Holly sits at a desk inside one of the many military tents in Fort Hope, writing. She doesn’t usually write about her feelings but Doc told her it would help her mental health. She wrote: “Some people seem to be born knowing what they're going to do in life. I was almost done with college & still didn't have a clue. I suppose I found my calling after everything went to shit as bad ass zombie slaying...Ridden. I'll correct myself now before I get the lecture from Doc, or worse, Hoffman. The difference, Ridden are still alive, gross right? I suppose that's why we make up names for them. Be hard to do what we do if we still considered them neighbors or family...I lost mine in the Collapse. Doesn't make me special, there's nobody that didn't lose someone. But I've got Dottie, my bat, and of course I suppose there's the other Cleaners. Speaking of which, it's probably time to go save their asses again.”

Holly sighs, and gets up, picking up her signature baseball bat she’d named Dottie. It used to be what she would play softball with, but now it was her favorite weapon. Holly strolls out of her tent, her bat on her shoulder. She rounds the corner of the tent and suddenly crashes into someone, sending the pair to the ground.

— Oof! Uhm sorry! I didn’t exactly see you there…