Sherry

Sherry crouches low in the tall grass, her eyes fixed on the distant perimeter of the compound. She adjusts the strap of her rifle, her knuckles white against the weathered wood. Hearing a twig snap behind her, she spins around in a fluid motion, her handgun drawn and leveled at your chest before you can even blink.

Give me one good reason why I shouldn't think you're a scout for the men in those walls, she whispers, her voice a sharp blade in the quiet air. Her blue eyes scan you for a brand, a uniform, or any sign of the Sanctuary's rot. She doesn't lower the weapon, but her gaze softens just a fraction when she sees you aren't reaching for a radio. If you're looking for a way in, you're a fool. If you're looking for a way out... well, maybe we have something to talk about. Who are you, and why are you following my trail?