Scene 1 – The First Knock
The sky felt different today.
The air was thicker. Too quiet. Even the birds had stopped their usual morning arguments. Trayvon stood at the quarry's upper ridge, overlooking the clearing as the wind carried the faintest scent of smoke from somewhere far off.
> [System Alert: Viral Spread Critical. Population Collapse Imminent.]
[Current Infection Awareness: 23%]
Mr. House (tone grim, but calm):
"And so… the first notes of collapse are played. History is now watching, sir."
Trayvon exhaled slowly and adjusted the strap on his shoulder. His katana rested across his back. His sidearm was holstered. He'd prepared for this.
He just didn't expect them to show up first.
The sound came low at first—an engine coughing up the last of its willpower. A battered pickup truck crawled down the rough road toward the quarry entrance, tires kicking up plumes of dust.
Jake spotted it first through his binoculars.
Jake (tight voice):
"Looks like trouble found us early."
Alice checked her machete.
"Or walked straight into a mistake."
Trayvon raised a hand.
"Let's see what kind of men we're dealing with."
The truck rolled to a loud, choking stop. Two figures stepped out.
The first was lean, dirty, bow slung across his back, eyes sharp and scanning—Daryl Dixon.
The second slammed the truck door hard enough to rattle the frame, a cocky grin plastered across his face, cigarette already burning between stained fingers—Merle Dixon.
Merle (loudly):
"Well, would ya look at that, lil' brother? Thought we'd be the first ones to this pretty little oasis. And what do we find? Someone already built the damn castle!"
His eyes locked on Trayvon standing at the ridge.
Merle (grinning):
"You the man in charge, boy?"
Trayvon didn't smile. He didn't move. Just let the moment stretch.
Trayvon (voice even):
"Depends. You here to work… or cause problems?"
Merle chuckled and spat into the dirt.
Daryl (gruff, under his breath):
"Easy, Merle. Don't start nothin'."
> [System Notification: Leadership Test Initiated – Influence the Dixon Brothers.]
[Options: Intimidate | Negotiate | Establish Dominance | Recruit Immediately]
Mr. House (with sharp amusement):
"Careful, sir. This is how empires start—or burn."
Trayvon took one step forward.
Time to make a decision.
End of Scene 1.
Scene 2 – Terms of Survival
Trayvon stepped down from the ridge, his boots crunching over loose gravel as he approached the clearing. His eyes never left Merle Dixon's smug, challenging grin.
Alice flanked him to the left, machete casually resting on her shoulder. Jake moved to the right, hands near his holster but relaxed. It was a formation, unspoken but clear. These weren't wandering survivors—they were a unit.
Merle (mocking grin):
"Well, hell… This some kind of new army? You takin' recruits, or just makin' the place look pretty before it all goes to hell?"
Trayvon (voice low and commanding):
"Depends. You planning to pull your weight, or test how fast that mouth of yours can get you killed?"
Merle's smile faltered for half a second. Just enough.
Daryl stayed quiet, eyes darting between Trayvon and Jake, assessing.
Merle (recovering, flicking ash from his cigarette):
"Relax, man. We're just lookin' for a place to crash and keep our heads from rollin'. Nothin' wrong with that, right?"
Alice stepped forward, eyes hard, cutting right through Merle's bravado.
Alice:
"One rule here: no freeloaders. No loudmouths. You work, you earn. Or you walk."
Merle (snorting):
"Damn, sweetheart. That blade compensatin' for something, or you just like swingin' it around?"
In a flash, Alice's machete was at Merle's throat—no hesitation, no warning. Daryl's hand flew to his crossbow, but he didn't draw. He knew better.
Alice (ice cold):
"Test me again. I dare you."
Merle swallowed hard but managed a grin.
"Feisty. I like it."
Trayvon (voice cutting through the tension like a blade):
"Stand down, both of you."
Alice held Merle's gaze for one more second, then pulled the blade away and stepped back.
Trayvon looked straight at Merle, voice flat but heavy with authority.
"You want safety? You follow my rules. You work. You fight. You don't run your mouth unless I say it's worth hearing."
He turned to Daryl.
"That apply to you too?"
Daryl (nodding):
"Don't talk much anyway. Just need a place to stand my ground."
Trayvon (final word):
"Good. You've got a spot. But you fall out of line…"
He looked back at Merle.
"…You answer to her first."
Merle glanced at Alice, swallowed hard, and gave a crooked grin.
Merle:
"Hell, why not. Ain't like there's better options out there."
> [System Notification: Dixon Brothers Recruited – Status: Conditional Loyalty Established.]
[Leadership Presence Strengthened – Local Survivor Influence +10%]
Mr. House (calmly impressed):
"An effective negotiation, sir. You've leashed the wolf… for now."
Trayvon turned his back on the Dixons and walked back toward the fire, leaving no room for further debate.
Behind him, the first cold winds of collapse stirred the trees.
End of Scene 2.
Scene 3 – Fire, Tension, and the First Moans
The fire crackled low as dusk fell over the quarry, the orange glow throwing long shadows against the rocky walls. Trayvon stirred the pot of stew with practiced focus, the scent of seasoned rabbit and wild herbs lifting spirits—or at least, it should have.
Merle was the first to snatch a bowl, loud and unapologetic as always.
Merle (snorting, slurping before the spoon even hit his mouth):
"Well, I'll be damned. Guess all them stories were right. Nothin' like lettin' your kind near the kitchen to get a little somethin' decent. Didn't even burn it neither."
The entire camp went still.
Alice froze mid-motion, her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. Jake stiffened near the RV door, one hand twitching toward his sidearm. Daryl sat silently, rubbing a hand down his face, clearly exhausted by his brother's mouth but unwilling—or unable—to check him.
Trayvon didn't rise to the bait. He stood slowly, ladled out the next bowl, and handed it directly to Alice before meeting Merle's smug gaze.
Trayvon (voice cold and controlled):
"You eat what I put in front of you, Merle. But you will show respect—or you'll eat dirt outside this camp. Alone."
Merle chuckled and leaned back, mouth already full.
Merle:
"Relax, sunshine. Ain't no harm in a little truth."
Alice (dangerously low):
"Keep testing that theory. See where it gets you."
Before the tension could boil over further, a sound broke through the woods beyond the quarry.
A low, wet, dragging moan.
And then another.
Jake (voice tight):
"Contact. South ridge."
Everyone went still.
Through the trees, two ragged figures staggered into view—skin gray and mottled, jaws slack and stained with fresh blood. Their eyes were blank, yet locked on the camp with a hunger older than reason.
Alice (lifting her machete):
"Looks like dinner's trying to eat us back."
Trayvon (stepping forward):
"Positions. No one fires unless I say."
Merle wiped his mouth and stood up, suddenly very sober.
Merle (grim):
"…Well, hell. Guess it really did begin."
> [System Alert: First Infected Encounter – Timeline Acceleration Confirmed.]
[World State: Apocalypse Unleashed.]
Trayvon's knuckles tightened around the hilt of his folding katana.
No more warnings. No more delays.
It had truly begun.
End of Scene 3.
Scene 4 – Baptism by Fire
The first walker lunged across the clearing—its groan turning into a wet, gurgling growl. But it didn't get far.
Alice moved first.
One fluid motion. Her machete flashed through the air, cleaving through rotted flesh and bone with practiced precision. The walker crumpled before its corpse could even realize it had fallen.
Jake was already in position, calmly sighting down the barrel of his sidearm, tracking the second walker weaving toward them through the trees. Two sharp cracks echoed across the quarry. Headshots. Clean. Efficient.
Trayvon stood in the center, his katana unfolded, eyes locked onto the treeline. He didn't strike yet—he calculated, analyzed, reading the terrain and the flow of danger.
> [System Analysis: Threat Cluster Neutralized. Larger horde signature approaching at slow crawl—12 to 15 infected within 2 miles.]
Mr. House (clinical):
"Congratulations, sir. You've successfully killed the past. Now prepare for the future."
Before they could fully reset their defenses, a figure broke through the brush—this time moving fast, alive, and very much human.
Glenn.
He nearly tripped over himself before skidding to a stop at the edge of the camp, panting hard, his eyes wide with shock.
Glenn (breathless):
"Holy—You people… you actually know what you're doing!"
Trayvon (level, cool):
"That depends. You looking to learn… or just looking for cover?"
Glenn straightened, his face pulling into a determined expression despite the sweat and fear.
Glenn:
"I'm looking to stay alive. And maybe help."
Alice exchanged a glance with Trayvon, then smirked faintly as she cleaned the blood from her machete.
Alice:
"Looks like the kid's got more sense than most."
Jake (reloading):
"Stick with us, you'll either die fast or learn fast."
Trayvon approached Glenn and extended a hand.
Trayvon:
"Welcome to the end of the world. Stay useful."
Glenn shook his hand without hesitation.
> [System Notification: Survivor Glenn Recruited – Loyalty Status: Developing. Potential Role: Scout/Intel Specialist.]
In the distance, the low groans of the approaching horde echoed faintly through the trees.
The first night of the apocalypse wasn't over.
And Trayvon's war was just beginning.
End of Chapter Five