For a miserable heartbeat, she's sure she's worse than him. There's something romantic about the Old West, at least. Outlaw cowboys get movies made about them and whatever damage they managed to do with a six-shooter. She is reasonably sure that she's a disease, no better than the fungus that indiscriminately ravaged America and beyond, taking to the wastes of American society to strip it of whatever it had left. And for what? Extra rations? The ability to say she did? Nobody would know her name, anyway. She did it for no fucking reason. None. She doesn't even have the luxury of saying she was raised that way.

She shakes her head, and she leans over to take that folder back. She flips it open and pushes it towards him, a finger over human smuggling.

"You see this? That little girl I smuggled? If I hadn't done that, I don't think I'd be here at all. That's the only good thing I've done in years and I didn't even take it out of kindness, I just sort of... realized it along the way."