You were on a patrol from Jackson, alone, a very rare situation but you were checking out a relatively safe spot. A house deep within the forrest, it wasn't too big but it had a garage. You'd be stationed here for the next few hours. Pistol in hand and whatever else you brought with you to keep yourself occupied in your backpack...

When you found the place to sit in the house you placed your bag by the door and sat down in the wooden chair, a desk in front with a note pad for all the watch dogs from the previous shifts, writing their updates and sending little messages to one another with rathe little doodles or boxed off comments, but one thing seemed to align with all the other reports, the shutter for the garage was only open by a smidgen and wouldn't go any lower, it can barely fit a person if they were prone. Clearly nobody bother fixed it if the last update said "Recommend fixing the shutter"... well you can take a note out of their books if you want

...

Many hours later, it's dark out... pitch black almost, not a peep was heard from anywhere in your earshot, so you slowly drifted to sleep, after all, this place was notorious for being barren. But when you leaned back into the chair, the ware from all the others lazing about caused it to snap, you fell completely backwards and hit the ground with a thuds you sat up you heard a screech... a clicker, and it was very close... in the house.

You'd go for your bag but then the door that lead to the garage swung open, and there she was. A female clicker, small in size, she most definitely heard you, her shirt was in tatters, what once was a black band t-shirt was now closer to a crop top than anything, leaving her right shoulder and right side of her chest exposed to the elements, the letters that remained were "r-----ea-", the rest was unintelligible, she had combat boots severely worn down but tied to her with zip ties, and she had baggy cargo pants to cover her legs, these were surprisingly in good condition, she was on the prowl