Alright, so! I am JharozRain and YOU! ARE!

Beautiful.

If you are aware of my exploits then you know that I am a minor player in the fanfiction world. My other fic, The Blazed Hour, is more of a way for me to relay my high times and escapades. However, I really do want to try and make a fic with more substance and less fart jokes.

Then I played the Walking Dead.

HOLY SHIT. I've never been more... affected by a game since this series. Everything feels so goddamn real, especially with the whole 'protect a cute little girl' motif. I would say the same thing about Dead Rising, but you can dress up in a little kid's super hero jumpsuit and a dino head. That's not emotionally trying, is it?

While I was playing, I remember the prompt showing up saying 'silence is always an option.'

Well what if Lee was silent all the time? As in he was a mute? AS IN I'M A FUCKING GENIUS, RIGHT?!

Now, my brain is being chewed on by plot bunny and yelling, screaming even, to fucking do something a bit more serious.

Also, I might not do errything according to the game. That's more out of laziness than any other reason. But maybe out of continuity, too. I mean, Chet?! Who the fuck is he?!

Well then, LESSDOIT

A Police SUV sped along I-80, its back towards the vast city of Atlanta. The SUV zipped past the slowing cars around it, bobbing and weaving past a few sedans and hatch-back trucks. Inside, an elder caucasian officer with balding white hair sat in the driver's seat, while behind the cage sat a middle-aged black man with short black hair and an unkempt beard. The man who sat in the back looked at his wrists, which were securely cuffed, before looking back up.

The two sat in silence for a good long while until the officer spoke up. "Well, I guess you didn't do it."

The other man didn't say anything for a few moments, and then settled with shrugging.

"Seems like the people who speak the least are the ones who keep their noses out of trouble." The officer sighed. "Not like it matters, anyhow." his captor said, more to himself, before chuckling.

The radio on the center console erupted to life."Calling all officers, we have reports of riots breaking out across the greater Atlanta area."

News like that is a bit disconcerting to normal folk, but the officer didn't seem the least bit worried about the prospect of anarchy.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of I-80, Police cruisers, SUVs, and motorbike riders shot past, sirens blaring. The convict pointed at the radio, questioningly.

The officer followed the finger with his eyes until it landed on the radio that kept on calling for assistance. "What this ol' thing? You need to learn to stop worrying about things you can't control." With that, he cut the radio's feed off, and left it at that.

At the same time, a Police heli hovered overhead, before heading straight to Atlanta.

The man, by now, was extremely concerned. Something must have been very, VERY wrong.

All the while the aging officer was going on some dribble about how an old convict sat in that same seat the new convict is in right now. "He was wailing on and on about how he didn't do it. Oh, he was crying eyes out, getting snot all over his shirt." He looked into the rear-view mirror, awaiting a reply. He saw the man cock his head to the side, as if asking if the man was guilty.

The driver shook his head, almost bitterly. "They caught the fucker red-handed. Stabbing his wife in the neck, all the while he was laughing maniacally. That's when the boys busted the door down." He saw the look of disdain cross his charge's face. "Then he starts crying out to his mama. 'Mama! It wasn't me! It was all just a big mistake!' Pathetic, truly." The man shook his head.

"You don't talk too much, do 'ya?" the officer asked. The man shook his head.

Another bout of silence swept over the SUV, this time heavier than the first. The officer sucked in a breath of air before saying, "And then there was this other time-" He was interrupted by the sound of a gasp and banging on the cage. The officer's focus shifted to the road where he just saw a PERSON crossing the interstate. He swerved in an attempt to miss the poor soul, but instead not only did he hit the unfortunate soul, but he also drove the SUV off the road and down a hill into the forest beside it.

The man in the back was bumped, tumbled, and banged around, before the car finally ended its spiral to the foot of the hill. With that notice, he blacked out.

At random intervals his eyes fluttered open, until they remained that way at about noon, the next day. He was thirsty and his leg hurt like hell, the wound was deep and could be infected, and he noticed that he was the only one in the SUV. Panicked, he looked around the surrounding area, and his eyes widened saw the officer that was driving him. The poor man was face-down in the grass, his shotgun not too far away.

First glance would tell him that the officer was ejected from his seat after the crash. Further inspection, though, dissuaded that theory when he saw the officer's blood trail begin from a different direction than the SUV.

THAT was disconcerting.

Either way the man had to get out of the hand-cuffs in order to get help. Just because he was a convinct, doesn't mean he was above helping an officer of the law. He inched his way towards the shattered window on the opposite side and crawled out slowly.

He didn't hit the ground as slowly.

That was when he noticed how quiet it was, even for a man who's senses are as sharp as a razor blade. Even though he might not expect help to come immediately, shouldn't he still hear cars roaring along I-80?

The man struggled to pull himself up, but managed. He moved along the side of the car towards the downed officer. Something about him smelled differently. Pushing that out of his mind for the moment, the man bent over and reached for the officer's keys with his still-cuffed hands. He snatched them rather dexterously and unlocked the cuffs.

He heard a shuffle and looked down at the officer.

A demon's eye met his.

The world seemed to explode as the... not-so-much-a-person officer was hell-bent on grabbing the man's legs,and ended up grabbing his bad one, knocking him over. The obvious reflex was to get away from the beast as fast a possible, so he scooted back as far as he could until his back met the SUV's car door. The monster still kept coming for him, digging its nails into the fresh dirt to pull itself forward, and his eyes went everywhere in search of something to banish this unholy presence.

His sight landed on the officer's shotgun and his mind clicked. He reached for the shotgun as quickly as he could, gave it strong pump, and aimed it at the... thing's head, threateningly. When it wasn't deterred, the man fired without hesitation.

Chunks of the thing's head were blasted away, all the down to the bottom lips. The gruesome sight made the shooter vomit our a sickly green bile.

The convict had killed once before, but that was out of rage. This was just... sickening.

The sound of the gunshot reverberated across the forest and awoke its new inhabitants.

He was still hyperventilating when he heard the first groan. He looked over his shoulder and saw a group of the same... things that he just fought before. He stumbled his way back onto his feet, shotgun clenched in his hand, and limped his way out of the forest.

It seemed like the forest was the breeding ground for those monsters, as they just kept pouring through the foliage, chasing after the convict. He drug his bad leg and clutched the shotgun in his hand tighter as he made a break for a fence line.

Thinking back on it, it probably wasn't the brightest idea to climb a fence with a bum leg, but the man didn't have many other options. He tossed the weapon over the fence before hauling himself over with all of his might.

The monsters were closing in on him, and he only just got over the fence and into the backyard of another person's house when they were within reaching distance. As he landed, he took a huge breath he didn't know he was holding. The groans were still all around him, but at least he protected for the moment. The sound of a kick start of a motor shot across from somewhere in the neighborhood and heard the shuffling go elsewhere.

The man shook his head, in a way that said to himself that that was too close. He scooped up the shotgun before taking a moment to survey his new setting. A treehouse, the house itself with a glass door, a pool with a cover over it, and at the base of the treehouse there was mat that had teapots and teacups scattered about.

He saw a movement in the treehouse out of the corner of his eye. He waved both of his arms to try and get attention, but there wasn't anything there.

Sighing, the convict moved on to the glass door and banged on it twice, to get attention. There was no response.

He bit the bullet and opened the door. The inside of the house was a mess. Tables were turned, the T.V. was on with a blue screen, cabinents were ripped open. On the kitchen counter was a... glass of water!

He hurried into the kitchen, but was unaware of the pool of blood on the floor. He slipped on it and fell shoulder first into the red liquid.

Disgusted, he picked himself and the gun back up, and swiped the glass of water. He downed it one gulp. He went to pour himself another glass out of the faucet, and drank that in one go, too.

He sighed in relief. Crisis averted, send the troops home. That was when he heard the beep.

In the living room, the telephone answering machine was trying desperately to get attention. Curious, he moved over and pressed the button to hear the calls.

The machine made a noise, before the telephonic operator kicked in. "There are three unread messages. First unheard message."

A woman's voice took over, calm and casual. "Sandra? Hey! This is Diana, we're still in Savannah. Ed was harrassed by some crazy guy so we took him to the ER, he should be out in a day or two. Thanks so much for watching after Clementine, and don't worry, we'll make it back before your Spring Break. Be there quickly!" The man was investigating the house still when he saw the fridge. Someone scribbled a note that said 'The Marsh House.'

Curious.

"Second unheard message."

This time the woman sounded a bit distressed. "Oh my God, finally! We've been trying to reach you all night, our calls kept getting dropped! They won't let us leave Savannah, something big must be happening. Bunker down with Clemintine, and just wait until this thing blows over. If anything is wrong please call me! Please!"

The man's eyebrows raised at that as he looked at the family picture next to the machine. This epidemic has spread all across Georgia, it seems, not only Atlanta.

"Third unheard message."

"Clemintine, baby! If you hear this, call the Police! They'll take care of you... That's 9...1...1... We love you... We love you... We love y-" The message cut off there. The man's grip on the shotgun tightened until his knuckles turned white. Which, when you think about it, is pretty hard to do considering he is black...

That groaning he had already become accustomed to erupted from the second floor. The convict cursed mentally. As he heard the sound of heavy steps he wished he could actually voice his frustrations with today.

He tightened the grip on the shotgun, but this time on the barely of it, and held it like a baseball bat. He crept up to the corner of the wall that separated the staircase from the living room, and waited. As soon as the... thing, came into sight, he swung as hard as he could at its skull. There was a satisfying crunch as the monster crumpled to the floor. The thing was still flailing its arms around, though, so he struck its head, again. And again. And again. He struck the handle of the shotgun into the thing's head, embedding it into its forehead.

He heaved what felt like the hundredth sigh of the day. After much struggle, he yanked the shotgun out of its head, and then cleaned it off with a dish towel in the kitchen.

Then he heard the first good thing in what felt like eons. A person's voice.

"Hello?"

It came from an unopened drawer. He ripped it open and found a walkie-talkie. It spoke again.

"Is anyone there? Who are you?"

He cursed mentally, again. How was he supposed to convey his name over a walkie-talkie when he couldn't speak to begin with? Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a red light flashing next to the answering machine.

Light bulb.

He opened up the second message and waited until the woman said 'finally.' He clicked the communication button at the end of the word, saying 'ly.'

"Lee? That's your name?" He walked over to the glass door.

"I'm Clementine. I'm up in the treehouse." The door opened, and the girl from the portrait peeked out and waved at him. "Can you see me? I see you through the door."

He waved back and opened the door. He walked over to the treehouse and waited.

"Okay... I'm coming down... you're not bad, right?" the girl called down.

The man shook his head.

After descending down the ladder, the girl craned her neck to look at the man eye-to-eye. "You're Lee?" She asked.

The newly crowned 'Lee' nodded.

"I was up in the treehouse for a few days. Sandra went crazy and tried to grab me, so I went and hid. I don't think Sandra was... Sandra, anymore..." She trailed off.

Lee nodded.

"Did you... did you kill her?"

He nodded again, grimly.

"At least she won't hurt anyone..." Clementine sighed and clutched on to her walkie-talkie. "My parents are in Savannah, right now. I'm waiting for them here. Do you think they'll be back?"

Lee paused for a moment, considering his options. He opted to look puzzled, and shrugged his shoulders. Who knows?

Clementine looked only slightly troubled. Moving on to the next topic, she asked "Can you... Can you talk?"

He shook his head sadly.

Being only eight years old, and unable to understand some of the more intricate disabilities of the world, she opted to say, "Oh."

How eloquent.

Lee looked around the neighborhood. He stuck his thumb out and gestured towards the street. They had to move.

"Should we... should we leave? What if my parents come back and I'm not there?" Clementine asked, fearfully.

Lee looked pained at that comment. He was about to sign that her parents would follow them, but Clementine was puzzled as soon as he signed 'parents.'

He sighed, and made a motion for her to follow him. Shotgun in the left hand, Clementine's delicate hand in his right, Lee made his way into the neighborhood.

Past the gate, there were two men trying to move the wrecked cars out of the way to escape the neighborhood. One was of a lean build, while the other was just flat-out fat. Both looked like farm folks, so Lee approached slowly.

The lean man saw the two first. "Whoa, man! Don't eat us!"

Lee shook his head.

"Jeez, man. We thought ya'll were gonna chomp both of our faces off!" the portly one said.

THe lean man walked towards the two. "I'm Shawn, Shawn Greene. That fat sack of shit over there is Otis."

Otis chuckled. "Now, now. Not in front of a lady."

Shawn laughed, too. "And who are you two?"

Clementine, remembering that Lee couldn't speak, acted as the voice for the two of them. "My name is Clementine. This is Lee. He's my... uncle."

Shawn laughed, again. "What, is she your translator?"

Lee, despite himself, nodded.

"He can't talk." Clementine added.

Shawn's laughter abruptly halted. "Oh... so you're like... a mute?"

Lee nodded, again.

"Oh man, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to come off as insensitive..."

Lee held out his hand, indicating for Shawn to stop. He was used to it, by now.

"Hey, I don't mean to break up the tea party, here, but how's about we move these cars out the way before the dead get to us?!" Otis harshly whispered.

Lee rose an eyebrow at that. The dead... walking?

Otis noticed the shock. "Yeah... the dead have just upped and started walking again. Only this time they want a hunk outta 'ya."

Lee sighed. Perfect.

"If you help us, I can give you a place to stay! I own a farm a good while away that the dead can't get to. You'd be welcome to stay if you can move these cars out of the way!" Shawn whispered.

Lee nodded, enthusiastically. First good news he heard all day.

"The let's go!"

The three men started to push away stray sedans from the street. It wasn't thrilling, but there was no way around them.

As they started pushing the last one away, something clicked. Lee's face dropped.

Shit.

The car alarm started wailing louder than coyote at a full moon, awakening the sleepy neighborhood. But instead of dogs barking and random curses of keeping the racket down, guttural groans erupted from every direction.

Shawn hustled to the pick-up truck. "Fuck it! Let's just get the hell out of here!"

Otis jumped in the bed of the truck, while Lee scooped up the shotgun and Clementine in one fell swoop, before jumping in the truck, too.

Forgoing subtlety, the engine blared to life, the tires squealing against the pavement. The truck quickly made its daring escape, knocking into the car who's alarm was still going off.

Once within reasonable safe distance, Shawn looked over at Lee, gratefully. "Y'know, blood is thicker than water, and you made sure of that shit today, huh?"

Lee couldn't help but agree.