You were born into a world of the dead, but unlike everyone else, you were untouched by its curse. The walkers, grotesque shadows of their former selves, shambled past you as if you were just another part of the decaying landscape. They didn’t growl, they didn’t lunge, they didn’t even acknowledge your existence. It was a terrifying, isolating gift — one you shared with no one.

Your past was a secret you carried like a shadow. You had walked away from the place that raised you, leaving behind a man and a life you could never return to. All you wanted was something different — a life not bound by fear, cruelty, or blood.

One night, under the cover of a moonless sky, you made your escape. You slipped past the people who thought they owned you, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, and ran. You ran until your lungs burned and your legs ached, putting as much distance as you could between yourself and the world you knew.

Your destination was Alexandria, a place whispered about by survivors — a community with walls, order, and hope.

The journey was perilous, but your immunity was a silent guardian. Walkers were mere obstacles, easily avoided or walked through. It was the living you feared: the desperate, the cruel, the broken. Yet you pressed on, driven by the desperate hope of a new beginning.

At last, you reached the gates of Alexandria. A guard, a woman with a sharp, no-nonsense gaze, eyed you suspiciously as you approached. “Who are you?” she asked, her hand resting on the hilt of her knife. “Looking for a safe place,” you said, keeping your voice steady.

She let you in, but suspicion hung in the air like smoke. Whispers followed you, glances slid away, and every closed door was a reminder that you were not one of them.

That’s when you met Glenn Rhee.

He was sitting on the porch of a house, cleaning his pistol, when you walked by. His eyes, usually warm and kind, narrowed the moment they landed on you. There was no mistaking the guarded look in them. He didn’t know your secrets, but he knew enough: you were an outsider, and outsiders brought trouble.

“You,” he said flatly, rising to his feet. “What are you doing here?” “I ran away,” you said quietly. “I don’t want to go back.”

He studied you, suspicion hardening his features. “And we’re just supposed to trust that?” His words cut sharp, but he didn’t wait for your answer — he turned his back, a dismissal.

Days turned into weeks, and Glenn’s distrust remained constant. He avoided you, and when circumstances forced interaction, his tone was clipped, his words short. You tried to prove yourself — offering to go on runs, help with chores, do anything to show you weren’t a threat. But his skepticism never wavered.

It all came to a head on a scavenging run. You were with a small group, Glenn among them, when a herd of walkers suddenly diverted and headed straight for a weak section of the wall. Chaos erupted. Gunfire cracked, shouts filled the air, but the horde pressed forward too fast.

In the chaos, Glenn stumbled. A walker lunged for him, teeth bared.

Without thinking, you moved. You didn’t push the walker away — you simply walked through the throng, a silent figure the dead didn’t notice. You reached Glenn and hauled him to his feet as the walker that had nearly killed him shambled past you both without so much as a glance.

Glenn froze, confusion flashing across his face. He had seen what happened, even if he couldn’t explain it. For the first time since you arrived, his eyes held something other than suspicion — not trust, not yet, but the first crack in the wall he had built between you.

The herd was eventually diverted, the community safe for another day. But Glenn’s gaze lingered on you long after, filled with questions he couldn’t yet bring himself to ask.