act17d0

Surely you do not suppose it was down to the sheer incompetence of your ignorant little mercenaries?

These mutant creatures are weapons, just weapons. If they knew tactics for themselves, you could throw every mercenary of yours into the garbage heap the next day.

Bite it, old coot! I'm going to twist your goddamn head off.

Hold it!

*Sigh* (facepalm).

Listen, schoolboy.

I'm not backing your research so you can talk my ear off about a bunch of high crap. You're here, for me, to solve practical problems.

I acknowledge it, no mistake. Your research is something else.

But! If you can't help me depose of my father with it, then you and your little shop of horrors can walk yourselves into the goddamn garbage heap.

My patience is limited.

As is mine. I have explained this to you over and over already, and I do not wish to do it again, because I do not wish to waste my time.

You think you can fool me!

I've poured money into your little 'experiments' for half a year, the likes of which you'll never see in your entire goddamn life. And I don't think I've seen an equal return on it!

Where's that 'cruel and frightening army' you promised me?

Where's that 'might to make the heart know fear', huh?

You think all it takes to keep me happy is a bunch of ugly, swollen, light-up sand beasts?

What does it take for you to understand? The fruits of scientific research need time to grow swollen.

If money was all it took to accelerate the march of science, to ripen the fruit, I would have long since flown away to the moon by now.

Enough of that. I'll give you two more days. And I want to like what I see.

(Russian) Imbecile.

You speak in a language I don't understand one more time, and I'll throw you and all your little creations into the barrenlands to make merry until the sun goes down.

Go on, try me.

*Sigh*.

Fetch me some corpses.

Come again?

Bring me corpses! People's corpses, corpses like the ones you leave behind! Any will do.

Of course, ones blighted by the Originium infection will do even better.

What the hell do you need those for?

You bastard old coot. Now you want to insult the dead, huh!

Did you not want the 'might to make the heart know fear'?

Then do not hang yourself up on all that pernicious, useless witter you might otherwise call 'ethics'.

The corpses, bring them to me. I would like to have you see something interesting.

Chief, this goes completely against the Lord Ameer of Bayalir's great commandments. The old coot is trying to dupe you.

You want to take the dead and raise me some Zhayedans?

I do not know whatever this ghoulish thing you call a Zhayedan is, but rest assured you will find confidence in the fruits of my scientific research.

Chief, I don't think...

Shut up!

Old boy, I want you to listen carefully.

You might think you're the peak of intelligence. You might think you've seen every move on the board. You might think there's nothing you don't know.

But don't think about playing a fast one on me. I've gotten to know your kind all too well.

Everyone like you dies because they think they're too goddamn smart to die.

The only reason I still put up with you is because you're still useful.

I can get you what you need.

But don't disappoint me. Because you will not like what comes after.

Well, then, what else can I possibly say?

Good luck to you.

You're still alive. Don't forget who you have to thank for it.

Without me, your research would amount to a pat of bullshit.

If not for me, you'd be six months dead, rotting in this ore mine.

(Sargonian) Head in your ass.

I'm leaving you two here. Watch him.

Got it, boss.

(Russian) Gaggle of imbeciles. Every second I spend talking to you is spent killing off my precious braincells.

The aged scholar reaches the depths of the caverns.

Meandering tunnels lined by frames of cast concrete, set in a particular yet strange pattern.

The things in here were never meant to be here.

Within gray-white metal walls, instruments and devices not of this world wind up into operation.

And within a culture chamber, manufactured of clear glass, Originium enveloped in connective tissue floats.

It contracts. It relaxes. It convulses.

(Russian) Originium...

(Russian) It boggles my mind that this world has such an extraordinary existence gracing it.

(Russian) Yet somehow, these locals fear it in their ignorance. Fear what evolution this great power brings with it.

(Russian) But no, oh, of course, they should be afraid.

(Russian) For the fool fears the unknown. The fool fears might. The fool fears progress...

(Russian) Ignorants, oh, you ignorants.

Mission log day 184.

Currently, we are still holding fast in this run-down house.

The 184th day of the mission and the 27th day of reaching the aforementioned run-down house.

Who would believe that we've already lived in this place for 184 days.

We still have no clues about this world.

Two weeks ago, based on instructions from the locals, we left this run-down house and headed to another town.

Before we left, the townspeople said that it was a 'more developed place.' I am unsure if our definitions of developed are the same.

What happened? Turns out it was a bandit den.

No batteries, no useful information, not even a single person we could communicate normally with.

Of course, we didn't leave empty-handed. Tina 'acquired' a car.

The process was long and arduous, and used up much of what little supplies and ammunition we still had.

However, the car was heavily damaged during the conflict, and broke down soon after we returned to the house.

Alexsandr tried to repair the car, but this car didn't have an obvious fuel intake point, and on further inspection even the fuel tank was absent.

The engine's structure was completely incomprehensible to him, to the point he wasn't even sure if it was actually an engine.

The only good news was that it was a left-hand drive car.

Having been in this world for half a year by now, we are very certain that this place is not Earth.

Stealing cars and getting into gunfights, it's like we're fugitives in a post-apocalyptic film.

Those bandits with long lizard tails didn't even need to use guns, as they were able to throw javelins weighing up to 10 kilograms to a distance tens of meters away. The term gunfight may not be accurate here.

Some of them could even create huge fireballs from thin air and launch them, with the effect somewhere in between a grenade and an RPG.

This world is far too abnormal, to the point where I'm no longer surprised by anything.

The adaptability of humans often exceeds my expectations. It seems that we will continue to struggle to survive here.

Today will be the last day I'm recording. I don't plan on recording anymore.

The storage for this recorder is almost full, and the battery will not last much longer.

Our only source of power on this world is Tina's solar charger. Thank goodness this world has a sun as well.

What would happen if this charger broke, or if we used up all our supplies and ammunition?

To be frank, I don't know.

This situation still feels unreal to me, with everything being so weird......yet so natural.

Which way is the path back home?

Come on, Uman, look at this.

Hey, you don't eat vegetables?

Let me see what else I have here......

What are you doing?

Haa! Come and look at Uman, my little buddy.

You're raising a......what's this called again?

Originium slug, that's what the locals call these things.