Feverish Feeling
Feverish Feeling was an Alternate Reality Game (ARG) meant to tease the announcement of Pathologic 2.
Description
The Feverish Feeling Alternate Reality Game (ARG) was run in late 2014. It was created through a set of emails sent by a character called only "Voronika" to interested participants who signed up to be part of the ARG. It involved discovering puzzles and clues as well as hidden videos with secret messages. It began on August 8th 2014 and concluded on September 4th 2014. The Feverish Feeling Alternate Reality Game ultimately led to the Kickstarter page[1] for Pathologic 2.
Characters
- Voronika
- Unnamed Inquisitor
- A. G (Alex Godoy)
- Yakov Fokin
- Eugene Annikovsky
Plot
The Feverish Feeling ARG was begun through a link to the the feverishfeeling.com domain in the description of a video posted by Ice-Pick Lodge on August 8th 2014.
There was a secret page on feverishfeeling accessed by clicking on the cow-skull of the girl on the left or at feverishfeeling.com/secret/. This page brought up a simple empty text prompt. There was a counter on the Feverish Feeling page, slowly ticking down the seconds until the end.
First Email
Soon, participants received their first email. It read:
| “ | I'm a living being. Hi. Name’s Voronika. Bet you didn’t expect a personal letter from me. Of course you didn’t. You thought you’ll submit an e-mail and receive ads from a company producing weight loss socks or dog wool coats. Or a startup, or something. Whatever were you thinking Don’t worry, I won’t be bothering you. Can’t write too often from where I’m at now. No, I’m not talking about a metaphorical afterlife — I’m simply stuck in the middle of nowhere, and the closest town that has a telegraph office is three days away from me. I’ve coded the site on my laptop, and then I took a flash drive with me to the only village nearby that has a cyber cafe and internet access. I’m not even sure the site is really on. I think local PCs work on coal. So if you’re reading this that means I do still have some skills. One of my skills is dying. That’s what I’m doing right now. Actually, same goes for you, but I’m way ahead; if you want to catch up with me, you’d better hurry since I know I’ll die this September. Please don’t ooh me. Just listen. I’m privy to a secret — no, it’s not a secret I have to tell the world before I die or else it dies with me. The opposite, really: there are quite a few who share it with me. But you don’t. They are special, you see, and you aren’t. You know that, right? And the secret — the secret shared by way too many — will keep living after I die. It’ll grow. Develop. Root itself in the world deeper and deeper. Well, what if I don’t like that? What if I want to play rebel? My rebellion looks like a website with scantily clad girls and a bunch of pretentious slogans, yeah. But I can’t offer you anything better, so here we are. At least they say I’m a decent artist. Enjoy my portfolio. And don’t worry. I’ll tell you the secret. Just you wait. Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com P. S. Why not a blog, you ask? Because everyone knows that only fools and lunatics start blogs that aim to uncover deep dark secrets. Also because it’s easier to keep away a database of e-mail addresses than a domain. |
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Second Email
On the 11th of August 2014 a second email was sent. It read:
| “ | Ovid on her forehead Hi. It was so obvious: leaving the city means throwing my life out of the window. A curious thought when your life is already thrown in a trash bin because of a diagnosis, huh? Deadly diseases are all fuss and trouble. Doctors are lost, friends are found—every night another one comes by to drink and talk. They feel obliged to try and save me. They feel like they can. Don’t waste your breath. And still it felt like there’s no life beyond doctors and friends when I left. Getting somewhere without a car? Being unable to take a hot bath? Watching mosquitos dance in the air instead of a video podcast or a TV show? Sounds horrific. It really does. But somehow there’s only one thing I really miss: marchpane. There’s nothing else lacking on the bogs. I’m sitting on my cabin’s steps right now. Somehow I managed lock myself out—was too eager to slam the door, I guess. I also guess it means now I have a reason to go to town and send you this letter. When I was a girl, father used to say that once you’ve got a key, a matching door will strike your eye soon. I wonder if my current state is a key too. What’s the reason for all this? What do my fever and shivering unlock? How does a sesame that lies behind my coughing and nightmares look? It doesn’t look and it doesn’t unlock. Poor Peter is bravely guarding the doors to nowhere. Well, sine me, liber, ibis in urbem. You will go, my little book, without me to the city. Father loved these words—a shame I don’t remember where the quote comes from and can’t google it from here. Every quote is also a key though, and it unlocks something. Or maybe not the quote itself, but rather something that has to do with it. There’s a door out there waiting for every word. And something important’s most certainly waiting behind that door. So don’t throw this little book away. The mystery will be unveiled a couple pages later. Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com P. S. When you see a half-naked girlish silhouette on a bog, don’t fool yourself into believing there’s a face behind her mask. |
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The email keys and doors and pointed heavily towards the latin quote within the text that read "sine me, liber, ibis in urbem". This phrase is the opening line from the poem Tristia (Sorrows) by the Roman poet Ovid. It was through this that participants discovered that "Tristia" was the access code for the secret page.
On the secret page was nothing but this image:
Many speculated that the picture seemed torn and is therefore incomplete. When participants reverse Google image searched the picture they found nothing, implying that the image was created by Ice-Pick Lodge for the purposes of the ARG. The original image was called First secret photo.jpg when saved.
Third Email
Some time later participants received a third email from Voronika. It read:
| “ | Unattended Hi. Memory is a funny thing. When I was a girl, my father and I lived in Russia. So here’s what I remember. An address: Saint Petersburg, 7th Line of Vasilievsky Island, 18. A precise date: July 31, 1998. I remember the boy—he was 25, I think, but strangely enough he didn’t seem like a grown-up even to my childish eyes, somehow he was “a boy” from the get go. I remember a storm brewing for three days straight and passing the city by the next morning. I remember what happened, although I don’t. I remember dad and his, erm, colleagues leaving the city soon afterwards. There’s one thing I can’t remember though: did I really become infected then and there? When a little girl meets a stranger, let alone a boy, she starts to imagine things—like what the two of them may have in common. I remember looking him in the eye and thinking: nothing, we have absolutely nothing in common! I was wrong. Father never allowed me to play in the street unattended since then. So why am I alone today? Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com P. S. I feel like I’ll need this memory later. Or not. Maybe you’ve just read a couple pages from a girl-y diary. I think everyone agrees that’s enthralling reading. |
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In the message was the clue Saint Petersburg, 7th Line of Vasilievsky Island, 18. July 31, 1998.. It is speculated that the location was Poehl pharmacy, which was connected with the Griffins' tower, a city legend. This was thought so as "19th century pharmacists supposedly dabbling in alchemy and seeking immortality could tie in neatly with Pathologic's lore."[2]. It is unclear if this was the true conclusion to the mystery.
Fourth Email
A fourth email then arrived. It read:
| “ | FW: You’ll never walk alone Hi, I know how the internet works, thank you. You are correct: I have no idea who you are and why you’re interested. I also mean no offence. I just know I wouldn’t care for you, so why would you care for me? Why would anyone care for anyone else? Is there a reason at all? Yet people do. I thought it wasn’t simple biology until recently. But it’s just our cute and desperate herding instinct. And instincts don’t matter in the end. Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com P. S. Your optimistic postcard quote is taken out of context. Here’s a quote back. You can't act death. The fact of it is nothing to do with seeing it happen — it's not gasps and blood and falling about — that isn't what makes it death. It's just a man failing to reappear, that's all — now you see him, now you don't, that's the only thing that's real. Date: Tue, 12 Aug 2014 23:23:12 +0100 From: [email protected] Subject: You’ll never walk alone To: [email protected] Hi Voronika, I don’t want to be a bother, and your internet connection is unreliable, so feel free to ignore my message, but I thought you should know there are people on the internet discussing you. Unfamiliar people. Here for example. As one of those people I just want to assure you that it’s not meant to be offensive. We’re interested in what you have to say. You keep an indifferent facade, and your tone is sarcastic, but you wouldn’t even write a single letter - let alone follow it up with doors and mysteries - if you were truly resigned. Look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else. Mike |
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Though this was unique in that it was involved two participants it was concluded that in the end there was no puzzle in it to solve.
Participant Emails
It should be noted that some participants around this time attempted to reply to Voronika's emails through her domain [email protected]. Their exchange went as such:
From the participant Umgenni:
| “ | Hi Voronika, I'm Umgenni. I didn't expect a letter, but thank you for one anyway. You talking of a secret got me really intrigued, but I'd rather not wait too long to learn it. Though I understand your Internet connection is unstable, but maybe there is something I can do on my own already, especially since you mentioned you don't have much time. Is really true that you are going to die? If so, I'm terribly sorry. I hope you don't mind me asking (though I'm sure you do, forgive me), how can you be so certain of your incoming death? Are you terminally ill? Also, you mentioned a portfolio of your work. Where can I view it? Oh, and yes, your feverishfeeling.com site is definitely up. Your computer skills still are fine. Good luck with the rebellion, Umgenni |
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From V Voronika:
| “ | Hi, Thank you for being nice. It's weird. It's also sweet and annoying since it's not you I want to be nice. I really hope you are doing well. Yes, I'm ill. As for the date, I just feel it. I'll tell you more later. Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com |
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From the participant Umgenni:
| “ | Hi Voronika, Thanks for the reply! Is somebody not being nice to you then? The other secret keepers? You said those people are special, in what way exactly? Actually I'm a bit ill as well, but I visited a hospital and I'm currently undergoing antibiotic therapy, and I feel I'm recovering. You mentioned being "stuck in the middle of nowhere", are there enough opportunities for you to get some kind of therapy there? Modern medicine can really work wonders! I await the time you can tell me more then. May things get better for you, Umgenni |
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From Voronika:
| “ | Hi, It's not that. It just feels weird that someone can be nice to a bunch of digits on the internet and that a bunch of degets[sic] can feel it. I've tried therapy. It doesn't work. I ran here so that I don't infect anyone. There's no one here on the bogs. Cruelty is what makes the people I talk about special. Hope you get better soon. Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com |
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From the participant Umgenni:
| “ | Hello Voronika, I'm getting better by the day, it's just that I'm lacking strength. But I believe it'll return to me eventually. Kindness should not be that strange or surprising. It comes easy, especially on the Internet. But the net is just an extension of humanity. Through here everything has less impact, less meaning. And it's the same for cruelty. The Internet is full of easy-coming, careless malice. But it doesn't inflict as much harm as it can when people meet face to face. It's hard to infect someone through the Internet. Is this what it's about? Are the 'special' people ill like you, but only you went away, and they remain knowingly infecting others? You still have time until september. Maybe if conventional medicine failed, you can (if you want) still try alternative means? There might be something in remote areas (like where you are right now) the world still doesn't know about. If you find some local herbalist or a shaman even maybe there's something they can try? It might at the very least be interesting and/or fun. And I have an apology to make. I have posted our correspondence on a message board. There are people there who found your feverishfeeling website. We all want to learn more and thus I've been passing on your words. We found the photo of a girl reading a book, the words "Do you remember?" written on the side. Who is she? Take care, Umgenni |
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This is where the email thread ends. [3]
Fifth Email
A fifth email arrived. It read:
| “ | Self-check: 0,28125 Hi. So, how do you like the girl-y diary? Neither do I. Every sick person hopes for a miracle—for someone to save them. That’s because sickness makes you dumb. I’m not sure if my disease is infectious. That’s probably why I left the city: if injections and detersions do nothing, I should probably at least try to insure the rest from my plight, yeah? The only things I can infect here are snakes and weird three-legged creatures that come out from the moss in the twilight when light is indistinguishable from shade. And for them I don’t care. There’ll be nothing girl-y here anymore. There’ll be a nickelodeon. Walking alone is indeed a bad idea. There was a four in the town that knows that better than anybody (little is left from the four now). They’ve made a revolution. Keep its number in mind. There was another famous four—even less left from them nowadays. Unlike me, they walked a lot, and they wrote even more. My favourite writing belongs to the namesake of the revolutioner I told you about. Take the number you kept in mind and add your teeth to it—and you have an answer. The first three words of the phrase (without spaces) are the name of the first movie I want to show you. The final two words (once again without spaces) are the name of the second one. See? My secret is quite mysterious. There are special people in this world. Unlike us, they’re not poisoned by ignorance. They’re not poisoned at all, actually. They’re the blue blood, the premium product, and they raise us, commoners, like cattle. They’ve been called different names in different cultures and societies, but I’m sure you know them. You know who corrects typos in our copybooks inconspicuously. Or maybe they’re mere civil servants, clarks, bookworms, and illuminati. They definitely believe it themselves, and I’m sure a lot of you would prefer this thought to the opposite. It’s nice to believe your strings are being pulled by someone clever and benevolent. Only I don’t find it nice. I don’t, you hear me? Whatever you think, it doesn’t justify anything. Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com P. S. Why did I throw a pile of mysteries at you if I actually wanted to share a secret? That’s because I hate fast travel. Roads have to be walked by foot. P. P. S. Everything I read I read in the original. |
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This email mentions a group of 2 fours. After some sleuthing by participants they discovered the first four is the Beatles as "Liverpool is definitely not a place you want to walk alone and The Beatles wrote two songs, Revolution 1 and Revolution 9." The second group is the four Evangelists: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John who wrote the gospels. Voronika states that her favourite writing is that of John, which connects to the namesake of John Lennon from the Beatles. When participants took into account the 'adding your teeth' clue it became simple to take the number of the revolution (9) and add to the number of teeth in the human body(32). Participants noted that while this seems like a bit of a stretch, Voronika did include a self check in the title and 9/32 did indeed equal 0.28125.
9:32 can be taken as a book code (page, line) or, as some speculated a bible verse. Given that Voronika already mentioned John's writing as her favorite, it seemed likely that the five word phrase they needed was in John 9:32. This was supported by her p.p.s which states all of Voronika's readings are of originals which is important information when referring to a bible verse or book code.
Through this participants were able to discover that John 9:32 in the Greek version of the new testament when split exactly as Voronika described it gives the following two titles: ἐκτοῦαἰῶνος and τυφλοῦγεγεννημένου. Searching these phrases on Youtube leads to the following two videos:
The text and audio in the first video translates to:
"[The building Motormouth is standing in front of is the Department of Public Health City Hospital No.4: Infectious Unit]
"The cause of this unusual outbreak remains a mystery. Although they still haven’t given us an official comment, the medics are sure it isn’t ebola fever. We were able to have a talk with one of the doctors on duty."
[The insert identifies this guy as Yakov Fokin, doctor on duty.]
"It’s obvious that this infection is transmitted via airbone droplets and is extremely virulent, i.e. contagious. With that in mind, it is not recommended to leave your homes, even covering your face with a gauze mask.""
The text and audio in the second video translates to:
"[The building Motormouth is standing in front of is the Department of Public Health City Hospital No.4: Infectious Unit]
"Nothing is known at the moment. A official announcement has not yet been issued. Let’s try and get some comments. Let’s go."
"Excuse me, please wait - !"
"Working! Don’t bother us!""
Sixth Email
Following this discovery a sixth email was received. It reads:
| “ | FW: What do you think you are doing? From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: RE: What do you think you are doing? Date: Sat, 23 Aug 2014 13:23:30 +0000 What do you think happened if I told everyone about our little chat? Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Re: RE: What do you think you are doing? Date: Sat, 23 Aug 2014 15:22:09 +0200 What do you think would happen to you if I told you? -AG Sent: Saturday, August 23, 2014 at 5:19 PM From: "V Voronika" <[email protected]> To: "Hopscotch Player" <[email protected]> Subject: RE: What do you think you are doing? If it’s as vicious as you portray, “my father’s circle” is probably supposed to get back at anyone who mentions them. Why don’t they? Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Re: RE: What do you think you are doing? Date: Sat, 23 Aug 2014 15:00:04 +0200 Remember the story of a young man and Vasilyevsky island? A sweet childhood memory aimed at a wide audience - with a suspiciously exact date in it. You even admit you kinda sorta know what happened to the boy. Did you ever take some time to check it out? It’s not that hard, really. Did you ever consider that it may have been not an external force, but rather your father and his “colleagues” that’s done it? So your father belongs to a certain, shall I say, circle. Good for him. And you seem to hold a grudge against them (otherwise why would you spread those videos that are clearly not meant to be spread?). A pity. That’s not important though. What’s important is the second video contains direct evidence to the existence of that circle. Why is it important? You were too lazy to check the Vasilyevsky island boy up, but I knew a group of people that were the opposite of lazy. They tried to get to the root of what exactly the circle your father belongs to is. You say it consists of special people; but doesn’t dedication makes you special? The people I’m talking about were dedicated. Dedicated, but not cautious. They had discussions in a place which is constantly monitored by all kinds of governments and… other organizations. But don't blame them for their ignorance - they were separated by oceans, and some of them weren't that good at all this computer stuff. You know what happened to those guys? You can still find their shadows if you like, it’s curious. They were enthusiastic about a certain game, only it turned out to be real life. And now you’re sending direct evidence of the circle your father belongs to to a lot of people. And the circle your father belongs to is vicious. -AG Sent: Saturday, August 23, 2014 at 4:16 PM From: "V Voronika" <[email protected]> To: "Hopscotch Player" <[email protected]> Subject: RE: What do you think you are doing? How would you know? Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Re: RE: What do you think you are doing? Date: Sat, 23 Aug 2014 14:14:04 +0200 No, it’s not. -AG Sent: Saturday, August 23, 2014 at 4:13 PM From: "V Voronika <[email protected]> To: "Hopscotch Player" <[email protected]> Subject: RE: What do you think you are doing? Hi. Let’s say it’s from a family archive. Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: What do you think you are doing? Date: Sat, 23 Aug 2014 13:10:46 +0200 Hey Voronika, Why are you sending all this stuff to people? Where did you get a video like this, hmm? Your dad should’ve disciplined you better. -AG |
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Hopscotch Enthusiasts
The group mentioned by AG is a Facebook group called HopscotchEnthusiasts. AG stands for Alex Godoy. The following images detail the sordid history of the group found in their Facebook page:
- Internal memo 19426.pdf
The Internal Memo PDF linked in the previous image
An enlarged image of the document from the previous image
Note: As images were collected in April of 2020 it is possible that some information has since been removed or is otherwise inaccurate to the original format during the Alternate Reality Game's run in 2014. Several accounts have been deactivated since the Alternate Reality Game, deleting their activity in the group: Alex Godoy, Nata Zaltseva, and Walter Kopacz.
Seventh Email
A seventh email email is received. It reads:
| “ | Here kitty-kitty Dear Voronika readers, Aren’t you a weird bunch. I’ve been following your discussions. So you’ve found poor Hopscotch Enthusiasts (I wonder if Voronika did?). You seem to understand the gravity of the situation. You talk about THEM cautiously. Yet you still talk. Curiosity killed the cat, but you’re not cats. OK, I can appreciate that. Let’s talk motivations then. Why are you doing this? Do you want to save Voronika? Do you really think she wants you to save her? She doesn’t give a rat’s spit about you all. Look up, someone’s written “gullible” on the ceiling. Why are the symptoms of Voronika’s scary lethal disease so chaotic and stereotypical? What exactly did doctors tell her before they’ve admitted she’s incurable? Has she tried chemo? Psychoanalysis? Antibiotics? How did she open the door that slammed shut in the first message? She lives in a remote cabin far away from anything after all. Why did she reply to my messages so quickly? If she’s a whistleblower who wants to expose her father’s organization, why do it under the rags, why the site? Why the naked girls that look like an artist’s portfolio? Where’s her proof? Wake up, sheeple. Or something. You seem to have a certain amount of brainpower, so use it. -AG As Voronika so eloquently puts it, P. S. Yes, I’ve hacked the e-mail database. Don’t worry, I’m not as self-centered as Voronika, so I won’t leak it anywhere. P. P. S. I’m so not-self-centered that I’ll try once more. If any of you receives a parcel from one “Miraculous”, don’t open it. You’re not cats, I get it, but don’t. I’ll buy you a candy or something. |
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The P.P.S. contains information about the sender of a package, one "Miraculous". When "Miraculous" as well as the date and location from Voronika's earlier Vasilyevsky Island e-mail are put into the delivery tracker website linked on Hopscotch's Facebook page it linked to a PDF. According to participants the report appears to make it seem that the boy from Vasilyevsky Island that Voronika originally described in the third email and that A.G referenced later is the courier from the report: Eugene Annikovsky.
Courier PDF
- DeliveryReport 2381R 12.pdf
The PDF in its original form can be found
The Courier PDF reads:
| “ | Trans Carrier Inc. Delivery Report Date: November 3rd, 1998 Courier: Eugene Annikovsky Sender: Miraculous Destination: 7th Line of the Vasilievsky Island, 18, St. Petersburg, Russia Addressee: INQ Delivery Status: Failed Delivery Scheduled to be returned to Sender Delivery Return: Failed Delivery: Pending Please be warned that under the agreement signed by Trans Carrier Inc., of the one part, and INQ, of the other part, Trans Carrier Inc. agrees that the parcel is to be kept for the duration of no less than three months. Trans Carrier Inc. cannot be held legally accountable for any damage done to the goods thereafter. Due to the warehouse space being limited Trans Carrier Inc. has the legal right to unseal the parcel in order to evaluate the correct recycling method provided Return to Sender has failed. The formal procedure aimed to evaluate if Delivery has Failed under Excusable circumstances has commenced on November 1st, 1998. The Courier Report is enclosed. Courier Report Written down and signed by Mr Eugene Annikovsky personally. Mr Eugene Annikovsky hereby declares any and all facts stated below to be true or subject to personal perception. He is made aware of the fact that he’ll be held legally accountable for any misrepresentation. Full Report First of all I would like to note that there’s no such thing as “INQ”. How can I ID a nicknamed entity? I’ve no idea what you’ve been thinking when you took the order, and that alone should lift any and all responsibility and make it impossible to hold me accountable. I was delivering a parcel to no one. Also please bear in mind the very specific instructions I had been given. The parcel had to bedelivered on July 31st, 11:03-11:57PM. No paper was to be used in packaging, so I had to put it all in a bag. I actually took some time to make sure no paper labels or something were inside, being a good courier that I am. You know what clients can be like. And only carrying with one hand, no backpacks allowed? Yeah, that was painful. But I did it. I did it all (seeing how you pay me triple). The address was wrong: 7th Line of the Vasilievsky Island, 18 is a museum; obviously it was closed at night! So I tried the small inner yard, but there was no one there. I was unsure whatto do next, and I had every right to just walk away. But I’m a responsible man, so I didn’t. I walked out of the yard and back to the street. Then in again. Then out. And in. And out. And in, and out— And then there she was—in the yard. A lady. I can’t tell you how old she was, but one thing is certain: she was stunningly beautiful. Like supermodel beautiful. Or, to be more precise, supermodel-gone-broke beautiful. She was very pale, her eyes were watering, and her skin… like it didn’t fit her, she wore it like a costume, and her posture was very weird, her head thrown back, and I’m pretty sure she had six fingers on one hand, whatever made me think she was beautiful? “Give it to me”, she said in a very normal, casual voice. Then I knew what was wrong. She had no hair. It was a wig, but I could see she has no eyelashes, no eyebrows, no skin hair. It’s visible,you know? It changes the way light reflects— She looked like a junkee. It all made sense then: the wrong address, the weird instructions. Now, I know we operate on a need to know basis, but the last thing I want is to be involved in drug trafficking. But I’ve already come here, right? My best excuse would be failing to ID her, so that’s what I’ve tried to do. “I’ve been told to deliver the parcel to INQ”, I said. “Can I please see your ID?” Do you know what man is? Man is a bog. A pond for bacteria to live in. We all know that there are millions of microorganisms inhabiting our bodies, multiplying, living, and dying every second. It’s a symbiosis. Are men symbiotic to Earth? No we aren’t. Earth is simply our habitat. I’m just a habitat for bacteria. A habitat for my own cells, multiplying, living, and dying. There’s no “me”, I’m not a person, but a place for something else to live in. Then I suddenly realized I was breathing. In. And out. And in. And out. And in, and out— Every second millions of lives inside me were ending. I’m a bacteria graveyard. There’s more dead matter inside me than there’s alive. “Do you know what’s in the bag?” she asked. I knew that I had to get away from there. (Out. Then in. Then out.) “Happiness.” ...I came back the next day. The parcel? To hell with it—I just hoped that maybe I’ll forget about myself breathing somehow, that she’ll forgive me. (In. And out. And in.) The houses were back to normal, they weren’t breathing anymore—didn’t I tell you about the houses? No matter. She wasn’t there. There was a girl though. I went to the museum first, even bought a ticket, but I knew then andthere it wouldn’t help. (In and out.) Of course I circled back to the yard. The girl was rather young, black-haired, and pretty. And quiet. One of those children who are born older than they are. I’ve asked her about the lady from yesterday, but she shook her head. “There are no ladies. It’s a male-only facility. I’m the only one here.” I saw a lady at the museum, but she wasn’t talking about the museum. “Why?” She shrugged. What was she doing before I came here? She wasn’t drawing or playing, shouldn’t children play? “You should’ve come yesterday,” she said after a long pause. “You’re a courier, right? You were due yesterday.” “I was here, I just told you!” “Happiness is hard to obtain. Not impossible, but…” She looked me in the eye. “It has to be extracted. And preserved.” “Someone… Something wanted to stop me, right?” “Ingredients aren’t hard to find—everyone has them. But preservation… Daddy says it’s the trickiest part. Formaldehyde’s not enough.” “Was that your enemy? Are you aware you have an enemy?” “But it was due yesterday. Time is linear, it works mathematically. An hour plus a minute means you’re late. So…” In. And out. I was still breathing. They were enemies with her who makes us breathe. Who murders bacteria in our stomach and gives birth to a thousand more. The girl smiled bleakly. “You were late with the parcel, and they had nothing preserved, so they had to use a live specimen.” END REPORT Courier Status: Unknown. Mr Eugene Annikovsky refused professional help, but none of the three specialist invited to inspect him have found and physical or mental illness. Trans Carrier Inc. cannot be held legally accountable for the well-being of its employees during non-working hours. Legal Status: Mr Eugene Annikovsky was cleared of all charges due to the established claim that the addressee was misregistered and impossible to ID, thus making the delivery also impossible. Delivery Status: The circumstance of Failure was judged Excusable due to the fact that the addressee was misregistered and impossible to ID. It has been decided to unpack the parcel due to the suspicion of drug trafficking. Delivery Contents: — 28 feathers, most likely swan or goose (wrapped in cloth); — 273 grams of quicksilver held in an airproof glass tube (wrapped in cloth); — a metallic brooch with a heart insignia on it; — three leather shoes (adult male); — 400 grams of rice in a linen sack; — a portable mini-freezer locked with a passworded electrical lock (hacked via electrocutionupon consideration; the following item has been found inside); — a human heart transplant, most likely unuseable; — a piece of leather with a note saying “It’s not quicksilver.” Delivery Status: Pending Note: Seeing how INQ has prepaid warehouse space for sixteen years it has been decided by Trans Carrier Inc. to store the package until further notice or until time runs out. Estimated recycling date: September 4th, 2014. |
„ |
Eigth Email
An eighth email is received. It reads:
| “ | Don’t Hi. It feels like Alex is accusing me of something. Searches for inconsistencies, calls me selfish. Alex, your hope for a twist ending is futile. It won’t turn out to be a shady game of mine, I won’t turn out to belong to “my father’s circles” from the very beginning, leaking secret information on someone’s orders. It’s not a hoax. It’s not a metaphor. I won’t wake up in the end. My twist is much simpler than that. Voronika, .http://feverishfeeling.com P. S. I know you’re Alex so I’ve found them. |
„ |
Ninth Email
Then, later, a ninth email is received. It reads:
| “ | It’s ridiculous Hi. It’s ridiculous to tell you about mysterious circles pulling the strings and correcting typos in our copybooks while not being able to tell what exactly is so scary about them. It’s ridiculous to try to expose them while not exposing them. I don’t really want exposure. There are two forces in the world. The first one is alive and dead; it makes our hearts beat and stops them, it riddles us, it opens our pores and poisons us. The second one is strict and simple; it seeks knowledge that would allow it to transform the first one into an intelligent and clear order. I know you were among those who love intelligence and clearness, Dad. I was a child, but I understood what you were doing. I’m adult now, but I don’t understand why. Why not share a bit of your knowledge with me? We haven’t seen one another in a while, but that’s circumstantial. Circumstances mean nothing to a luminous mind. When it dawned on me that I’m sick, I started dialling numbers, mailing letters, and shuffling yellow pages. I travelled half the world. I couldn’t find you, of course. You’re impossible to find if you don’t want to be. And then I thought that my omnipotent and kind father will surely cure me, if he only finds out about my sickness. So I’ve launched a website with a very straightforward name: feverishfeeling.com. So my dad and his associates follow everyone who mentions them? Well, here I am. I’m exposing you. Catch me. Bring me home. Cure me. I know you can. When I woke up today, I found a note by me[sic] bed. I’m not sure if I was the one who wrote it in my sleep or if someone got into my cabin during the night. I’m not sure if it’s intended for me or not. Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com P. S. Perhaps there is a third way? |
„ |
Here Voronika is revealing her motivations. She is trying to get the attention of her father who, as is revealed both later and in Pathologic 2, is an Inquisitor. She wants to be saved.
Following this email she also leaves a note:
The note is a pictograph representation of a youtube URL. It translates as cq7QWu1bJfU which leads to this video that features the same hospital as earlier videos:
Shortly after the video starts an audio track begins with a message encoded in Morse code. The message reads 742138760NEXTBUTONESQUAREDINFO. When each digit is squared it leads to the domain 494949.info. It is unclear if the domain that currently exists is the same one the participants of the ARG saw. According to participants the .info website pops up a simple login prompt when accessed.
"Need login details for 494949.info."
Tenth Email
The counter on the Feverish Feeling website reads with only 24 hours left. The tenth email is the last one from Voronika. It reads:
| “ | Clamavi ad te Domine Hi. The beast of the bog has knocked on my door today. He smells like foxberry. He came after me. Farewell. The old door is open again—one last time. Some of you have asked me about my childhood and old friends, but I could hardly remember anything. It’s as if I was only born to get stuck in this damn bog surrounded by nothing. As if it really is an afterlife. Perhaps that is why Dad refused to look for me despite my pleas. Forgive me. My trick has failed, and all you got were sappy dramas of a cowardly girl that weren’t even written for you. My disease is lethal though, I know that for sure, so this reading may be of some use for you. You will also die, after all. I keep forgetting that for some reason. Goodbye. I’m leaving now. Hopefully I’ll be lucky enough to become a beast myself. Or a crowberry. That’s what “Voronika” means after all. Voronika, http://feverishfeeling.com P. S. There’ll be nothing more after the signature. |
„ |
Voronika now seems assured of her death. She blames herself and she blames her father. Participants of the ARG discover that the clue is once again in the title: "Clamavi ad te Domine" is from Psalm 130 called "De Profundis" (in Latin meaning "From the depths"). "De Profundis" serves as another password to the long ignored secret page participants used to uncover the first clue in her earlier email when Voronika first spoke of doors and keys. The result is the following image:
The image of the plane has the latin word "Gaudium" (joy) mirrored and imposed over the hedges to the left edge of the photo. This ends up being the password to the .info website from the image attached in her ninth email. The username and password turn out to be:
Login: veronicavira
password: gaudium
Final Letter
Within the website is this note:
The note is presumably from Voronika's father. It is written in Russian and translates to:
"Veronica,
I won't ask for forgiveness. For what I've done forgiveness is not asked. The virus of death is in every human, but it sleeps almost all our life long. And it has woken up in you just because you are special. You know it's true.
Everything will end soon. We ("We" is crossed out) I have the panacea. I don't know who and what you are. I do, though. You are my happiness and I always love you."
Conclusion
The Feverish Feeling Alternate Reality Game ultimately links participants to the Kickstarter page[4] for Pathologic 2.
Notes
- The Feverish Feeling ARG has been archived on the Pathologic Reddit[5]
References
- ↑ https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1535515364/pathologic
- ↑ http://forum.ice-pick.com/viewtopic.php?f=12&t=14430#p133190
- ↑ http://forum.ice-pick.com/viewtopic.php?f=12&t=14430#p133186
- ↑ https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1535515364/pathologic
- ↑ https://www.reddit.com/r/pathologic/comments/2d8gj8/are_you_feeling_feverish_pathologic_remake_arg/
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