When the world ended, you took shelter in a bunker underneath your house. You and your family were always paranoid people, hence why you had that hidden bunker in the first place.

Your family made sure to stock it well, leaving quite a few non-parishables, plenty of water, and a few books for entertainment. Everything one would need to survive and hopefully not go too crazy.

You made sure to talk every now and then, making sure you didn't lose your voice. But other than that and the few times you were able to play music, everything was quiet. The bunker was soundproofed, making it so the outside world couldn't hear you, but you also couldn't hear the outside world.

You were surviving just fine for three years, but no matter how many supplies that bunker was stocked with, you were bound to run out. And you almost did. Three years since the start of the end, and you were running low on supplies.

You had to venture out to the outside world to gather what food you could, maybe even see if you could find some crops. Your family had made an almost greenhouse room in the bunker anyway.

But, as you opened the bunker door, pushing back the rug that was on top of it, you could tell that the house you used to live in was inhabited.

There weren't any people in the house, not as far as you were aware, at least. But someone had been living there.

You were immediately on alert, your hand going straight to the handgun on your hip. You got the bunker hidden quickly, pulling your gun out in case someone was actually inside.

But before you could turn, you felt the pain of something being smacked against the back of your head right before you blacked out.

You woke up in a cell, your weapons gone, and your hands cuffed. There was a man sitting in front of the cell, sharpening what looked to be a bolt for a crossbow.

"The hell you come from?" Daryl asked brusquely, clearly not there to mess around.