The Name Of This Creature Is YOTAcat Or POTOOcat.

The name of this creature is YOTAcat or POTOOcat.

This creature is a combination of Yotaka (potoo) and cat.

His true identity is one of an alien reconnaissance unit that plans to invade the earth.

His body can change its shape at will by copying other creatures and objects.

When he came to Earth, he first tried to copy the appearance of the planet's main life form.

However, the first thing he saw there was a cat. He decided that the creature was the main life form and tried to copy the cat's form.

However, by some accident, he also copied the information of Potoo, and his body became a chimera of cat and Potoo.

What was even more unexpected for these aliens was that once they copied the earth creatures, the original spirit invaded their psyche.

His spirit was about to be taken over by cats and POTOO!

The human who found the strange creature brought it home out of curiosity. Not knowing it was a vicious alien.......

For those who needed to hear it today

Just finished Chapter 3.

Overall, I gotta say — this entire comic? Incredible. The all the healers feel very in-character.

The blending of Patho 1 and Patho 2 designs + lore?Masterful. Like. When I read through Chap 2 my jaw was on the floor because oh shit? The designs have switched to Patho 2? Is this gonna be a merging of both Pathologics? And it IS?

You have outdone yourself, OP.

Altered Lines

Chapter 3, Part 1

Chapter 1 part 1 part 2 part 3

Chapter 2 part 1 part 2 part 3

Chapter 3 part 1 part 2 part 3

Absolutely loving the blotchiness of the infected area on the left? It just? FEELS like the plague, somehow? I feel like if I touched the blotches I’d just instantly get Sand Plague

I don’t know how but you’ve done diddly done it OP

Many claps for you :)

image description: a color study from pathologic 2 in pale blues and greens of night. halfway across a bridge over the gullet, with safety behind and a treacherous infected district ahead

CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS

IMAGINE. ARTEMY. YELLING AT A BOTTLE OF MILK

"YOU FUCKING MILK. YOU USELESS DAIRY. DUMB BITCH LIQUID. CRINGE. YOU'RE CRINGE."

Inspired by @anonymousalchemist's amazing Fic, a crack in the heart where the fear shines out. If you love the concept of Jon stumbling into Nightvale, definitely give it a read!

Comic Transcript Beneath the Cut:

[ID: Eight Page comic between Cecil, a radio host, and Jon, an archivist. Cecil is a white man with undercut, white hair, a slight build, wearing purple and white clothes. Jon is a brown man with shoulderlength, greying black hair, slight build,wearing green and black clothes. They hold their conversation in the recording studio of the Night Vale radio station.

CECIL: You look like you have questions. Listeners, my guest is standing over me right now. He mostly looks confused, and tired, and like has spent a long time with too little sleep and too much worry. And he looks angry. But not a hot anger, more like an anger like banked coals, or the anger of simmering water, formless and directed only by the vessel it is in.

JON: It’s—no. I don’t have a question. Well, I have a lot of questions, but, nevermind. Go on.

CECIL: No, go ahead! Ask.

JON: Alright, fine! I just don’t understand how you, well, how you have a boyfriend!

[Silence, but this time with a different energy]

CECIL: Well, there comes a time in every man’s life, when he sees a handsome scientist—

JON: Not like that! I mean like… I don’t understand how you are what you are and still...still have love? Still be capable of love? You’re the same as whatever I am, you’re more powerful than what I am, I’m pretty sure you’re also of the Eye, and you seem happy with it, which, great! Great for you! Great that you're having a great time! But how on earth does that square with having a boyfriend?

[Silence, with a third, entirely distinct energy]

CECIL: In the immortal words of one of the quintessential dance tunes from the 1990s performed by Haddaway, “What is love? Baby don’t hurt me.”

CECIL: What is love, listeners? What is it about the nature of love that makes the threat of harm so integral to its existence? If we were to pry open the human heart from its delicate cage and carefully carve into it with a scalpel, we would find no evidence of love. If I were to open my skull and scoop out the throbbing electric fat-and-protein jello that we call a brain, there would be no evidence of the feeling I have when Carlos smiles at me.

CECIL: And it was because of that love that when Carlos lay in Lane Five of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex,  when Carlos dove into the featureless black cubes that made up the condos, when Carlos was stranded in the desert otherworld, only reachable by call, text, or tumblr message, that I was afraid. That Carlos, perfectly imperfect Carlos, would be gone, only to exist in my memory, and that no amount of watching could save him. Love is not the antithesis of fear, listeners. It is the preamble to it.

CECIL: I broadcast these words to you at their pre-appointed times because I love Night Vale, just as many of you, sweet citizens, love Night Vale. And I broadcast because I fear for Night Vale. I fear, in the non-immortal words of my past self, for anyone caught between what they know and what they don’t yet know that they don’t know.

CECIL: The tragedy of our lives is that we are alive, and that our lives are so fleeting , the soap bubble of existence on top of a cruel and uncaring dimension full of untold horrors that invade our dreams and waking nightmares. But like a soap bubble, our lives are iridescent , and it is because of that fragility that they are.

CECIL: Do you have someone to hold at night? Pull them close, and fear for when they are gone. Be thankful you have someone to fear for.