PART 1
Tuesday, September 14th.
Day 21 of the Apocalypse.
Ethan set out at dawn, leaving Bianca asleep and announcing his departure over the radio.
His black pickup truck drove through streets littered with piles of bodies, yet no zombies were in sight until he reached the outskirts of Jackson Town.
A zombie would appear on the road every now and then.
Ethan took advantage of the moving vehicle: he drew his pistol, aimed, calculated the shot, and fired.
With a head exploding, a massive surge of XP flooded into his [Aiming] skill.
He needed to push himself with challenges to gain significantly more XP.
Sure, if he recklessly burned through ammo, he’d level up sooner or later.
But taking out moving targets—or killing slow zombies while speeding—yielded dozens of XP per kill.
With the ammo and determination he had, if he kept this up for the rest of the day, he’d reach Level 7 in [Aiming].
“I should hit Level 5 in [Axe] today or tomorrow.” Ethan smiled; he’d been using his axe quite a bit over the last few days.
Of course, he had over 1,000 XP stockpiled and could easily boost the skill right now.
But since there was no rush, he could take it easy.
“I still have my food and ammo caches in Atlanta; I need to go get them as soon as possible.” Ethan smiled; there was over $500,000 worth of supplies in those warehouses.
But he’d leave them stored away for now—for emergencies.
Only a few people knew about them, and they were all trustworthy.
After all, even though he was in charge, if a military unit arrived and an officer tried to seize control, people would switch sides very quickly.
That’s why he knew he had to paint the military as the villains—which was practically the case anyway, given the extermination.
He’d already told Clark and Jerome to spread the word about the hospital incident, and now there was Gale, who would certainly recount what had happened.
How the hospital had turned into a scene of chaos, with soldiers killing everyone—doctors included.
All of this will erode the public’s goodwill toward the military.
Then there is the matter of Operation Cobalt—word is spreading about what it entails and how the military mindset is geared toward establishing some form of military dictatorship.
No one wants to live like that; people simply need to be properly informed, and they can avert the worst-case scenario.
Yet, the military isn’t entirely bad.
Ethan recalls a surviving group—armed and well-supplied—whom the Governor purged, seizing everything they had.
As a leader, the Governor understood the threat such military personnel posed to his own position.
Ethan, however, sees it differently: these are trained soldiers without direction.
Recruiting them would be advantageous, especially knowing that a certain military figure—a liar—appears later in the story.
Most of the military personnel out there will be adrift, lacking a mission.
If he can recruit dozens of them, Ethan will have a force of trained, disciplined soldiers; he would just need to earn their trust and loyalty—or perhaps force one of their commanding officers to become an [Ally].
…
Ethan visits King County; the streets are teeming with the dead.
He reaches the police station, which is virtually empty.
There are a few zombies on the street, which he dispatches with ease.
He remembers where the keys are kept and quickly gains access to the armory.
It holds a vast supply of weapons and ammunition—far more than Rick carried in the series—though he knows that, come Season 3, Morgan will take possession of it all.
Ethan recalls short clips featuring Morgan—often portrayed as a monk-like figure—killing zombies with a staff.
Ethan feels nothing for the man, though he knows Morgan eventually loses his mind over the death of his son.
With an inventory capacity exceeding five tons, Ethan clears out the armory without difficulty, returns to the road, and moves on.
…
Since it is still the first month, it stands to reason that—aside from zombies—there are people on the streets: groups of disheveled individuals openly carrying firearms or melee weapons.
A lot has happened, and many realize they need to protect their belongings, or else others will take them.
Sure, there were people waving and calling out to him—obviously interested in his vehicle and whatever he might be carrying.
Ethan ignored them; using [Radar Sense], he could tell whether the other party intended to open fire.
If they did, he would draw his weapon and fire warning shots to drive them off.
Gunshots attract zombies, so he’d let them deal with the consequences.
…
Ethan isn’t heading straight for the quarry; he’s in no rush.
He observes the number of undead—far fewer than one might expect, though it makes sense.
The bombings in Atlanta created a massive racket; while the military wiped out a huge horde in the city center, they also drew in another—perhaps even larger—one right afterward.
That’s a mixed bag.
Fewer zombies is a good thing.
Did they migrate from various nearby cities and counties?
That’s even better.
The problem is that they are gathering into a mega-horde.
Ethan remembers the TV series—the crowded streets, Rick encountering hundreds of them packed together.
Then comes the escape, using zombie guts and the scent of the dead to blend in.
Ethan is eager to get stronger so he can start slaughtering them.
After boosting Willpower, he’ll likely focus on improving his Constitution, since the system states that every point gained beyond the initial ten doubles his current capacity.
In other words, with a Constitution of 11, he’d have double the recovery speed, stamina, and endurance he has now.
Ethan even believes he could become immune to the bacteria in their bites that cause death.
But that will take time; he knows it.
The days of easy survival—like during the initial bombing—are over.
If he wants to gain levels quickly, he’ll need to actively hunt them down.
He’ll have to travel far and wide, slaughtering them as he goes.
But it will take time.
That’s why he’s paying close attention to Traits.
He’s been evaluating the various options available for himself or his allies.
There are some great ones; for instance, [Fast Healer] costs 2,500 EXP and boosts both the immune and metabolic systems.
Then there’s [Fast Learner], which accelerates the growth of any skill—except those directly tied to physical changes, like Fitness—by 30%.
Mastery skills like Axe, Blade, and Aiming, while they do affect musculature, don’t fall into that “physical change” category to the same extent.
It costs 5,000 EXP.
Ethan understands why [Fast Healer] costs only half as much as [Fast Learner].
To him, the former is the superior choice—hands down—as it will make him an absolute beast in this world.
However, [Fast Learner] would boost the leveling speed of all his skills.
Not to mention that, upon reading the attribute descriptions, he discovered that once INT reaches 11 points—and for every point thereafter—the skill level cap increases by 2.
And, much like attributes, skills exceeding Level 10 receive a massive boost.
Of course, it isn’t quite like attributes, which literally double in effectiveness with each upgrade.
Still, any improvement is more than welcome.
That is why Ethan is so eager for [Fitness] to artificially reach Level 11; he can sense it will trigger a superhuman transformation in his body.
“One skill I need to train is [Acrobatics]; it’s excellent—it improves my reflexes, flexibility, and overall movement,” Ethan thinks, eyeing the Level 3 skill.
He had used it extensively in the forest, allowing him to maneuver his body masterfully—practically dancing amidst the myriad obstacles.
Yet, among all the Traits and upgrades awaiting him, the ones Ethan truly desires to launch a colossal slaughter are:
[Athletics]: Naturally blessed genetics.
+20% Fitness EXP, +20% Movement Speed, and -20% Stamina Consumption.
(3,000 EXP)
[Hard Skin]: Skin naturally more resistant to scratches and bites; scales with Constitution.
(5,000 EXP)
The first will enhance his genetics, refining his body for intense physical activity.
Ethan believes that once he acquires it, he’ll either unlock a superior version or new Traits will emerge.
But [Hard Skin]—that is what will turn him into a true killing machine.
He’ll no longer need to worry about getting scratched during combat.
He’ll be able to hurl himself at zombies—clad in thick clothing—and slaughter them.
The clothes will likely help prevent teeth from tearing his skin—or at least minimize contact—and then there’s that Trait that will make his skin tougher, preventing infection.
It’s everything Ethan needs to hone himself.
PART 2
Ethan navigated the backroads, mapping out areas he hadn’t visited before.
Using his [Map], he identified what appeared to be campsites; whenever he expanded his [Radar Sense], he would detect zombies—and occasionally survivors.
He would often stop to deal with the zombies, kill them, and scavenge the camp’s resources.
The people there had either died in undead attacks or succumbed to bites sustained while fleeing.
As for the campers themselves, Ethan usually ignored them—until one man stepped onto the road, waving his hand while holding a gun.
Ethan slowly extended a shotgun out the window and came to a halt.
“What is it?”
“Hello, friend.” The man forced a smile.
“I’m Manuel Gomes.
I don’t want any trouble.”
“Then don’t flag down a vehicle in the middle of the road while holding a gun.
Someone might decide to kill you just to take it,” Ethan pointed out.
“I know…
but these are desperate times, brother.
The dead are everywhere, plus looters and hunger…
I’m here with my family.
Is there any chance you have a little to share?
Or a safe place?
I’m willing to work, to hunt—I’ll do anything,” Manuel said, his voice filled with desperation and weakness.
The man’s hunger and dehydration were obvious.
They had likely been hiding and camping out here for days; their food and water supplies were either gone or running dangerously low.
Normally, he would have ignored them, were it not for the sound of a child coughing.
“Five people: me, my wife, my son, and two other children—my nephews,” Manuel said.
Ethan nodded.
“I lead a community of about three hundred survivors.”
Manuel’s eyes widened at the news.
“You can come along, but understand that I’m on a mission—I’m looking for someone.
You can stay with me and share my food, but the moment there’s any sign of betrayal, I’ll kill you and throw your people out onto the street—zombies or no zombies.” Ethan speaks coldly, and Manuel nods in thanks as Ethan hands him some food.
Manuel nearly tears up; he takes the food and runs toward the brush.
Minutes later, he returns with a plump woman named Rosalita—his wife—and three children.
The eldest, a boy of about thirteen, glares defiantly at Ethan; Ethan stares back, and the boy backs down.
The other two children are nine and eight years old.
The door opens, and they get in.
Manuel sits beside him.
“Is the gun loaded?” Ethan asks.
“No…
we ran out of ammo four days ago,” he says hesitantly.
Ethan holds out his hand, inspects the weapon, hands it back, and points to the glove compartment.
Manuel opens it to find boxes of ammunition; Ethan tells him which one to grab and teaches him how to reload.
“Understand that I don’t trust you, but right now I’m your only hope, and the car doesn’t have enough fuel for anything beyond the trip I intend to make.
If you try to steal it or kill me to take everything for yourselves, you’ll be stopped and looted—because this is a very good vehicle.”
…
Dusk falls as they arrive at the quarry.
Ethan can already hear the crackle of a campfire in the distance; with his headlights on to signal the other party, he soon spots a group of men and a few women using vehicles and trees for cover.
Standing at the front, with a shotgun aimed at the vehicle, is someone Ethan knows well.
[Image] →
“What do we do?” Manuel asks worriedly; Ethan touches his weapon and nods.
“SHANE WALSH!” he roars, leaving the man standing in front of him confused.
“You lucky son of a bitch, I knew I’d find you here!”
The door opens, and Ethan steps out wearing his deputy sheriff’s uniform—badge clearly visible and shotgun in hand—smiling.
Shane blinks for a moment.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah, who else would it be?
How about you put down the fucking guns?” Ethan laughs, and Shane waves his hand.
“What the hell are you doing here?
Were you looking for me?” Shane frowns.
“Yeah.
I saw you on the road the day of the bombing—total pandemonium.
I was the moron shooting at the undead and screaming for everyone to get off the road,” Ethan says.
Shane blinks in surprise.
“Wait, that was you?!”
…
The vehicle enters the camp.
Unlike in the series—where Shane was more alert and even paranoid—he’s a bit different here, largely because he and Ethan share a history.
Shane knows Ethan isn’t someone he can push around, so he’s careful with his words.
“Oh, I see Lori’s here.
Is Carl here too?” Ethan asks upon seeing the woman—though he doesn’t know why, he instinctively dislikes her.
In the series, she was probably the character he hated most; her death was a joy.
How could Shane—a handsome, strong man—be attracted to her, his best friend’s wife?
There’s literally a hot blonde with blue eyes nearby, holding a gun like a total rookie—showing obvious fear and hesitation.
[Image] → (Author: What do you think?)
Andrea Harrison—Ethan doesn’t recognize her as the actress from the series; the only similarities are her eyes and hair—aside from that, everything about her is quite different.
But how did Ethan recognize her?
Simple.
There isn’t another hot blonde who looks to be around thirty; the only other one there is very young, and Ethan hadn’t really looked at her.
‘Seriously, how could the producers kill off Shane over a love triangle when he could have just moved on and ended up with her?
There was actually some chemistry there.’ – Ethan started to realize he sounded like a fanboy in his own thoughts.
…
They sit near the campfire, and someone catches Ethan’s attention: a young Asian man—probably around nineteen—looking at him with curiosity.
It’s Glenn.
Next, he notices a young Black man with a slight gap between his upper teeth, staring at him and narrowing his eyes.
T-Dog.
He spots an older man who looks different from how he remembered him in the series—it’s Dale, but he doesn’t look like the kind, pacifist old gentleman; he has the same features, but looks more disheveled.
He observes everyone, just as he and the Gomes family are being observed by these people.
“Seriously?
Another one?” – An unpleasant voice rings out; a burly man spits while eating a rabbit leg.
Beside him, a younger man blows on the tip of an arrow, shooting a sharp glare and reaching for the knife at his waist.
[Image] →
Merle and Daryl, the Dixon brothers.
“Merle, not now.” – Shane glares at Merle and waves his hand dismissively.
“You think I’m one of your dogs you can order to shut up?” – Merle stands up and tosses what he was eating into the campfire.
Shane confronts him, but Ethan steps between them, smiling.
– “Okay, I don’t think there’s any need for this.” – He looks at Shane, who growls.
Ethan’s gaze locks onto Merle, who freezes for a moment; Daryl appears at his side, crossbow in hand—pointed downward, but a single movement could aim it right at Ethan’s face.
Ethan shoots him a look as well; young Daryl feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Tension runs high; no one dares to speak.
“Okay, let me introduce myself.” – Ethan smiles and extends a hand to Merle.
– “Ethan Walker, Linden County Deputy Sheriff and a madman who loves shooting dead folks who shouldn’t be walking.”
Merle spits on the ground and shakes his hand.
– “Merle Dixon, hunter—the guy feeding this whole bunch of useless dead weight.”
Ethan looks at Daryl.
– “Daryl, his brother.”
“Well, how about we avoid unnecessary conflict?
There are plenty of those things out there, and fewer of us every day.
I know tempers flare when some people work harder than others, and everyone’s constantly on edge.”
Merle laughs.
– “At least someone here knows what they’re talking about.” – He steps back and Daryl joins his brother; they don’t leave, though—they return to their spots, clearly curious.
Ethan looks at Shane and chuckles softly.
– “Quite the characters you’ve gathered here; I guess trouble attracts trouble.”
Shane grunts.
“Lori, Carl.” – Ethan calls out.
– “I think you’ll be happy to hear this: Rick Grimes is still alive.”
“What?!” – Shane and Lori say in unison.
“What do you mean?
What happened?” – Shane asks, while Lori is already standing right in front of Ethan.
“A few days ago, I visited Harrison Hospital to get supplies—medicine—for my community and to pray I’d find a doctor.
I found one, Dr.
Gale; she’d been looking after hospital visitors and patients in comas.
Rick is still in a coma, but he’s alive.” — Lori is visibly relieved as she hugs her son, who is smiling and excited.
Shane smiles—a genuine smile—showing he hasn’t yet made a move on his friend’s wife.
“Well, I suppose I should introduce myself again—properly this time.” — Ethan draws everyone’s attention.
“I’m Ethan Walker, a Deputy Sheriff from Linden County, but now I lead a rapidly growing community with the goal of retaking Jackson Town.
We have over 300 residents and around 70 armed fighters—which gives them the courage to actually put up a fight.” — Ethan laughs, and Merle scoffs in the background.
“With a gun, even a kid can kill a grown man.” — He spits out the words.
“That’s pretty obvious.” — Ethan laughs.
“My community is always welcoming willing people; we plan to wall off the entire town within a month and create a true sanctuary.
I knew Shane was around here—I had an idea of where you’d fled that day—and knowing how smart you are, I figured you’d look for high ground.” — Ethan smiles.
“I’m extending an invitation: I’m leaving for Jackson Town tomorrow, and I hope you’ll come with me.
There’s food and safety, a chance to build a home, and—of course—a chance to be somebody again.” — Ethan smiles and looks at Merle.
— “And plenty of booze.”
Merle gives a faint smile.
PART 3
It was night; Ethan had answered many questions, and the hope that had been missing from those people’s eyes was rekindled.
But Ethan constantly emphasized the need for hard work and the fact that a new world order was emerging.
When he finished—after sharing his food and showing them he had plenty—he left the Gomes family in his car; it was spacious and comfortable.
He had a brief chat with Shane.
“About the Dixon brothers—what can you tell me?
Daryl seems obedient and observant, but Merle…” Ethan asked; he already knew the answer, but he couldn’t let that show.
“Headaches—that’s what they are.
But they’re great hunters—they always bring back rabbits and squirrels, food… things we’re always in need of,” Shane grunted.
“A necessary evil,” Ethan laughed.
“I think I know how to handle them.”
“But tell me—this community you lead—is there a catch?” Shane narrowed his eyes, and Ethan nodded.
“No.
Everything I said is true.
We started at a high school, packed nearly 200 people inside, and then began clearing the area, gathering brave and capable people, scavenging houses, and getting support from nearby farms, among other things.
But we need more; we need to let people move around and have space for various jobs that will help the community grow.
But for that, I need soldiers.” Ethan looked him straight in the eye.
“Is that why you came looking for me?” Shane narrowed his eyes.
“Yes.
I have 70 people, but honestly, there are only two I’d trust with my life, and another 10 or 12 who are good shots.
I want you to be the third person I can trust with my life, because I know you’re brave, strong, and capable.
Someone who knows how to make decisions and do what’s necessary.
I can find soldiers anywhere, but a general is hard to come by.” Shane laughs.
“So you want me to work…
well, I don’t see a problem with that.” There is something in his eyes—a certain lightness and relief.
People need a purpose, especially soldiers.
Survival is a necessity, something instinctive, but a purpose is what drives a person forward.
“I’ve got Clark—my old partner—handling patrols in town: killing zombies, intercepting survivors, and so on.
Then there’s Jerome, an old friend from my time in Atlanta; he’s a cop—good, honest, reliable.
He mostly patrols the farms and the outskirts of town, keeping an eye on the herds, watching for anyone approaching, that sort of thing.”
“Two generals—one for inside, one for outside.” Shane nods.
“What would I be?”
“I want two generals on outside duty for now.
Once the walls are up…
well, Clark knows how to handle people—everyone likes him.
He’s better at that than guys like us, who just go out and get the job done.
I plan to make him the town Sheriff; he’ll handle security and keep the peace.
People like you, me, and Jerome—we’ll deal with the dangers out there.”
“I want Jerome running constant road patrols, but for you…
I want to give you men—an elite team—to handle more than just herds.
Raiders.” Ethan says firmly.
“Raiders…
you want to give me the job of killing people?” Shane frowns.
Ethan sighs and tells him about the Keller family; Shane listens, his brow furrowing.
“Thirty raiders.
They murdered a family of seven—three of them children.
Executed.
The parents watched their kids get killed before they died themselves.
The world is getting worse, and worse monsters are going to emerge.
Like it or not, we need strong, determined people willing to get their hands dirty, because people like them…” Ethan glances toward the tents.
“They wouldn’t be able to handle it unless they were forced—but if you push too hard, even steel snaps.”
Shane nods.
He doesn’t even want to imagine Carl and Lori—who are like family to him—being forced into something like that.
“You have my support.” Shane raises his beer can, clinking it against Ethan’s.
“We’re building a new world,” Ethan says, gazing at the stars.
“It’s going to be a cruel world; winter is coming.
But we’re going to turn it into a world worth living in.”
Shane nods; he understands that in this new world, he’ll be more than just a cop.
He’ll be someone who holds the lives of hundreds of people in his hands—someone far more important than he ever imagined he could be.
He looks at Ethan with a complex expression.
Ethan is so different from how he remembers him, yet he can’t quite recall who Ethan Walker used to be.
…
“Awake?” Ethan asks as he arrives at the Dixon brothers’ tents.
Merle snorts.
“Ugh, what do you want, Officer?”
“A drink?” Ethan holds up a bottle of vodka.
Merle is sitting there relaxed, one hand resting lightly on his thigh near his revolver.
But the moment he sees the sealed bottle, his eyes light up and he leans forward.
Ethan hands him a cup, and they pour themselves a drink.
Merle licks his lips and says, “One of the few things I like about the Russians is the booze; otherwise, they can go fuck themselves with their communism.”
With a faint laugh, he watches Merle drink; the man shudders and hisses slightly as the liquor burns his throat.
“Now that is the good stuff!”
Merle stares at him.
“So, Sheriff, what do you want?
I doubt you came here to give me a delicious gift—or are you trying to seduce me?
I always knew a handsome man who takes care of his skin like that was a faggot.”
Ethan snorts and says, “You’re a piece of shit, Merle Dixon.
If I were into taking it up the ass, you certainly wouldn’t be on the list—not even if you were the last man alive.”
“Oh, so there is a list?” Merle taunts, taking another drink.
“You’re a monster,” Ethan says.
Merle freezes.
“One monster recognizes another, even if we’re different breeds.”
Merle narrows his eyes, and Ethan refills his cup.
“I’ve met a lot of people, Merle Dixon—a lot of people just like you.
The kind of trash I want to throw in a cell and toss away the key.
A selfish person who only cares about following their own desires.” Ethan snorts.
“You talk too much,” Merle growls.
“Yeah.” Ethan nods.
“That’s why I’m here.
I want to recruit you.”
“Recruit me?
That ‘new world’ spiel?
I don’t buy that crap.” Merle nods.
“I need monsters.
You’re a piece of trash; I see the madness in your eyes—the kind that would laugh while the world burns.
And tell me if I’m wrong, but you were planning to use these people’s resources—use their numbers for protection—and then, once you got bored or found something better, you’d just steal their supplies.”
Merle frowns; Ethan hit the nail on the head.
“You’re a monster, and so am I.
You want chaos; I want… control.” Ethan smiles.
“You channel all your strength for your own benefit.
I, on the other hand, destroy and mutilate anything in my path; I don’t hesitate to unleash my worst side on anyone who stands against me.”
Merle senses a threat in those words.
“But I’m the type who protects my own—protects them with my life, shields them from the worst this world has to offer.
As monsters, we understand that this world has plenty of shit to throw at us.” Ethan laughs and glances toward the distant camp, giving a wave.
“And those people?
They’re the kind we just trample over.”
“I need monsters who’ll help me maintain control.
Who’ll prevent the worst-case scenario—stop others like us from getting to the people who need protection.
So, I’m offering you a place, food, and ammo—as much as you want—and the leadership of a future unit.
The guys who go out, do the dirty work, come back for a drink, and gear up for the next party.” Ethan says.
“I want a dog that bites hard enough to tear the flesh right off my enemies’ bones.”
Merle grins.
He’d hated all that philosophical talk, but when Ethan finally stated what he wanted…
“Man, I almost got a hard-on.
Almost!”
Ethan looks at Daryl, who is feigning sleep nearby, then says, “I hope you don’t bring your brother into this.”
“Daryl?” Merle frowns.
“Your brother isn’t like you; he’s smart, observant, and sharp.
I see him as a sort of protector… he’s a good person.
Even with a piece of trash like you by his side, he’s a good person, and I don’t want him turning into someone like you,” Ethan says, and Merle frowns, looking at his brother who is “asleep.”
“I think I can do that,” Merle says; there is something in his gaze… affection.
“You can keep the bottle.
In a few days, I’m starting a major operation to scavenge military weapons and vehicles from a massacre site—we might be able to get tons of supplies,” Ethan says.
“Goodnight, Merle and Daryl.”
Merle watches him walk away.
“Interesting character,” he says, sliding a cup toward Daryl, who accepts it.
“He talks too much,” Daryl says as he sits down.
“Yeah… it’s annoying, but… he’s a monster.” Merle laughs derisively, and Daryl smiles faintly.
‘Good person…’ Daryl glances at the cup, thinking about Ethan’s words.