Paranoia is just the bastard child of fear and good sense." (Charlie)

"Poor thing. Let's adopt it, give it a last name and raise it right." (Jace)

"You want to get it a puppy, too?"

"Sure. We'll call it Panic. It and little Paranoia can play together at the park and scare the hell out of all the other kids.

Deep spirit scanning,” Eisfanger says. His voice has a strange resonance to it, like I’m hearing him through a bad phone connection. “Don’t worry, it’s completely safe. Well, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Side effects have been documented,” he admits. “In a very small percentage of cases. Less than two percent.”

“What kind of side effects?” Suddenly I’m feeling nauseous. Feels like the ants are crawling around inside me now, which is exactly as disturbing as it sounds.

“Memory loss. Synesthesia. And occasionally … vestigial growths.”

“So I could forget my own name, start smelling purple everywhere and have an extra nipple sprout from my forehead?

Paranoia is just the bastard child of fear and good sense.

I've got a bad case of the 3:00 am guilts - you know, when you lie in bed awake and replay all those things you didn't do right? Because, as we all know, nothing solves insomnia like a nice warm glass of regret, depression and self-loathing.

You can't do that kind of thing normally, but normal dumped without a note nearly a month ago. These days, I'll happily set fire to a bridge the second after I've crossed it - I don't plan on being around for the consequences to catch up with me.

I am a kind of paranoiac in reverse. I suspect people of plotting to make me happy.