Day of remembrance in prayer
Jack: Glory to the Puppeteer's madness! Each of his freaks triggers congeniality in me. Feather, meet me in the basement – I'd like to hear your opinion on my plan to spite him.
Task: Go through the basement in the night mode.
Jack: Feather, did you hear the Puppeteer's fiery speech? That all these rats and ravens are us… No? Let's hear an encore. Where have I left the dictaphone?
The Puppeteer: You have a unique opportunity to look at yourself from the side. Imagine that all these ravens and rats that you find in the rooms – are you. The same quickly and aimlessly moving about, intrusive and irritating...
Jack: And so on. But it's the truth. How long are we going to keep running around the house? Yes, the Underground is willing to fight to the last drop of blood and wrest the tenth key from the Puppeteer's cold, dead hands. But how many people will break down because of him until then?
Jack: I'm tired of keeping count, but I'll be damned if I don't remember everyone by their names. You know what it's like to wake up in cold sweat in the middle of the night screaming? The brothers are standing before me, demanding vengeance. And it takes you a couple minutes to figure out if it's real or not.
Jack: His names are burned into my subconscious. How many will go insane and throw themselves into a trap in despair? How many will be damaged physically and mentally?
Jack: Today I vented my frustration upon Jenny because, for the first time in a long while I saw freedom, felt the breath of wind, and not draught on my skin; breathed the air that was fresh and not basement-musty. For the first time in forever I heard sincere laughter. Her laughter.
Jack: Damn. I just needed to reach out to touch her… And then this alarm named Jenny...
Jack takes a breath. Brief silence follows. Then familiar spark returns to the Firewood's eyes.
Jack: Let's show the Puppeteer that we're made of. Another adequate response to inadequate and arrogant personalities. So he likes toys? We'll give him a toy, Feather. Best toy ever.
You completed Jack’s task and received some points of freedom and some tokens
Jack: Feather, rehashing the old song: my mother was a mechanic – she made the hinges for me. My father was a carpenter – the planer I got was great. Not pitiful enough? Doesn't sound like The House of Rising Sun at all? Oh, well.
