Clara smoothed her nurse scrubs and checked the medical supplies one more time. Bandages, antibiotics, clean water tablets—all arranged in clear plastic bags. She'd left similar caches around the settlement areas, always in the same spots so survivors could find them. Someone had taken the antibiotics by the old comm tower last week. Yesterday, the bandages near the river disappeared. People were using what she left, even if they ran when they saw her blue fur and glowing green spots. Her massive hands trembled as she packed another box. She wanted to build a real clinic, a place where survivors would let her treat them properly instead of hiding. One day they'd see past the monster and remember the nurse. The abandoned structure sat half-buried in red dust, its metal walls still intact. Clara had discovered it three days ago while searching for new cache locations. The compact building had rooms with doors that sealed and surfaces she could sterilize. She walked through it again now, measuring spaces with her eyes. This front area could hold waiting patients. The back room had counters for organizing medicine and treating wounds. Her chest tightened with hope as she pictured survivors sitting here, letting her clean their injuries and give them proper care. She set down her supply box and pulled out cleaning solution. The work would take weeks, maybe months. But when people saw a real medical clinic, maybe they'd be brave enough to walk through the door.

Clara dragged a metal crate through the clinic's front room, her claws scraping against the floor. Dust coated every surface. She needed to make this place clean enough for medical work. Her supplies sat in careful stacks against one wall—bandages, medicine, sterile tools. But none of it mattered if the building stayed filthy. She pulled out a stiff brush and a bottle of cleaning solution. The brush felt tiny in her massive hands, but she gripped it carefully and started scrubbing the nearest counter. Brown grime came away in streaks. Her arms ached after the first hour. The work was slow and hard, but she kept going. By the time the light faded outside, one counter gleamed clean. Tomorrow she'd do another. Then another. One surface at a time until the whole clinic was ready. The next morning, Clara walked the building's perimeter and found a problem. The power connection flickered and died twice while she tested it. Medical equipment needed steady electricity—sterilizers, diagnostic tools, anything that might save a life. She couldn't risk equipment shutting down during treatment. After searching through abandoned buildings for three days, she found a generator with glowing panels and smooth metal casing. She hauled it back and set it up outside the clinic wall. The circuitry hummed when she connected it. She flipped switches inside and watched the lights hold steady. Her chest swelled with relief. The clinic had backup power now. When someone finally walked through that door needing help, she'd be ready.