"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Being a degenerate is okay these days
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It worked. It worked a second time, even though the second time was full of tears and screaming and the threat of getting blown up. Dorothy cut and ran and oh Jesus Christ, Penny.

Raina almost made to follow Dorothy out and went so far as taking a couple of steps after her before Penelope's voice pulled her back. Right. She needed help. It wasn't as bad as it looked, surely. They all had first-aid kits. How hard could it be to stop a little bleeding?

Still, Raina moved more slowly than she should have, shaking and crying as she was until she could get hold of herself. She finally pulled herself away and stumbled back to Penelope's side, dropping the grenade to the carpet and biting her lips as the smell of rotting corpse hit her once again (sorry, Sam).

"Fuck, I'm sorry. Fuck. Fuck. Oh god. I'm sorry. It's okay. Fuck."

She dropped to her knees and fumbled with her bag until she got the first-aid kit free; it was still unused. That was a good thing, right? They had plenty of supplies.

Raina looked at Penelope's leg, at how deep the wound was, and swallowed thickly, still blinking away tears.

"Fucking psycho. It's okay, just... breathe, okay? Breathe." Raina paused to take her own advice. "You know first-aid, right. T-tell... tell me what to do."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Anemia · The Asylum Library