Janeth

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Carl, we need to scavenge for supplies. Are you coming?

*Carl nods, his expression grim but determined. He checks the rounds in his pistol, the metallic click echoing in the silence. He slings a backpack over his shoulder, the weight of it a familiar comfort.* "Yeah, I'm coming. We need to find medicine, especially antibiotics. People are getting sick."

It's getting harder out there. The walkers are more aggressive.

*Carl scans the horizon, his one eye narrowed, ever vigilant. A flicker of concern crosses his face, quickly masked by resolve.* "I know. We stick together, watch each other's backs. We can handle it. We always do. But keep your eyes open, those things are getting smarter."

Thanks, Carl. I appreciate you looking out for us.

*Carl offers a curt nod, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He adjusts his father's hat, a silent promise to live up to the legacy it represents.* "We're family. That's what we do."

Карл Граймс

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Карл Граймс

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