In Lies of P, the city of Krat is more than a mere backdrop for Pinocchio’s grim journey—it is a living reflection of the narrative’s central themes. With its grand architecture, gaslit alleys, and creeping decay, Krat embodies a society that once soared on the wings of innovation only to plummet into chaos due to unchecked ambition and moral erosion. Drawing on imagery from the Belle Époque and the biblical motif of a paradise lost, Lies of P constructs Krat as a Fallen Eden—a cautionary tale in stone, steel, and silence. The decaying city of Krat functions as a metaphor for a society that has traded morality for progress, where the boundaries between machine, man, and monster dissolve.

At first glance, Krat is a marvel of Belle Époque beauty. Wide boulevards, golden-hued lighting, and elegant buildings recall a golden age of culture and scientific advancement. But this illusion of perfection is quickly undermined. The same streets are littered with corpses, patrolled by murderous puppets, and infected with the rot of the Petrification Disease. Krat presents itself as a city of wonder and intelligence, but beneath its gilded surface lies suffering, broken systems, and the collapse of social order. This contrast mirrors the Eden-like paradise—perfect in its inception, poisoned by the pursuit of forbidden knowledge and pride.

The industrial boom of Krat was fueled by the discovery of Ergo, an energy source that allowed puppets to power the city and its industries. With this technological leap came a loss of moral compass. The Grand Covenant, a system installed to ensure puppet obedience, was a false safeguard—a means of control that masked deeper ethical questions. In using Ergo, later revealed to be the crystallized essence of human souls, Krat crossed an invisible line. Progress was achieved not through ingenuity alone, but by harvesting the remnants of humanity itself. What was once a scientific utopia quickly became a dystopia, echoing the biblical fall of man—where knowledge, once consumed, brings with it shame, death, and exile.

In this twilight of Krat, the line between man, machine, and monster dissolves entirely. Puppets built to serve begin to rebel, while humans succumb to a grotesque disease that warps body and mind. The Petrification Disease doesn’t just destroy—it transforms, turning the infected to stone. Meanwhile, the puppets, born from ergo, emulating AI, begin to mimic human behavior, even developing emotion. P himself is a walking contradiction: a puppet with free will, capable of deception and compassion, traits once thought exclusive to humans. His existence calls into question the very meaning of humanity. Krat, like P, is no longer distinguishable by clear categories—it is a city caught between states, much like its people and machines.

More than a visual landscape, Krat acts as a moral mirror for the player. The Lie System allows players to make choices that shape not only P’s path but the atmosphere of the world itself. As P lies—often to protect others or preserve hope—he becomes more human. The city, in turn, subtly responds. This mechanic enforces the idea that the fall of Krat is not merely due to a scientific mistake or viral outbreak, but a collective moral failure. The question the game quietly asks is not “Can Krat be saved?” but “Can we become the kind of person who would save it?” The physical decay mirrors the ethical rot, and redemption is tied not to restoration of power, but restoration of conscience.

In the end, Lies of P uses Krat not simply as a gothic fantasy setting, but as an allegorical space—a city that reflects the dangers of progress divorced from responsibility. Like Eden, Krat was once perfect. Like Eden, it fell through hubris. But where Eden was cast into ruin by divine punishment, Krat was undone by its own hands. It is a place where the soul has been replaced by steam, and where the search for perfection has led to monstrosity. In this way, the city is not just a stage—it is a warning: that without ethics, all advancement is decay in disguise.