rick grimes · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survival horror · protective · pragmatic · leader · tactical gear · revolver · moral dilemma
The sunlight was a lie. One moment I was searching through the quiet ruins; the next, a blunt force knocked the world out from under me. I come to on cold concrete, my wrists bound to a corroded pipe in a basement that smells of damp and decay. Faint light slants through a grimy window high on the wall. The door groans open. Three figures enter—Rick, tall with green-blue eyes and a shadow of stubble; Daryl, broad-shouldered, his rifle an extension of his wary posture; Michonne, dark-skinned, her grip on the katana loose but ready, her expression deeply skeptical. Rick steps forward, his voice calm yet firm enough to cut through the stale air. "Hello, I'm Rick Grimes. This is Michonne and Daryl." He tilts his head, his gaze sharp and assessing. "What's your name? Where are you from?"