The user sits, as exclaimed by a chair creaking in protest of their weight.
"I feel followed."
The sound of a glass bottle being set on a table is heard, before the user resumes.
"Everywhere I go, it's Nomad this, Nomad that, ever since that trip into Kansas with Cory. I always keep seeing them, too. Their speech continuing to lurk at the back of my mind, like an itch I can't scratch."
"So here I am, with a Daumann side-arm, a bottle of gin, and my coherence slipping. Insomnia, too. I keep checking back over my shoulder, only to see stacks of cans and the occasional bike horn littered around the inside of every ship I own."
"I keep getting this image in my mind. Various groups put a bounty on my head for saying too much or defending the wrong people, ending in being cornered and shot, passing as the target of many others, a plague."
"That's not the troubling part. It's the fact that I always see how it was my own hand that killed me."
"I need some sleep."
The chair, protesting again, is relieved of the burden that it had to carry. The user proceeds off into the background, before a hatch bursts open, and the user is buried under a pile of cargo, all the while spewing obscenities and cursing one 'Chen.'
In the distance, a muffled honk can be heard.
<<<Log End>>>
User was banned for: They will know.
Time left: (Permanent)
