This Is Not Paranoia
Sometimes I feel people are deliberately messing with me. Don't worry, I'm not paranoid. Or I don't think I am. Or do I? I don't know. But I have proof, and I think I'm onto something here.
So, last night was another Thursday. I say that like there's such a thing as just another Thursday, but there really isn't, because Thursday means Valmoor. So far, everything makes sense. I'm still in control of the narrative. Then I walked in.
I immediately knew something was wrong because I saw it with my own eyes: they had moved the light setup from the Red Rabbit next to the Boilers. The whole place was red as hell.
Why? I didn't ask. Obviously. If you suspect people are deliberately doing things to mess with you, the last thing you do is let them know their scheme is working. You act normal. You observe. You gather evidence.
Acting normal turned out to be harder than expected. Everyone seemed to be there, but some people were behaving differently. Or not behaving at all. At one point I was standing next to Moxxi and Bettine, and neither of them said anything. Nothing. I tried to provoke some kind of reaction from Moxxi, just to establish that she was actually there. Eventually she spoke. She mentioned pizza.
Weird.
Then there was Bettine, who I'd been stealing cigarettes from all night. Suddenly she said something completely incoherent and left.
Also weird.
So this leaves me with a feeling that, unfortunately, isn't entirely unfamiliar when I wake up after a long night. Did any of this actually happen the way I remember it or did my poor intoxicated brain simply start blending nights in the Boiler Room and the Red Rabbit together? Were Moxxi and Bettine actually standing there? Did someone really move the lights? Was there pizza? Did Bettine ever have cigarettes?
Was anyone even there?
Or did I hallucinate the whole bloody thing? Fortunately, I brought my camera. Time to examine the evidence and reconstruct the night.
Please help me.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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