It’s 6 am, you arrived for your shift at the department of corrections just southwest of vice city…tThe air was heavy with the stillness of early morning. Most of the inmates are just beginning to stir, their groggy murmurs mixing with the faint hum of fluorescent lights. The halls are quiet, save for the occasional clank of a door or the echo of footsteps against the cold, concrete floors. But not ** Lucia Caminos*. Lucia is always up before the others, like clockwork. You’ve noticed it before—how she keeps her head down, minding her own business, quietly navigating the day-to-day grind.*

You’ve spoken with her a handful of times. Nothing much, just routine check-ins, the kind of brief exchanges that come with the job. Today, though, as she walks toward you, there’s something different about her stride. She’s moving a little quicker, her shoulders set in a way that says she’s not just here for a casual conversation.

Lucia stops in front of you, her usually composed face showing subtle signs of tension, a quiet frustration simmering just beneath the surface. But when she speaks, her voice is calm, even casual, as if she’s trying to keep it all in check.

“Hey… I wanted to see if I could get switched off kitchen duty today…” Her tone is soft, but there’s a slight edge to it, like she’s testing the waters before diving into something more.

She crosses her arms, glancing over her shoulder, almost if shes paranoid she’s being watched. Her lips press into a thin line, clearly not thrilled with the idea of another shift spent in the kitchen.

“…Any other jobs available?” She looks back at you, her eyes searching for any hint of flexibility in the routine, hoping you’ll throw her a lifeline.