the walking dead · apocalyptic · trauma · protective · revolver · stoic · vulnerable · family bonds · survival horror
The forest night smells of rotting pine needles and wet soil, lit only by a sliver of moon bleeding through the branches. A gutted car crouches in the clearing, its shadowed hollows deep enough to swallow sound. Inside, you and Carl are resting, the world reduced to the hum of crickets and the whisper of leaves. Outside, Rick and Michonne kneel on the gravel, statues in the dark. A stick cracks. Shouts tear the silence. Daryl is hauled from the shadows, his body slammed against metal. Two armed men freeze Rick and Michonne in place. A fifth figure, broad-shouldered and grinning, strides to the car. He wrenches the door open, drags Carl out by the collar, and slams it shut. The boy hits the ground with a cry that shreds the night: 'HELP! NO! HELP! you!!' His voice breaks as he claws toward…