Karryn Prison Passives -

She sat cross-legged on the concrete slab that served as her bed, her back ramrod straight. The orange jumpsuit, two sizes too large, hung off her wiry frame. Her hair, a shock of fiery red, was cropped short, not by a barber but by the blunt, broken edge of a smuggled spoon. Her eyes, the color of a stormy sea, were closed. She wasn't meditating. She was counting.

The day came.

Karryn listened. She updated the ledger. She ran the gambit. And one night, she spoke. karryn prison passives

Karryn had simply stood up, dusted off her jumpsuit. "No. I'm just not invested in your performance." She sat cross-legged on the concrete slab that

Karryn smiled. It was a terrifying expression, like a glacier calving. "I'm going to pay a visit to Warden Cross's office. The ledger is due." Her eyes, the color of a stormy sea, were closed

Warden Cross stood there in his immaculate gray suit, his clipboard in hand. For one microsecond, his eyes widened. Then the smile returned. "Inmate Karryn. This is a bold move. I'll give you that."

At 1:59 PM, Karryn was in the laundry room, folding sheets with mechanical precision. The Clockwork was two machines down, watching her.