara Ravel’s house at half past five, starving and mildly woozy from the infection to find myself surrounded by the plague. The afflicted leprous figures march about in packs, and patrolling the streets are a new brand of soldier: the Humpback’s men. Unlike the oafish bandits, these fellows sport a seemingly unlimited supply of Molotov Cocktails, which they lob at anyone and everyone from worrying distance. Their purpose, it seems, is simply to rile things up.

One hit is from these is fatal.

These new annoyances, however, are the least of my worries.

Today's Map

Witch Hunt

The first thing I do in the morning is visit Rubin, who should have completed the improved vaccine. Sure enough, he has. (This differs significantly from Kevin’s experience of Day 6, in which the vaccine failed miserably). Yet his conscience weighs heavily upon him. The Haruspicus was aware that Rubin was keeping the body of the first infected, Simon Kain, for inspection and research. What he didn’t know that it was I who told Rubin to hold the body illegally, to keep it under wraps, though we both knew it might come out sooner or later. He confesses to me that he can’t take it anymore: he has to come clean to the Kain family.

I panic, of course. He can’t do that. It would ruin my reputation if it came out that he had kept the body under my instruction. So much rests on that one lie. I tell him to keep it—that I’ll handle it—that he has to stay and continue his research. He reluctantly agrees, though he holds onto the vaccine.

The consequences of my decisions are at hand. I get several letters and hear whispers from the townsfolk. The Inquisitor is coming tomorrow. But, more upsetting, there has been an incident in the Cathedral.

I arrive early morning to find the Cathedral utterly dead—nearly 800 people wiped out by the Sand Plague. Something got in. To my relief, however, the finger of blame isn’t pointed at me, but to the leading women of the town. The shabnak—the she-cannibal—was accused of breaking in and giving the people infected water to drink. Hours later, streams of infected flooded the streets while a few were left to clean up the remains in the Cathedral.

They did a good job cleaning up.

Saburov outlines the plan: I will interrogate the women of the town and decide who is the vector. Of course I know better; all I have to do is draw their blood and examine it for traces of the virus. It takes a bit of convincing, but I take a sample from Anna Angel, who tells me Klara (the Devotress) is also a prime suspect.

The real gem here is Ospina, who practically spits venom when I whip out the syringe. She does her best to advise me in the “proper way” of finding the shabnak. I’ve transcribed the entire conversation here (with a few minor adjustments for clarity):

ME: Ospina, you are accused of being a cannibal. They will come for you soon.

OSPINA: What is a shabnak? It is a malicious spirit who wears the flesh of a woman on his bones. Shabnak can be known by a characteristic attribute – his hands are long, all toes are of the same length, and the teeth are shown on all body from under the skin

ME: Thanks for the lesson.

OSPINA: That’s it … I am always glad to help you. If you want I’ll help you catch the monster. If you do not cope with that yourself … almost a week has passed and the people still perish, perish, perish …

ME: Help me. Where do I start? Perhaps from the survey of suspected?

OSPINA: Yes. You gather all women who cause your anxiety in the Cathedral, for now it is empty. Build a bonfire at the entrance. Order them to strip naked and survey them carefully … Search for sharp edges under the skin, but you will not find. And then …

ME: I have a more reliable way. Let’s look at your blood.

OSPINA: It is not necessary to take blood. Search for the teeth. Let me continue … sooner or later one of them will break and rush away crying – right into the fire. And then her essence will become visible! She will turn all black, howl, crook her fingers – everyone will realize at once that this is not human.

ME: Of course. And now stand still. I have a few needles; don’t worry.

Ospina

After taking her sample, I find Klara at the Saburov Manor. She won’t allow me to take her blood; she considers herself above reproach. And then an extraordinary claim: she says that she and the Devotress are two different people, though the Devotress looks just like her. She tells me that, with all my science and system, I have no right to investigate her. I appeal to Saburov, who has effectively adopted the little whelp, who tells me I can draw her blood, but when I return she has disappeared.

I rush around town, furious, asking everyone for information. I track down Mishka, a young boy living out in the train yard, and he tells me I’m a hunted man. That the Devotress—who is undoubtedly the shabnak—is searching for me with murderous intent.

The Thing Coming From the Steppe

I scour the rest of the town and receive a tip from Spichka, a young boy holed up in the Tanner’s District. He saw the Bone Cannibal just now, rounding the Abattoir. If I hurry, I may catch it. Heart pounding, I draw my revolver and prepare to finish this once and for all. A true vector! The real, tangible foe in all of this—a discernible victory. With the shabnak gone, it will be only a matter of time till the virus dies out.

Rounding the Abattoir, I see it: a hunched, gangly figure with a white face and long neck. Hardly a thing that could pass for the Devotress. As I step toward it, the air thickens and I begin to choke. I aim my pistol at its (admittedly small) head, fire two shots, and watch as the thing goes limp.

Shabnak or Animated Totem?

Upon closer inspection, I can’t say this is any sort of shabnak. I don’t know what it is—some kind of clay golem, animated by the weird cultic rituals of these steppe barbarians. It was just an illusion.

I find Klara mourning his corpse when I return. Stricken with grief, she holds out her arm and lets me take a sample, which I immediately rush to the microscope. The blood is irregular, strange indeed, but there is no sign of the Plague. I return to her and give my analysis. Yet, knowing that the Inquisitor will come tomorrow, and that she will want blood, Klara says she’ll offer herself as a sacrifice. She’s somehow responsible, she says—and they will need someone to blame anyway.

I resist—she cannot do this. It isn’t right. She is an inexplicable anomaly, there’s no doubt about that, but she is no vector. It’s true: she’d be an easy solution. She’d placate the Inquisitor. It would be an easy solution. But it wouldn’t be right. I tell her the decision is her own, though I don’t think she should turn herself in.

They Want to Burn the Apiary

My final task for the day is a seemingly impossible gambit. The humpback, with his league of arsonists, wants to deliver a deathblow to the Olgimskiy family: he’s going to burn down the Apiary, a nexus of disease that has produced wave after wave of infected (or so they say). While I could care less for the Olgimskiys, the Apiary will be indispensible to my research. They can’t burn it down. The only thing for me to do, then, is to kill the humpback.

It’s late evening when I arrive, and raining. I approach the main entrance to see the Humpback near the tunnel, four arsonists arrayed around him, Molotov cocktails at the ready. I check my revolver: I’ve only got four bullets. Whatever. I rush the first two, a headshot each, then whirl to the next, take him and his companion out, then stand, facing the Humpback. He’s got an alarmingly good throwing arm. I pocket the gun, bare my fists, and approach him, strafing left and right, trying to get in a good punch. The close range is too much, however, and he’s too good a shot. I go down once, twice, three times, until, frustrated, I rush out to the streets to trade a needle for a bullet. When I come back I find him there, standing crooked with that dull cow-eye look. Fearless, I run up to him, gun at the ready, and take him out with a decisive shot.

The entrance to the Apiary, sans two psychopathic arsonists.

Finally, a true victory. I’m not worried about the Inquisitor tomorrow. I think we’ll get along just fine; if anything she ought to admire my work.

Pathologic: Day Five, which will give the Haruspicus a chance to seize the evasive Sand Plague

(or, in which things get Lynchian)

The fifth day has come.

Infected in the past 24 hours: 100 people
Died in the past 24 hours: 79 people
Gone missing: 22 people
Number of dead at the moment: 395 people
Number of infected: 107 people

You will not be able to defeat this enemy. Less than eight days remain.

---

So the first thing I do when I discover that I've been thrown into jail is get angry. More than a few swear words bounce off the walls of my apartment while I come to terms with what just happened. It seems unfair, but in the back of my mind I can't help thinking that this is what I deserve for getting too confident. It really, really hurts to lose those weapons and miss out on a quest reward from Notkin, but there's nothing to be done about it now. I have to find a way out of this new mess.

After the initial shock has passed, I notice that this is no run-of-the-mill prison like the one in the Town Hall. The Sand Plague is here, too. The two men standing guard are fine, presumably pumped full of immunity boosters, but the bodies dotting the stone floor—some of them living, some not—tell me that I can't take my time escaping. As if on cue, a plague cloud wafts through the bars of my cell and fills my lungs. My infection meter takes a jump.

Get out.

I get a couple more lungfuls of disease before I see that one of the corpses is close enough to my cell to be searched. I grab the dead man's revolver, gun down my guards, and start to head for the exit when the cries of the afflicted pull me up short. I turn back and, fumbling with bottles of morphine, give two of the men a peaceful death. I am uneasy about the ethics of euthanasia in this game, but having killed two guards, I desperately need the reputation boost that comes with a mercy killing. I rationalize it by telling myself that I couldn't leave them to die slowly in that plague-infested basement. It is better this way. Right?

The air outside the building is not much clearer than it was indoors. I'm in the factory district, which apparently is the latest breeding ground for the Sand Plague. My vision blurs and I actually stagger to one side as my fever climbs. Sadly, my antibiotic pills are useless to me now; in my weakened state the side effects would be just as deadly as the disease. I am in the late stages of infection, with my blood slowly beginning to hemorrhage from my body. With horror, I watch my health bar shrink, bit by bit.

I'm dying.

I have only one chance. My laboratory is just to the south of the factories, close enough for me to reach it before I succumb to the Plague. I have twyre there, along with brewing recipes left by my father. Vaguely, I remember reading somewhere in my journal that twyrine brews can be combined with infected organs to create an antibiotic mixture. It won't eradicate the disease, but it will hold it at bay, and the health penalties are lower than with conventional medicine. I burst into my lab and stagger over to a storage chest containing my herbs and recipes. I snatch a potent-looking one, cook it up, and mix it with an infected kidney left over from my adventures in Day Three. The result is "dead porridge," a foul-looking pale paste. Well, it's better than death, anyway.

By now it's late: almost 4:00 in the afternoon. With my infection back under control, it's time to turn my mind back to battling the epidemic, which means paying the Bachelor a visit. He's learned of my discovery about the steppe people having a low-level resistance to the Plague, and he wants me to get one of their hearts for him to experiment on. Once again, I am nonplussed at doing his dirty work, all the more so because of my connections to the steppe people. The Bachelor counters my protests by pointing out the necessity of doing this if we're ever going to produce a vaccine. What's one life measured against the entire town? With that he sends me over to Ospina to find out the location of a guinea pig, since (he says) he is too repulsed by Ospina's strangeness to make the trip himself.

OSPINA QUOTE OF THE DAY: "But why is nobody being buried? No creeping of carts, no sound of shovels in the cemetery? "

The antipathy is mutual. Ospina does not hide her anger that I am doing the Bachelor's bidding, saying that he is a "bastard" who "will bury us all." Nevertheless, she recognizes the need for a test subject, though she cloaks it in mystical trappings, as is her wont. A "twyrine bride" (the "stripper" from Duke's Day Five) has been brought forward by the Worms as a willing sacrifice to appease whatever natural force is causing the epidemic. As a Haruspicus, I have the divine right to cut out her heart.

When I arrive at the appointed spot out in the marshes, however, the young woman seems anything but willing. She's been brought there by three butchers (one of whom I met on Day Three), and she pleads with me not to kill her. The butchers are unmoved. The earth demands a sacrifice, they tell me, and, as the heir of Burakh, only I can perform the rite and take the first step in stopping the Sand Plague. They watch me grimly in the firelight, waiting.

I hesitate, then refuse.¹ The steppe people may be my people, but I am not going to take part in the barbaric sacrifice of an innocent just because they tell me to. Enraged, the trio attacks me while the woman flees into the darkness. I shoot them all before they can harm me and bend over their bodies, pulling on my gloves. These guys are natives of the steppe, too. Theoretically at least, they should have the same natural immunity as the twyrine bride. I hope their hearts will do.

As I slog through the marshes on my way back to the Bachelor's pad (heh), I receive a note from Fat Vlad's son, "Young Vlad," concerning the well that he has been digging to provide the town with untainted water. His laborers are refusing to work, claiming to see and hear frightening things in the underground caverns beneath the town. They won't say what, though, so Young Vlad turns to me to investigate the matter. I'm not particularly keen to poke around down there, but I do need the handsome sum he's offering in order to buy food for tomorrow. So down I go.

Immediately I can tell that something's not right. The earth surrounding me doesn't look like normal dirt; it's dark red and slick, as if saturated with blood. I'm apparently alone, yet despite the absence of other people there are lit torches installed at regular intervals. The soundtrack has changed, and it sounds muffled somehow. The throbbing music and smooth, circular tunnel walls give me the impression that I'm walking around inside some gigantic circulatory system.

I have a bad feeling about this.

For some reason Young Vlad doesn't throw down a rope, so once I'm underground I'm stuck there and have to find another way out. I set off through the tunnels, turning this way and that, and before long I am hopelessly lost. The network of caverns is surprisingly extensive, with numerous branching paths, dead ends, and loops, and my town map gives no indication of which way I should go. On top of that, I start to hear a deep voice chanting in an unintelligible language, dully echoing through the strange caverns. Combined with the music, the resemblance to the sound of a beating heart is even more pronounced. Spooky.

I'm just beginning to worry about how I will get out of here when the tunnel ahead suddenly opens up into a large chamber with a domed ceiling at least twenty feet over my head. In one corner is a small platform. A lone figure waits for me there.

What the HELL

This is the Rat Prophet, the pure embodiment of the rats' nature and power (!). The chanting I was hearing earlier? That was the Rat Prophet, mimicking the voice of my father (!!!). He knows a lot about my father and the Sand Plague, but everything he says is gibberish—I can't make head or tail of anything he says. Eventually the Prophet falls ominously silent, and, head spinning, I stumble to the other side of the chamber. There, a hatch opens upward, and I waste no time getting out.

I surface behind the theater, which also has become an epicenter for the Plague. As long as I'm here I figure I may as well check out today's play, but when I enter the theater I find that the director is already busy playing to a packed house:

Knock 'em dead

Back at Young Vlad's place, I hesitantly ask about the Rat Prophet, fearing that I am losing my mind. Young Vlad seems concerned, but he assures me that it was not completely a hallucination. Other citizens have reported seeing the Prophet as well. He seems to bestow his presence and dark knowledge on those who are attuned to the town and the earth on which it rests. Beyond that, Young Vlad knows nothing.

I feel like I'm getting in way over my head. With difficulty, I can at least cope with real-world problems, such as finding a cure or stopping looters. But there is apparently a cosmic, spiritual dimension to this as well, and I feel ill-equipped for it. Between my brush with death today and my weird entanglement with the Cult of Bulls, I worry that I may be cracking under the pressure.

¹ This is apparently a departure from what happens in the Bachelor's scenario. I'm not sure what long-term consequences there will be for this.

Pathologic: Day Five, on which the Bachelor is to regret that the existing prefer the living rather than the dead.

At 7am:


The morning of the fifth day has come. 
Infected in the past 24 hours: 105 ppl. 
Died in the past 24 hours: 74 ppl. 
Gone missing: 30 ppl. 
Number of dead at the moment: 370 
Number of infected: 107 ppl. 


You will not be able to defeat this enemy. Less than eight days remain.

Thanks for the vote of confidence, Pathologic.

Today's Map

Day five brings a new low. The plague breaks out in the heart of the Town--just outside the Theatre-turned-morgue--which makes travel a nuisance. On top of this, the infection has intensified: as soon as I enter the area I'm swarmed with rats, and the ragged plague victims lurch around in groups, rather than alone. I can't even walk straight: as soon as I settle on a course, a thick plague cloud will materialize, forcing me to either divert or breathe in lungfuls of disease.

The political climate has also deteriorated. Alexander Saburov, drunk on the authority I've given him, has told me the townsfolk have lost confidence in my leadership. They've called Inquisitor Karminskiy from the city to address the surge in crime: rippers, bandits and rapists have begun to wander the streets in broad daylight. Saburov informs me that, very soon, I will be officially replaced.

Broad Daylight is putting it a bit strong, I guess.

Fire Starters / Innocent People

I get a note from Anna Angel across town at the start of the day. She tells me she has a get-rich-quick scheme: we're going to blackmail Var, the Hunchback, and fleece him for all he's worth. I'm promised a cut of the money and sent across town to collect. Easy as pie, right? Of course, this is Pathologic we're talking about.

On my way over, I get wind from Kain and Olgimskiy that the Saburov, who's gotten fairly high and mighty, has performed a mass arrest under my nose. Sure, he's taken a multitude of criminals off the street, but there are a few holed up in the Town Hall who are obviously innocent. The Executors, guarding the cells, demand a ridiculous sum: 60,000, which is all but beyond my means. George Kain and Young Vlad give me a fair bit, though it's not enough. What's more: Saburov, all too happy to have caught so many criminals, won't listen to any of my pleas for mercy.

I don't have time for this. I decide to pocket the money and go blackmail the hunchback.

When I reach the hunchback, I find him tied in knots for his stripper daughter who has run away from home. He's crushed to find out about the blackmail; of course, from watching Kevin play, I realize this fellow's loaded. Fifty thousand won't hurt him much. The poor soul gives me an advance, and says he'll pay the rest when I find his daughter. The blackmail is enough shame to drive him out of town, apparently, and he wants to leave with family.

I track down the girl dancing at a local tavern and arrange to meet in the now-quiet Tanners District at 9pm.

Vaccine
The vaccine Rubin developed for me yesterday (Unmentioned in the previous post) is not good enough. I find him camped out in his super-secret laboratory, and he tells me that in order to develop an improved serum, we need fresh infected tissue. We need Artemiy Burakh, the Haruspicus.

My cohort Rubin, in his super-awesome lab.

This is problematic, of course, because Burakh has been captured by Alexander Saburov, and is being held in a factory down south. I glean this much from Saburov's ailing wife (who actually predicted my death on the first day) and seek out the holding cell where they're keeping the Haruspicus. It's guarded, and I have no desire to kill town officials. So I hire out some goons from Gryph and set Artemiy free.

"At the end of this, we may be on opposing sides"

The Haruspicus says he'd love to help, that he'll be in the Tanners District at 9pm with a freshly-cut heart, and that I should get there a bit early.

I can already see where this thing is headed. I show up at the appointed spot and poke around for a bit, when I see the ground littered with corpses. There before me is the body of a guard, an infected, and beside them both the scantily-clad body of a young dancer. Her heart has been left exposed; with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I rush it to Rubin's laboratory. After some cryptic comments about blood, he promises me a serum in the morning.

I'd like to end my day on some kind of victory. My purse is brimming with about 50,000--just ten grand short of the ransom for the prisoners. I head to a pharmacy, sell off as much as I can--medicine, food, anything--and head to the Town Council. I pay the greedy Executor his due, and he lets the prisoners free. As they slouch out, I open up my quest diary to see the mission completed--though the note doesn't read with a hint of optimism. "The prisoners are free, but I am afraid there is a great probability of their going out onto the streets after such an injustice," it reads.

Really? Is that supposed to cheer me up?

I emptied all my funds to free these six men, and I'm told they're probably going to go off and become marauders? Thanks again, Pathologic, for the vote of confidence.

My mind begins to race. Maybe, just maybe, there's a chance the Haruspicus didn't kill the Hunchback's daughter--that the girl was some other stripper nobody knows, who just happened to be at the appointed meeting place when the Haruspicus needed an infected corpse. To be certain, I run back to the Tanners District and comb the yard, searching for some sign of the real daughter. No luck.

I don't have enough money to buy alpha tablets to stave off infection. The disease is devouring my entrails, I'm getting hungry, and I'm about to collapse from exhaustion. Perhaps the Hunchback will have some sort of compensation for information about his daughter's death. I lurch over to the other side of town to deliver the grim news--to tell him it was a murderer who killed his daughter, after infection had taken her.

This sends him into a rage. He begins to rant about putting together a "brotherhood of fanatics" to take down the Olgimskiys, who were *obviously* behind it. I leave him enraged, plotting revenge in his attic, no richer than when I came.

I have just one more out. Perhaps Anna Angel, who started all of this nonsense with the Hunchback, will have something to say. I tramp back to the Western side of town, carefully avoiding the infected district, to inquire. She greets me with a laugh: What? The Hunchback is forming a band to take down Fat Vlad and his spoiled son? According to her, this was all part of her plan, and she used me from the beginning.

Before I drop off to sleep, I resolve to comfort myself by checking into the Hospital and Morgue. When I come to the church I find it locked, with seven hundred starving plague-ridden victims clawing to get out. The guards commend me for my wisdom, but speak in hushed tones that I really ought to find some way of getting them food. Stricken, I delve into the infected district to inspect the Theatre, where I was greeted with this cheery sight:

Oh, and this too:



Utterly defeated, I check into Lara Ravel's "House of the Living", stomach growling, and ask for some medicine and food. She doesn't have any. So, with a long sigh, I go to the nearest bed and sleep until morning, worried about what tomorrow will bring.

Pathologic: Day Four, by the end of which the Haruspicus may find a friend and a half-dead enemy

(or, in which the best-laid plans of mice and men perish in a cataclysm of WTF)

The morning of the fourth day has come.

Infected in the past 24 hours: 40 people
Died in the past 24 hours: 59 people
Gone missing: 15 people
Number of dead at the moment: 236 people
Number of infected: 63 people

The anxiety of the Powers is growing. Less than nine days remain.

Since the beginning of the game, I've been periodically receiving notes containing death threats from one Stakh Rubin, a close friend and collaborator of my late father. Even after the Bachelor cleared my name at the end of Day One, Rubin alone was unconvinced. If anything, he became angrier. I know who you really are, his notes said, and I will kill you for what you've done.

I would be more worried except that I know that the Bachelor has been working closely with Rubin to fight the Plague, and I'm content to let sleeping dogs lie. As long as Rubin continues to help us work toward a cure and remains ignorant of my whereabouts at any given time, he can hate me all he wants. Of course, by now I should know that nothing in Pathologic is ever so simple; the dawn of Day Four brings a message from the Bachelor saying that Rubin has disappeared along with the latest Plague research, and guess who gets the joy of hunting him down.

I'm not happy about this, but one look at the town convinces me that we need that research. As expected, the Sand Plague has burnt itself out in the Tanners District from yesterday, but it's metastasized to other neighborhoods, including the warehouse district where Notkin lives. On top of that, medical supplies are scarcer than ever—a teenage girl on the street informs me that Fat Vlad has been stockpiling the town's antibiotics and immunity boosters and distributing them among the patrol guards, leaving nothing for any of the other citizens. Looting is increasingly common, and civilization is beginning to fray at the edges. Ragged-looking people are starting to appear on the streets: hungry, penniless, out of medicine and hope.

Before doing anything else, I check on Notkin to make sure he's okay. Navigating the streets in the warehouse district is significantly more hair raising than it was in the Tanners District, with plenty of narrow dead ends in which the infected can corner me. A plague cloud explodes upward when I accidentally step on a bloody pile of rags, worsening the infection in my bloodstream. It's not very far to Notkin's lair, but it takes me forever to find a safe route to his door.

Fortunately, Notkin is fine. In fact, he's back to his old posturing, bloodthirsty self again, working himself into a froth over the actions of looters. He wants me to kill a few, just to teach them a lesson about pillaging. I briefly wonder what exactly I'm doing, acting as a hitman for a high schooler, but then forget about it. It's not as if the looters don't have it coming to them.

On my way out the door, Notkin calls after to me to check on a boy named Spichka, who's holed up somewhere on the north side of town. Recognizing the name of another of my Adherents, I make a mental note, tie my handkerchief over my face, and plunge back into the green haze outside.

That green haze has sickened into a yellowish sepia color in the plague-ravaged Tanners District. All the infected people who were wandering around yesterday have succumbed to the Plague, and now the only living things wandering the streets are the knife-wielding bandits (no longer confined to nighttime, apparently) and swarms of rats. These latter are especially annoying; I have to waste a precious bullet just to scare off the pack that is chasing me through the neighborhood. My goal is to clear out those looters, talk to Spichka, and get out as fast as I can. The empty streets and eerily pristine interiors of the former plague houses give me the creeps.

First, the looters. These guys are scary. I've just gotten to the point where the bandits don't bother me anymore—they're slow and easy to outmaneuver now that I'm used to their tricks. Looters, on the other hand, are found only indoors, which gives them plenty of small rooms and blind corners to use as hiding places. And they are fast. When one pops out of an adjoining bedroom to attack me, I barely have time to draw my weapon before he's in my face, raining blows on me. I die a few times before I figure out how to react effectively. As it turns out, they may be good at punchin', but I'm better at shooting them in the face with a shotgun.

Gah! What is wrong with your eyes?

Next, I visit Spichka. He's actually kind of an annoying twerp, which might explain why he's been kicked out of the Dualsouls by Notkin. The more likely explanation, however, is that Spichka is seemingly the only one to see clearly that the conflict between Notkin and the bandits will end in tears if it keeps escalating. He directs me to a storehouse in the east, where the bandits keep a supply of weapons. If I clean it out, the gang war may cool off by a few degrees. I do as he says and get rewarded with increased reputation and a shiny new gun. I'm building quite an arsenal here.

I'm trooping back to the southern warehouses to inform Notkin of my success with the looters when I remember that I still have to figure out the Rubin thing. I pull out my map and discover that his secret hideout is right on my way. Feeling rather confident after my success as a vigilante, I decide to stop by and set him straight.

This is what a plague victim looks like underneath the rags.

I enter the warehouse with my shotgun drawn, ready to defend myself at a moment's notice. But it's quiet inside. The only sound is the soft, piteous moaning of two men on the floor, apparently in the final stages of infection, their bodies covered in bloody blotches. Rubin stands near the back of the room, with a body laid out on an improvised operating table beside him. He makes no aggressive movements in my direction and even starts up a conversation as I come closer. To my surprise, he's apologizing for his belligerence. He was always great friends with my father, he says, and in his grief he did some irrational things. I briefly consider taking him to task for his behavior but eventually decide to let bygones be bygones. We're both on the same side, after all, and any friend of my father is a friend of mine. Besides, I'm dying to know who that is on the table.

Body? What body? I—oh, THAT body.

Rubin has just finished dissecting the former mayor, Simon Kain, which he technically was not supposed to do. This is why he had to disappear suddenly without telling the Bachelor. The people in charge of the quarantine aren't happy with him for making off with the corpse of their revered leader, and they have set every guard in town on his trail. It was worth the risk though, Rubin says, for the discovery that he has just made: Simon Kain was partially immune to the Sand Plague. Not completely immune—there were no antibodies in his blood—but at least able to stave off the late stages of infection without the aid of medication. Rubin theorizes that natives of the area, of whom Kain was one, have some sort of natural immunity. If so, their internal organs are extremely valuable.

That's where I come in. Rubin is a skilled anatomist, but he's not the heir of Isidor Burakh and he doesn't have the confidence of the steppe people as I do. However, Rubin warns me that being associated with him will make me a target for the town guards too. Catherina Saburov, a prophetess of sorts, has been seeing visions of me, and she's been telling people that I will "drown the town in blood" and "let the rivers of blood flow." Rubin tells me to watch my back.

It's not great news, but at this point I'm not terribly surprised. This is Pathologic, after all. I'm mostly just relieved that I didn't have to have a shootout with the vengeful lunatic I presumed Rubin to be. I step over the dying men on the floor and exit the warehouse.

As soon as I set foot outside, I'm surrounded and attacked by a mob of guards. I gun one down and try to break through their ring, but one of them lands a blow and the screen goes black. I sigh and prepare to reload from the death screen.

The death screen never comes. Instead, a bell tolls, and I wake up in a jail cell with guards patrolling outside. Scowling, I hammer keys on the keyboard, pulling up my inventory screen. All of my weapons are gone. A message flashes up on the screen, informing me that it is 2:30 pm on Day Five, and I realize that I've missed my rendezvous with Notkin. My heart starts thumping as I notice that my health is low and my reputation back down to zero. This cannot be happening. Another message comes onscreen:

"You will not be able to defeat this enemy. Less than eight days remain."

Pathologic: Day Four, by the end of which it will be evident to the Bachelor that the Town is not ready for an epidemic of such scale.

At 7am:

The morning of the fourth day has come.

Infected in the past 24 hours: 53 ppl.

Died in the past 24 hours: 51 ppl.

Gone missing: 30 ppl.

Number of dead at the moment: 204

Number of infected: 58 ppl.

The anxiety of the Powers is growing. Less than nine days remain.

I think I'm making some mistakes.

I have to confess: I feel jealous of the Haruspicus. I'm not jealous of his reputation, or his inheritance, or his organ-stealing. It's mostly that his world seems a bit more clear cut. There are mythological figures: a "Cult of Bulls", a Hunchback and bulbous-headed worms who live in yurts out on the steppe. Strange characters like the Butchers and Ospina trust him. He has to deal with more visceral moral questions (like: do I kill this innocent person walking down the street or not?). And in the end, I expect his conscience--and Kevin's--will be tainted, permanently skewed.

I, on the other hand, am stuck running errands for squabbling nobles. Rather than research, I have to organize, rally and section off the town. I have to assure them that they are all of one mind on how to combat this plague. I write letters to the executors and townsfolk about how to stave off infection. And I feel increasingly uncomfortable, because sooner or later either Olgimskiy or Saburov or Kain will unwind my lies. Not huge lies--just enough to placate the three families, to assure them of my authority. Until today, I haven't had to really back up my words with any sort of force.

The Town Map – infected areas are red, and the dead zone is black.

Sanitary Measures

The sand plague burned out in the Tanners District, and moved south. This isn't my primary concern, however. The infection is spreading rapidly, and the town hall isn't large enough to contain the bodies piling up. We need a hospital and a mortuary. Lara Ravel, who relocated her ill-fated "House of the Living" to her own private residence, has been forced to open up her home, but the water supply has run dry. Apparently it was destroyed.

According to Fat Vlad, two buildings have their own independent water supply: the Cathedral and the Theatre. I'm sent to inspect both buildings and bring back their keys as assurance. I go to the Rib district, overrun with plague, to find the Theatre locked. A tragedian is cowering in the middle of infected district; I ask him for the keys, and he asks me to lead him out.

I feel like I’m in Pan’s Labyrinth

Now I have to relay an accidental discovery. I spent about an hour searching for the tragedian in the ruins of a burnt house, to no success. Scattered in the grass around the house, in the fetal position, were several men and women moaning. I tried to talk to them and instead found a small menu open: a "Pain" bar, and beneath it a list of all the medicines I owned. Selecting several bottles of meradorm, a sedative, I successfully soothed their pain. With a sigh, they relaxed and died.

I found I could do this to multiple people and then take what I wanted from their corpses. The loot did little to justify the procedure: medicine costs money, and they all had very little money. So, stepping from one to another, I was faced with a crisis. I wasn't sure how to find the tragedian, how he would appear, but I assumed that since I had been led here I would need to do something with these poor, tortured people. Yet I didn't have enough medicine, let alone money, to properly euthanize the whole lot.

So what did I do? I shot the remaining three in the head.

Yeah, this is kinda screwed up.

That didn't summon the tragedian, of course. I climbed to the top of the stairwell, looked around, and saw him waiting patiently at a street corner just opposite the broken house.

I collect the keys, inspect both water sources at the Theatre and Cathedral, and return to Olgimskiy with good news. He then tells me to choose which building will become what. Will the theatre be a hospital or a mortuary? The thought of a cathedral filled with corpses disgusts me, so I tell him the theatre will have to be the mortuary. One of my adherents (the people I have to protect) is the theatre director, and putting his space up as a morgue is perhaps unwise, but I'd rather see the church filled with living people rather than the dead.

Rubber's Own

The guards have begun to rebel. I don't know if it's a glitch of the game or otherwise, but they've begun to randomly kill citizens in the streets. Alexander Saburov tells me his men have begun to turn, too, and that Gryph, who sells bootlegged weapons in the southern warehouse, is to blame. He offers me a handsome sum to dispose of the gang. So, steeling myself, I head to finish off Gryph.

Gryph, of course, doesn't want to die. He, in turn, offers me a large reward to kill Braga and his men, who have hidden out in a smaller warehouse close by. Thinking I might be able to play both sides, and get the reward money from Gryph, and then later from Saburov, I play along and head to the warehouse.

My quest journal says that this is, perhaps, the most decisive moment for me as a leader. That this is my final chance to show my quality: killing 12 rippers in a locked warehouse in close quarters.

Killing is fun!

The mission is hell. Not only do I have exactly just twelve bullets--one for each knife-wielding maniac--but the door locks behind me as soon as I venture inside. They attack in a group, slashing away, no hesitation, and within moments I go down. So I reload. Same thing. Reload: same thing. If I am to kill them, my form must be perfect. A headshot apiece--no mistakes. I figure out how to sneak in and kill three before the rest are alerted, and finally after maybe an hour of reloading and retracing my steps, I finish them all and return to Gryph back at the warehouse.

Something tells me Gryph would not put up much of a fight.

I don't have the heart to kill him, really. And what's more: I need him in the coming days. Nobody else will have the supplies I need when the going gets rough. He has boots and cloaks, and even though I can't afford them yet, I know I will someday. So I take my reward, both from him and Alexander, and wait out the rest of the day, somewhat frustrated with myself. When are they going to call my bluff?

The shops say the cows’ milk has been laced with ichor lately.

This does nothing to help my appetite.

Pathologic: Day Three, during which the Haruspicus will be risking his life to solve the puzzles of the ancient writing of the steppe people

(or, in which Kevin gets an eyeful of the Sand Plague)

A random poster hung near the town hall. Take a good look, my lovelies. It's all downhill from here.

The morning of the third day has come.
Infected in the past 24 hours: 42 people
Died in the past 24 hours: 39 people
Gone missing: 13 people
Number of dead at the moment: 117
Number of infected total: 46

Another night, another few hours spent defending townsfolk from the depredations of stab-happy thugs. My revolver has become so worn out that it doesn't even shoot straight anymore, and I don't have remotely enough money both to repair it and to buy food for the upcoming day. Fortunately, I've gotten pretty handy with knives of my own and can go toe-to-toe with thugs without suffering too many wounds. Having learned the hard way the importance of harvested organs in the town's shadow-economy, I now have no compunction about taking everything I can from the cooling bodies of the bad guys. They no longer have any use for it all anyway.

I'm on my way home to catch a few hours of sleep before daylight when I spy a figure running down the street ahead of me, pursued by another person. The pursuer catches his quarry and kills him/her before I can catch up, and when I arrive on the scene I can see why violence was called for. Facedown on the ground is the rag-covered body of an infected person. I'm not surprised, exactly—I've already heard that a quarantine is in effect now that the Sand Plague threatens to rage out of control—but the sight is unnerving, a small foretaste of what's to come. Then, remembering something the Bachelor mentioned when we first met, I put on my gloves and take a deep breath. Infected organs are necessary, too, if we're ever going to find a cure.

I have a busy day ahead of me. As soon as I wake up, Fat Vlad's daughter Kapella (who, as you'll recall, is one of my Adherents) informs me that Notkin (another Adherent) is in trouble. I find his hideout surrounded by thugs, whom I dispatch with great difficulty (I have to fight all four at once, and my knife is almost completely dull after last night). Inside the hideout, I find a terrified Notkin, whose brush with death has momentarily shattered his tough-guy act and left him touchingly vulnerable. I am surprisingly gentle in my interaction with him, telling him that "it's all right now." For all his brutishness, Artemiy Burakh apparently has a soft spot for children.

Other major figures in town are keeping me on the go with an assortment of errands. In a development that secretly tickles me, the Bachelor, once the town's darling, now finds himself hamstrung by the locals, who don't trust him to do his fancy city-doctor autopsies on infected corpses. I'm the one to whom they look for help. Meanwhile, Fat Vlad pulls me aside to ask a favor. It seems that, upon hearing of the outbreak, Fat Vlad has rounded up all the butchers who work for him, locked them in the Apiary, and thrown away the key. Three of them have escaped his clutches. He wants me to hunt them down and turn them in.

I've suspected from Day 1 that Vlad cannot be trusted, and this ruthless (and unilateral) decision of his immediately makes me suspicious. He assures me that he did it for the good of the town—if these people have contracted the Plague, why not isolate them and let them tear each other apart rather than endangering everyone else? I'm not convinced, but lacking anything more than a hunch, I agree to go along with him for the time being. For more information on the butchers' whereabouts, Vlad directs me to a familiar-looking house near the outskirts.

Next stop: Ospina.

OSPINA QUOTE OF THE DAY: "Perhaps it is better to be turned inside out?"

Weirdly, it seems that Artemiy feels some sort of kinship with Ospina. By way of greeting or perhaps as a sort of password, she recites the beginning of a folk rhyme, which I then complete for her. I learn that we are both connected to some sort of bull-worshiping nature cult of the steppes, a religion that is still practiced by the Worms who live outside town and who toil in the Abattoir, slaughtering (or sacrificing?) cattle. The strange object I received with my inheritance yesterday is a cattle brand, shaped like a symbol in the cult's language. Ospina can't tell me what the symbol means, but the three escaped butchers can. She's hidden them in safehouses scattered across town. She gives me the location of the first one, on the condition that I keep Fat Vlad in the dark. I readily agree. I may not be fully on board with whatever religious ceremonies are going on in the depths of the Abattoir, but the steppe people are my people and I'll be damned if I betray them to some conniving nobleman, whatever his plans are.

The butcher is holed up in a nondescript house right in the middle of the infected zone. I'm a little daunted, but I knew it would come to this. I pull on my gloves again, tie a handkerchief over my face, and plunge in, stepping over a pile of bloody rags at the entrance.

The infected zone is a nightmare. The air is tinged a sickly green. Shrouded plague victims mill about like zombies while rats chitter in the long grass by the sidewalk. Both pursue me if I come too close. One man lies on the ground in the fetal position, weakly struggling against the virus in his veins and clutching at me as I pass. I know that I should probably put him out of his misery with an overdose of morphine, but I can't bring myself to euthanize him and press on. Sitting in my computer chair, I find myself trying to breathe as little as possible.

Never mind, I don't want to know the secret of the symbol. In fact, I think I'll try again at getting that business degree.

The butcher's hideout is even worse. I can hear screams of agony from the dying in other parts of the house as I pick my way through the mess. I have to keep moving because clouds of plague-bearing mist frequently sweep through the house. These clouds seem almost to have a mind of their own, creeping around corners and roiling up staircases as if they are chasing me. At one point I get cornered and can only watch as a plague cloud envelops me. My vision contracts and blurs slightly, and I don't have to check the upper right corner of the screen to know that my infection bar has been activated.

Panicked, I rush out of that room into a bedroom across the hall and almost bowl over the butcher, who's just ... standing there.

I have no idea how he manages to survive in this place.

We have a hurried conversation amid the screams and the chaos, and I learn one final tidbit: I need to find a man known only as the Elder of the Abattoir. Only he can reveal the meaning of my symbol and (maybe) the identity of the Betrothed to whom it belongs. Who is he, what does he look like, how do I find him? The butcher doesn't know. All he knows is that the Elder of the Abattoir is not currently living in the Abattoir.

After all I went through to get here, I was expecting a little bit more.

The Abattoir is the thing in the northeast corner that looks like a giant heart. And I will probably have to go there.

I eventually make it out of the infected district, somewhat the worse for wear but at least alive and in no immediate danger. I visit Fat Vlad to pump him for information about the Abattoir (carefully omitting the location of the butcher, of course) and stop by the Bachelor's to drop off some infected organs for his examination. He makes the startling discovery that the Sand Plague is no longer active in the tissue; it apparently can't survive in a host after death. With proper quarantining, we can stop the epidemic before it gets out of hand. But for some inexplicable reason, the powers-that-be send out notices to the general public that do not include this information. Why are they lying to the townspeople? I don't know, but we're going to pay for it later.

I spend the rest of the day completing side quests and stockpiling supplies, readying myself for whatever catastrophe awaits me tomorrow. I'm feeling optimistic in spite of everything else—it's the first day in which I've been able to finish all the tasks that have been given me, and I feel prepared to face the next day. But around 7:00, I suddenly double over. My vision contracts and blurs, and my own labored breathing rings loud in my ears. I pull up my character screen to find that my infection bar has crept up slightly. I may have weapons and money and food, but the Sand Plague in my bloodstream is here to stay.

Pathologic: Day Three, on which the Bachelor will be offered to proceed in hunting the imperceptible enemy and assess necrosis possibilities

At 7am:

Infected in the past 24 hours: 34 ppl.

Died in the past 24 hours: 31 ppl.

Gone missing: 11 ppl.

Number of dead at the moment: 93

Number of infected: 48 ppl

Less than ten days remain.

They say that in its early stages the plague is manageable. Incrementally, the little bar in the top right hand corner slowly climbs whether I’m asleep or awake. They say that once the plague has established itself (around the halfway mark) it rockets, floods the immune system, and death is imminent. Naturally, I keep my pills well stocked. Like everything, however, there’s a trade-off. I can’t just pop pills whenever I feel like it; each boost to my immune system shaves off a bit of my overall health, which means I have to scour the pharmacies for tourniquets.

Simon’s Body

Rubin (poser-magician-doctor) has fled his house, now overrun with plague, and the body of Simon Kain, which has started this whole mess, has also disappeared.

The Apiary 

The Olgimskiys and Kains are in a tussle over the Apiary and the Polyhedron—two massive structures at opposite ends of the town. George Kain worries that the looming white asylum has become a breeding ground for disease, while Olkimskiy says the same thing about the spindly, impossible spiral that is the Polyhedron. I am charged to quiet these fears by taking a visit to the very top of the Polyhedron, which is home to the Dogheads. (I gotta say they’re not as terrifying as Quintin makes them out to be in his review).

I didn't think I was that heavy.

The leader of the Dogheads, a kid named Khan, the oldest son of Victor Kain, meets me at the top of the Polyhedron and assures me that nobody has been infected, that he runs a tight ship. When I insist on inspecting the premises, he refuses, and I’m promptly kicked out.

The Polyhedron really is quite impressive.

This thing makes no sense.

It's strange--it almost looks like a giant bug. See the stinger? 

Strange markings on each floor.

Once things are squared between Kain and Olgimskiy, and both are assured that the Polyhedron and Apiary are safe, Olgimskiy’s son Young Vlad is willing to share what he knows: a few Butchers have been sighted in the Knots and have holed up in a house. When I arrive, it’s obvious the body is not Simon’s, though the Butchers are happy to see me. They rush at me, knives in hand. Two headshots later, I’m on my way back to a disappointed Victor Kain.

Just after speaking to Victor, I receive a letter from Rubin. He’s got Simon Burakh’s body in a warehouse downtown, and needs me to track down some infected tissue.

Imperceptible Enemy

Only the Haruspicus is allowed to dissect bodies, despite the fact that I am a learned physician. Yet I need the infected tissue, which means I need help from the Butchers of the Cult of Bulls. I spend several hours passing between the squabbling nobles who, again, each want something. Creepy-as-hell death child Ospina won’t tell me where the butchers are unless Olgimskiy stops pursuing the butchers. Olgimskiy twists my arm to get Artemiy Burakh (the Haruspicus) off the hook. Et Cetera.

I find myself lying to the nobles. Saburov, who would waste Simon Burakh’s body, wants to know where it is, and of course I lie. Only Rubin and I can identify the Plague. Yet, as the one charged with fighting the virus, these men are looking to me for guidance, as the only pure, objective outsider in the town. And yes, I lie, twice, three times. There’ll be hell to pay if anyone ever finds out. I guess I’m not quite the goodie two shoes I thought I was.

Today's map: the red section is the infected district.

After wading through internal politics, I find the information I seek. There are three likely houses in the Tanners District—in the Northeast corner of town—where the butchers could be.

Plague Bouncer: Worst. Job. Ever.

It’s on my way to the houses that the changes in the town today become abundantly clear. I see an unfamiliar sight as I approach the Tanner’s district: A large shrouded human-shaped cross of wood, draped with dirty brown rags. At the entrance are several mustachioed honchos who tell me the area ahead is rife with plague, that I should stay clear. With my privileges as Bachelor, I tell them it’s on my authority. They tell me that above all, I cannot shoot the infected. They are "taken by the devil", and have their own lot to die already. The guards will kill me if I harm any of the infected.

“Sure whatever,” I think.

Beyond the guards are hunched figures covered in dirty brown shrouds. Piles of bloody and infected clothing litter the ground; the sound of coughing and sobbing women fills the air. Disconcerted, I check my map. The butchers are situated squarely in the middle of the dead zone.

I did not enjoy taking this screenshot.

It’s unsettling. Miasmic clouds float across the landscape, full of plague, which are easy enough to avoid. A few large rats waddle through the filth; I fire my gun into the air when they approach, which sends them running. The real horrors are the wandering plague-ridden citizens, who reach out to me as soon as they see my medical bag. They’re beyond saving, but so desperate for healing that they force themselves upon me, coughing. My immunities suffer, and the little disease bar in the corner raises ever so slightly.

"Peek-a-boo!"

Two of the bodies have been taken back by their families. The third and final body has been removed to the cemetery in the south. I arrive at the scene to find the body guarded by several men, who demand an exorbitant ransom. Naturally, I say “hell no” to that, and am immediately attacked by the guards.

For some inexplicable reason, I find myself suddenly transported to Alexander Saburov’s home, where he tells me he’ll make an exception, and that I can get to the body when the guards change, before 10pm tonight. It’s already 9:12, and the cemetery is all the way across town. Heart-pounding, I make my way through the plague-ridden streets, arrive at the cemetery just before the shift change, and find my sample of blood.

I present the blood to Rubin in his super-secret lair, then whip out my microscope.

What I discover is crucial. The invincible plague has a single weakness: it cannot linger in dead tissue, and is not fully airborne (despite what the plague clouds might have led me to believe—this is an inconsistency I cannot fully reconcile). The point is that it cannot stay in one place. By tomorrow morning, the disease in the Tanners District will have run its course, and the plague could very well disappear altogether if properly quarantined.

The Bachelor's optimism is feigned, of course. He wouldn’t want the threat to end too soon. He needs a worthy adversary. This is a war and He has been appointed general and savior--the only strategist, in charge of keeping the town a step ahead. After all, in the end it’s only a game.


(Note: Due to formatting issues, the screenshots don't display as nice as they used to. By all means, click on the pics to see the weirdness up close.)