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Collaborative Fan-fiction (Continuation)

posted by That_1_Guy on - last edited - Viewed by 32.9K users

ORIGINAL THREAD: http://www.telltalegames.com/community/discussion/52763/continuing-upon-the-end-of-s1fan-fic/p1

In this thread we will be continuing upon our continuation of season 1. The original thread was created with the purpose of continuing the story from the end of season 1 onwards, and now that we have finished that 'Season 2' we are about to write the next season in this very thread. Anyone is allowed to contribute, IF they follow a basic set of rules:

  • Continue writing from the last commenter's story (do not use "reply" unless you want to discuss about their choice).
  • Before writing a post, please post a notice and refresh the page to avoid writing at the same time as someone else.
  • Don't finish with a dead end, this is about continuing, so try to leave things open.
  • This is a serious thread, if you want to put unrelated material or spam in the comments then please go somewhere else.
  • Please read AT LEAST the summary of the previous season if you want to contribute, it takes barely 15 minutes of your time, and it sure is a lot easier than reading the entire previous thread. (Although we do STRONGLY advice to read the entire story, because it has a lot of small details.)

Thanks for contributing, and have fun writing! New writers are ALWAYS appreciated!

736 Comments
  • Can someone continue, please?

  • The Walking Dead: Episode three,

    The Beaten Path

    Light taps sound as fleet feet move across the weathered pavement, running into an alleyway covered with marks of graffiti and spray-painted arrows. A cloaked figure pulls out a machete, worn-out and rusted by the many liquids it's gathered while working its way through the rotting flesh of walkers. Gloved hands clasped tightly around the handle, the figure makes quick work of two stray walkers feasting on a mangled corpse, a pistol laying in it's stiffened hand. Slowing their pace, the figure crouches down to examine the weapon, but discovers it's empty. A single bullet casing catches their eye as they rise back from the ground. "What a waste." The person mumbles before looking at the signs hanging on the wall. "Ashley." Is all they say. The signs are found all around the walker-infested city and seem relatively clean compared to the moldy bricks supporting them, they must have been put up recently. Sheathing their machete, the figure paces away from the gut-covered alley and quickly regains their speed. They follow the signs across an open street, surprisingly empty, safe for the rubble and broken cars long since raided. A sense of unease in their mind, they hold onto the handle of the weapon on their back, ready for anything that might get the jump on them. Their hood sways vigorously as a gust of wind sweeps across the street, a wide array of colorful leaves fly from the foliage growing from the cracks ans crevices spread around the walls. The different hues of green soar through the sky, their colors fresh and lively, greatly contrasting the dark sky above. It's getting late, the figure looks around the street and finds a building not fully destroyed, a place able to shelter them, at least for the night. "The Golden Heart day care." The person reads out loud to themselves. They ready their trusty blade and open the unlocked door, sneaking in with the care of a fine artist finishing his work.

    The door creaks as they shut it. Only a faint light enters the room from the cracks in the boarded windows next to the doorway. Children's toys and colorful chairs are scattered around the room, colorful rugs covered in bits of dry blood and guts. The figure's hand shakes at the sight, their chest moves up and down rapidly. They were just walkers, right? No kids. It can't be. Right? Shaking the thought out of their heads they walk towards the back of the building. Slowly but surely, they open the bathroom door. A foul odor reaches into their nostrils, clouds their mind as the door opens, weapon in hand. They bump their head on the shelves behind as they jump away from something. Swinging their weapon into the darkness while holding their scream, the figure gets crawled on by a small gray creature. A rat. "Fuck you." The person says hitting the critter off their stomach. The rat rolls onto its paws and hastily crawls to the other side of the room. They pick themselves up from the ground and check the rest of the rooms one by one. A large room full of cribs and beds for older kids. A supply closet, dozens of shelves full of diapers, napkins and baby-formula. They make a mental note of the items and move onto the next door, a small office. Cabinets examined, they find nothing but paper and empty pens, although the large office chair looks comfortable. Lastly, they open a large door with a nicely painted sign saying; Nursery. Hesitantly, the figure opens it, a strong smell reeks throughout the entire hall and this seems to be the origin. The figure shrieks as their eyes fall onto a set of cribs. The window is open, the pale shimmering engulfs a pool of red in light. Hands shaking uncontrollably, the person recovers from their shock and swiftly closes the door with a loud slam. Reaching for their head, the figure rushes towards the bathroom, ignoring the foul smell and grabbing their bottle of water from their green backpack. They take a sip before pulling down their hood and splashing some of the clear liquid onto their face, white as a sheet. Her blue eyes are tiny, terrified. She strokes her hand through her short and stubby hair. She hates it.

    Elizabeth realizes this is where she's going to be spending the night. A deathbed. A coffin. A grave.

    "This is gonna be one hell of a night."

  • I am speechless. You are truly the best among us.

  • Bump. It's been over a month. Keep on going! :D You can do it.

  • I feel that the death of this is largely my fault for not posting. My apologies. Anyone up for a revival?

  • (Listen to this for extra atmosphere while reading: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x1sARwVsKcw )

    It had taken but a minute to escape the smell. It had taken but half an hour to escape the deafening screeches. But hours later, the smoke was still visible.

    Someone must have gotten the bright idea to burn the whole place to the ground, hopefully catch some of the walkers in the blaze. Quentin rubs the stubble on his sharp jawline, they prick like needles into the creases of his skin. He sighs deeply. This world has aged him. Just the other day he found his first gray hair among the dark roots of his ash black hair. It felt so petty to worry about getting old, of all things, during a time where most people don't last longer than a couple of months, a year at best. The problem may have been petty, but it was important to him. He could feel it when he stood up in the morning to start cooking for the women. When his legs could barely hold him after a mere two-hour-shift. He was weak. But, although the world had aged his body, it had to failed to age his mind. He saw it whenever he looked into the light-blue pools of pure joy known as his son's eyes. There would be a future someday. Ava would make sure of that. If only they could have lasted another week... The trucks were set to arrive then. The community isn't far from here, about two days worth of driving, no interruptions, except sleeping, of course. Ah, sleeping. That wonderful thing Quentin did five hours a day, not nearly enough for a grown man, let alone one of his size. The man lets his gaze stray from the wet windshield and to his right. Laying there, in the passenger seat, is the tiniest bundle of happiness the world had ever had the pleasure of knowing, neatly wrapped into a puffy blanket, white as snow. The child is carefully tied into a makeshift baby seat made from pillows and a seat belt. It's not the safest contraption, but it should keep the little guy alive in case of an emergency. A thousand trees fly by before the truck finally shoots out into a sea of bright yellow like a bullet out of a gun. Rotten crops. Wasted food. Quentin's stomach twists as he is reminded of the rough winter he and his wife had to go through. Before Ashley. She'd looked so thin. Each day he looked at her chest, counting her ribs. As weeks went by with only a minimum of food he was forced to witness a horrid transformation from voluptuous woman to bag of bones. It terrified him. She was supposed to be pregnant, after all.

    Ashley had saved the pair, but most importantly: The baby. Their son. He was born a month too early, but they had the technology to keep him alive. Each day, Quentin prays to God, thanking him for granting the people of Ashley electricity, and the power to spring their little wonder into life. Yes, every day. His eyelids, once pinched together to look out into the darkness, quickly spread apart. A bolt of pain shoots through his forehead. Frowning, and with his hand to his forehead, Quentin frantically searches his dashboard for the panel displaying the time. "23:45" He mumbles while sighing. There's still time. The man presses his foot onto the brakes and pulls over. As the vehicle comes to a halt Quentin reaches for his left chest and into a pocket, where a tiny booklet rest upon his heart. "The Holy Bible." His father would always say. "Pocket edition." The book is, and always had been, quite precious to him. It guided him through the initial outbreak and had helped him in his darkest hours, when he did not know if his wife would make it, not to mention the unborn baby inside of her. It was his only friend when he was all alone in a sea of men; the barracks of the encampment, bunk bed after bunk bed. As he flips through the pages he hears a noise to the right of him. "Joshua, quiet." He whispers to his baby, keeping his eyes locked on the pages of the book, trying to find a suitable passage. The noise doesn't stop, however. It only gets worse.

    Shattered glass finds its away into Quentin's lap as the window on his right breaks into a countless shards. A girl stands there, her eyes as sharp as the glass that she had broken a second ago. She's holding the barrel of a gun, she must have used the butt to break the window. He sits paralyzed as he witnesses the teen opening the car door while turning the gun the right way. The deadly way. Aimed at his face.

    Joshua, poor Joshua, covered in glass and cuts, crying as if his world had just ended. The girl notices. The girl gasps, but quickly regains her posture. "Get out of the car." She sounds so calm. Quentin can barely hear her over the noise his son is producing. "I'm not going to warn you again, get out of the fucking car!" He slowly moves his hands towards his seat belt and unties it, making sure to keep eye contact at all times. Call him stupid. Call him insane. But deep down, as he gazes into those golden eyes shimmering from within the darkness, he knows she won't hurt him.

    His body may have aged, but his mind has not.

  • I think il just post my apology here. i was a writer in the last season what seems like an eternity ago. i havent caught up with this season but i will. i just want to say im sorry. i was pissed off and angry because i put time into whatever i wrote and it got disregarded and thrown away, maybe also because i was a moody son of a bitch. i made another account and that lie so that i could come back because i had dug myself too deep. im sad to see this thread die but all good things it must come to an end. if this ever gets a revival then i will read attentively but i will only write if it stagnates. if i have any advice its to post an entire summary document and make a new thread. its been a long time and i gurantee there are people who are willing to come and help out. i dont care if anyone sees it i just want it to be here. thank you unt goodbye

    • I remember you. You had creative differences with the others and left. Then you came back saying somebody hacked your account. Most agreed that you were faking, but like me they realised your honest effort to apologize. I was an avid reader of this story even if i didn't have an account (details in my comment in the original thread).

      Im glad to see you here. You, The Missus and TheOne are people that worked on this project on the start and that gives me immence appreciacion towards you for working in one of the best stories i have read.

      Sadly though it seems like this is story is in hybernation and may sadly be over. I myself almost continued it but i have too much respect for the writters to take the story and most likely go on a very different path than they intended. Anyway glad to see you here. Hope you enjoy what WAS written :).

  • I do still hold this story very dear to my heart. Sad to see it dead.

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