I know it looks really crazy in here, but I’m kind of old school, because I don’t really trust computers. People call me paranoid, and a conspiracy theorist, or just a nut. I can’t honestly say with one hundred percent certainty that they’re not right, because maybe everything I’ve ever been suspicious about is completely explainable. I started questioning my world when I was really young, and really impressionable. Instead of starting to notice some discrepancies with the lies we were being told, I just accepted all the lies that other investigators we’re telling me. So no, I didn’t believe the government when they said nothing happened in Roswell in the 1940s, but that doesn’t mean I should have trusted the truthers who were saying something definitely did something. There’s a difference between healthy skepticism, and insane distrustfulness. As you can see from the office I’ve built for myself down here, I’m very good at walking the line between them. And when I say that I built it, I mean that quite literally. The basement was unfinished when my parents bought this place years ago. Just about everything else wasn’t finished either. They came here to try their hand at flipping. You can get a house for cheap out in the countryside, so this was a good opportunity for them to learn the trade. They worked so hard getting it fixed up—my brother and I helped as much as we could—and ended up falling in love with the place, and just sticking around. They found jobs in town, and we’ve been Blast Citians ever since. They left this basement alone, though. They wanted it to belong to their children, so when we were old enough, we were each given half, and charged with creating whatever we wanted. Raymond turned his half into a gym and game room, while I turned mine into this lair. Needless to say, I get a lot more out of spending time in his half than he does in mine.
Anyway, I’m not going to show you everything I’ve collected over the years, but I encourage you to come here whenever you want. I actually installed a door to the outside, so you don’t have to go through the house to get in. Here’s an extra key, you can come whenever you want. If I try to explain what I think I’ve found beforehand, it’s just going to freak you out, and make you second guess every one of my claims anyway. I think it’s best if you go into this part of your investigation with the most open mind. Please do come back, though. I know it seems a little creepy, me offering you the basement, but I assure you I have no interest in anything beyond the truth. You should do it, even if only to find inspiration to write a story on the town crazy who thinks angels are real. I think you’ll find a lot of this stuff pretty interesting. It may not seem like it, but I’m a quite organized person, so all the Viola Woods stuff is in one place. If you’ve already interviewed three dozen people by now, then I’m sure you’ve heard some stories about her that just don’t add up. She helped a lot of people, and did so with such...precision. Some of the methods she used were also a little hard to believe, I bet. Take a look at the travel records. Her family didn’t leave this town once after she was born, yet there’s strong evidence that she’s been all over the world. How did she do that? No, I’m saying too much, and I don’t want to corrupt your own journey. I may have been wrong about Roswell, and about chemtrails, and about a secret organization that controls every world superpower, but I’m not wrong about this. I don’t know exactly what Viola was, but I know she wasn’t one of us. Or rather, she
isn’t. Raymond should be home by now, so you can talk to him now. He’s not as smart as I am, but he’s a lot more relatable.
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