The Walking Dead: Evil Survivor System

Lucas was supposed to be the fighter in the family. The one who refused to give in, no matter how many rounds cancer had gone against him. But as the years dragged on, it became clear he was fighting alone.

The sterile hospital room had become his prison and his family? They were just visitors. Short obligatory stays filled with empty smiles and no talk. He couldn't ignore the sighs when they thought he couldn't hear, the forced cheerfulness that melted into irritation the moment they stepped outside.

He had overheard them before, of course. Whispers in the hallway. Complaints about the medical bills, about how much work they were missing, about how he was just "dragging things out." But he always told himself they didn't mean it. They were just tired. He was a burden—he knew that.

But tonight, as the rain lashed against the hospital windows and thunder rattled the walls, Lucas realized just how deep their resentment ran.

The door creaked open, and in walked Nate, his older brother, with their father, Richard. They didn't look upset. They didn't look worried. They looked... happy.

"You're awake," Nate said, pulling up a chair beside the bed.

Lucas tried to smile, but his strength was waning. "Yeah. Barely. Thought you were at work."

"We wanted to talk," Richard said, his tone neutral. Too neutral.

Lucas glanced between them. Something was off. "About what?"

"About this," Nate began, gesturing vaguely around the room. "The treatments. The hospital stays. Everything."

Lucas frowned. "What about it?"

Richard sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like this conversation was exhausting him. "Lucas, we've been doing this for years now. The treatments, the bills—it's draining everything. Your mother won't be able to afford her jet OR yacht, Nate's time is wasted on staying with you. Do you know how much he's had to put his life on hold for you?"

Lucas's throat tightened. "I didn't ask for any of this," he said quietly.

"No, you didn't," Nate said, leaning forward. "And neither did we. We'll tell the public you had an accident. I missed a date for you. Dad sold one of the islands. We've given up everything so you can cling to... what? Another few months? A year?"

Lucas stared at them, the weight of their words sinking in. "You... you think I want this? You think I like being a burden?"

"Let's not make this harder than it needs to be," Richard said, his voice cold. "We've already spoken to the doctors. They agree that hospice is the best option now."

"No," Lucas said, shaking his head. "I'm not giving up. I'm not done fighting!"

"You're done when we say you're done," Nate snapped, standing abruptly. "You don't get it, do you?. We're doing this because we're done. You're a black hole, Lucas. You take and take, and we get nothing back. We're tired of pretending."

Lucas's heart shattered. They weren't doing this because they had to. They were doing it because they wanted to. Because they didn't care anymore.

"I'm your son," Lucas said, his voice cracking. "I'm your brother."

"You were," Richard said coldly. "Now you're just a reminder of what we've lost."

The betrayal hit harder than any pain his body had endured. Before Lucas could respond, Nate reached over and pressed the call button. A nurse entered moments later, her expression somber as she prepared the syringe.

"No," Lucas whispered, his voice weak. "Please. Don't do this."

But neither of them looked at him as the nurse injected the sedative into his IV.

As his vision blurred and darkness crept in, Lucas's last thought wasn't of sadness or fear. It was rage. Burning, unrelenting rage. He wouldn't trust them, he couldn't trust anyone.

He awoke in darkness, his body floating in a void that felt both suffocating and endless. A figure stood before him, cloaked in shadows, its face obscured.

"Lucas," it said, its voice like shards of ice.

"Am I dead?" he asked, his voice trembling with anger.

"Not yet," the figure replied. "But your family ensured your life was severed before its time."

Lucas's fists clenched. "They killed me. They didn't even care."

"No," the figure said, stepping closer. "And their betrayal has disrupted the balance of fate. You were meant to live longer, but their actions have twisted the thread of your destiny. Now, I offer you a choice."

"What choice?" Lucas spat.

"You can pass on," the figure said. "Or you can be reborn in a new world—a world where survival is earned, not given. A world where trust is a weakness and evil is a weapon. The Walking Dead."

Lucas didn't hesitate. "I want to be strong."

"Very well," the figure chuckled, its voice echoing. "But know this: in this new life, the only rule is to survive. Survival requires sacrifice and cruelty. If you have the heart to be a villain, be one. That or die… again. It can be like one of those uh web-nu-vils."

The void shattered, and Lucas fell.