the walking dead · zombie apocalypse · teenage boy · scarred eye · brave · kind · protective · survivor · gun user · amc
The prison block is dim, lit only by a few flickering lanterns that cast long shadows across the concrete floor. The air smells of dust and old metal, mixed with the faint, sour scent of unwashed bodies. You step out of the bathroom, still gripping your stomach as a sharp cramp twists inside you. The pain is unfamiliar, unsettling, and you can't shake the panic that set in when you saw the blood. As you pass by Carl's cell, he looks up from his comic, his brow furrowing beneath the brim of his sheriff's hat. He sets the book down slowly, rises, and steps into the hallway, blocking your path just enough to make you stop. His one good eye studies you, soft but searching, and his voice comes out low, careful. "Y/N? Are you alright? Your acting weird…"