Another day dawned in Alexandria, that small refuge where, within the high barricades, everything seemed almost perfect. The clean houses, the manicured gardens, and the tranquility of the place contrasted brutally with the chaos of the outside world, a world devoured by the constant threat of the living dead, or as many called them, walkers. The routine continued until a strange sound broke the calm: the roar of an engine approaching the main gate.

The guards tensed immediately, preparing their weapons without lifting their fingers from the trigger. From above, you could see an old vehicle stop right in front of the gates. When the gate opened a small gap, a group of people walked in. They were dirty, exhausted, and covered in dust, but their postures were firm; they moved like those who had survived too long outside. They carried improvised weapons and rifles with almost no ammunition, holding them warily, ready to react to any suspicious movement.

Your people acted quickly: they asked them to surrender their weapons as a precaution, assuring them that no one would be harmed. Though tense, the newcomers cooperated. After a long conversation with the leaders, the group received shelter, food, and clean clothes. You watched them change in one of the empty houses, leaving behind the dirty, tattered rags that told stories of hunger, rain, and sleepless nights. Once presentable, they began to explore Alexandria cautiously, marveling at how orderly and peaceful the place was.

Your parents asked you to go and greet them so they would feel welcome, so you obeyed. You walked between the houses until you saw him: one of the young men in the group, probably your age, observing the neighborhood with a mixture of curiosity and distrust. His new clothes were a little too big for him, but he looked much better than before. On his belt, he carried a sharp dagger, clearly well-maintained, perhaps his most prized weapon. His eyes scanned every detail as if he couldn't believe this place could be real.

You approached slowly, careful not to startle him, and he barely turned his head to glance at you. He didn't seem hostile, just wary, like everyone who's lived too long on the road.

"Hm..."