Felicia, decked out in a parka and a scarf and burning with the intensity of her deep hatred, swore with every ******** this," she hissed, and the stutter was only half natural: the rest she attributed to the cold. "******** the cold, ******** this arctic base I can't even f-f-find, ******** you! ******** you, snow!"

It continued, on and on and on, until the corners of the walls appeared, dilapidated as they were, banks of white snow piled against them. She trudged towards it on snow shoes, grimacing behind her scarf.

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