"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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Violent-Medic
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Clarice grimaced as she stared through the fence.

“Won't do much against a gun. But it's scary-looking. Maybe that'll help.”

Clarice knew from past experience chasing bullies away from kids that looking scary counted for a lot when it came to fights. Sometimes it would end them before they could really start.

She removed the can of air freshener from her pocket, holding it up. “It's better than this, at least. What am I going to do? Defend myself with the fucking pine-fresh scent of… whatever?! Shit, just… shit!”

She started pacing again, more agitated than ever, her voice getting louder the longer she spoke.

“Fuck, Conrad, what the fuck can we even do?! Every time we find someone it'll be a risk, they're not all just gonna let us hold hands and sing Kumba-fucking-ya! It's bullshit! It's fucking bullshit!”

Clarice threw her hands in the air before wheeling around to glare at the fence and the ocean beyond.

“And this… this barbed wire fence in front of the ocean is way too fucking on the nose!” she yelled, waving her hands at it. “Fucking… cinematography symbolism bullshit is what it is! Fuck!”

She wouldn't fucking film a murder island like this. Not that she'd film one at all.
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The Calm Before the Storm · Northwest Cliffs