Walking Dead: Level Up or Die Trying

Aiden and his crew marched Rick's group out into the open field in front of Cell Block A. The air was still, heavy with unease. The tension between the two groups crackled like static—Rick's people were unarmed and cornered, while Aiden's group flanked them with rifles raised, fingers steady on the triggers.

The rusted fences surrounding the prison cast long, cage-like shadows over the cracked earth, as if the place itself remembered what it used to be.

Aiden walked at the head of his formation, calm on the outside, but alert to every movement. This wasn't just a show of strength—it was a test. He had to see what kind of people Rick's group were, and whether they could be trusted. No one had earned the benefit of the doubt. Not yet.

He glanced back over his shoulder and gave Mara a sharp nod. No words. She peeled off immediately and disappeared inside the prison, heading to get Sophia.

Aiden's jaw tensed.

He wanted to ask the girl more about her past. About her mother. About what she'd been through. But she hadn't said much. Just fragments. He knew the name Carol, but Sophia had kept most of her pain locked up, close to her chest.

He couldn't risk slipping up. If he acted like he knew more than she'd told him, it would raise questions—both from Rick's group and from Sophia. So he kept it close. Played dumb. Waited.

The field felt too quiet. Aiden stepped forward, stopping a few paces in front of Rick. Their eyes met—two men who'd seen too much and trusted too little.

"Nobody dies today," Aiden said coldly, voice low but firm. "Not unless someone gives me a reason."

Rick didn't flinch. "We didn't come here to start anything."

"Good," Aiden replied, letting the silence stretch before continuing. "Then we won't have a problem."

Behind him, Aiden's group spread out, forming a perimeter. He kept his focus on Rick, but part of him was listening for the soft footsteps that would signal Mara's return.

Sophia was about to walk into the middle of all this. And when she did, everything might change.

A soft scuffle of boots on gravel broke the silence. Aiden turned slightly as Mara emerged from the cell block, guiding Sophia at her side.

The young girl's eyes swept the field cautiously until they landed on a figure at the edge of Rick's group.

She froze.

"...Mom?" Sophia's voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

The woman—Carol—spun around. Her expression shifted from stunned disbelief to wide-eyed recognition in a heartbeat.

"Sophia!" Carol rushed forward, and the girl sprinted to meet her.

They collided in a tight embrace, both holding each other like the world might rip them apart again at any second. Carol sank to her knees in the dust, clutching her daughter with trembling hands. Sophia buried her face into her mother's shoulder, her small frame shaking with emotion.

No words passed between them at first. Just sobs and the quiet sound of breath returning to lungs that had been holding it for far too long.

Aiden watched in silence. He didn't move, didn't speak. He couldn't afford to. His eyes, however, lingered—not on the reunion itself, but on the reactions it stirred.

Rick shifted uneasily. His shoulders sagged, and his jaw clenched. The guilt on his face was impossible to miss. Whether it was for losing Sophia… or something else entirely, Aiden couldn't say. But it was there—undeniable.

Sophia slowly pulled back from her mother and finally looked past her at Rick. At the others.

Her expression faltered. The joy of reunion gave way to hesitation. Her eyes flicked over the group she had once traveled with, and something in her shifted. She looked unsure now, awkward—like she wasn't sure she belonged among them anymore. Like she wasn't sure if she even wanted to.

Rick opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no words came. He just stood there, guilt weighing him down, his eyes locked with Sophia's across the distance.

No one dared interrupt the moment. Not even Aiden.

But in his mind, things were already shifting. Alliances. Loyalties. Power.

And questions.

Lots of questions.

As the emotional weight of the reunion hung in the air, Aiden finally began to move.

His boots crunched against the dry ground as he walked steadily toward Sophia and her mother. He didn't speak right away—just stood beside them, his gaze fixed on the group ahead.

Then, calmly, he looked down at Sophia.

"Which one's Rick?" he asked, voice low but direct.

Sophia hesitated, glancing at her mother. Carol gave her a small, uncertain nod.

Sophia lifted her hand slowly and pointed.

"That's him."

Aiden's eyes followed her finger.

Without a word, he turned and strode across the open space toward Rick. The others tensed. Glenn flinched. Daryl's eyes narrowed, stepping slightly forward, but Aiden's people raised their weapons just enough to remind everyone who was in control.

Before anyone could say or do a damn thing, Aiden cocked his arm back and slammed his fist into Rick's face with bone-cracking force.

Rick staggered back and hit the ground hard, landing on his ass in a cloud of dust. The impact echoed through the yard like a gunshot. Rick blinked, dazed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Gasps broke out. Glenn started forward, but stopped when he saw Aiden's crew tense again.

Aiden stood over Rick, breathing evenly, jaw tight.

"That's for leaving a child," he said coldly, "in the middle of the damn night… in a forest crawling with walkers."

Silence followed. Thick and heavy.

Rick wiped the blood from his mouth, stunned, but didn't argue.

Because he couldn't.

Aiden didn't wait for a reply. He turned his back on Rick without hesitation, walking back to Sophia's side. His message had been delivered—loud and clear.

And no one dared stop him.

The air was dead still as Aiden turned away from Rick, who was still sitting in the dirt, stunned and silent. The rest of Rick's group hadn't moved, frozen by the display of raw intent. No speeches. No threats. Just one blow that said more than words ever could.

Aiden didn't spare any of them another glance. His steps were calm as he returned to Sophia, who still stood at her mother's side, shaken but steady.

Her small hands gripped the edge of Carol's shirt as if afraid this was all a dream that might slip away.

Aiden slowed as he approached them. His tone dropped, the edge in his voice softening slightly—just enough for Sophia.

"You alright?" he asked, crouching down a little so they were eye to eye.

Sophia blinked, nodding after a second. "Y-Yeah. I think so."

Her voice was barely above a whisper. Still laced with emotion. Her eyes were rimmed red, cheeks still damp from tears, but there was something new in her face now: relief like something had been unclenched deep in her chest.

Aiden didn't press her. He just gave her a single, quiet nod—the kind that said I'm here without needing to say it.

Then, he stood slowly and turned his gaze toward Carlo.

She was still kneeling with an arm around her daughter, eyes locked on Aiden with a mix of confusion, caution, and fierce maternal energy. She hadn't spoken since Sophia had run to her. The woman looked as though she was still trying to understand whether this reunion was real or if it would be ripped away again.

Aiden looked at her not as a commander or a fighter now, but as a man trying to offer something rarely given in this world: safety.

"You're her mother?"

Carol stood slowly, hands still resting protectively on Sophia's shoulders. "Yeah," she said, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. "I'm Carol."

Aiden nodded once, as if confirming something he'd already suspected.

"She's been with us for a while now," he said, not to take credit, but to make something clear. "We found her when she was alone. Kept her safe. She's one of us."

Carol's eyes flickered. "She told me a little… but I didn't know if she'd ever—" Her voice caught.

Aiden didn't let her spiral. He took a small step forward, not aggressive, just firm. Present. Real.

"You don't have to go back with them," he said, voice lower now. "You and her both."

Carol furrowed her brow. "What?"

"I'm not asking for anything," Aiden said. "But you've seen what kind of choices they made. Leaving a child behind like that?" He glanced briefly over his shoulder at Rick's group, then back. "That doesn't fly with us."

Carol looked down at Sophia, who was now watching Aiden with something close to awe. She didn't speak, but the way she leaned against her mother said enough.

Aiden continued, his voice calm and direct. "We've built something—safe, organized. We protect each other. We don't abandon people. Not kids. Not anyone. And we don't follow leaders who treat lives like weight to be dropped when things get hard."

He paused, letting that hang.

"Whatever they were before," he added, motioning subtly toward Rick's group, "they're not that anymore. You saw what happened the moment we walked out here—who had the guns, who had the control. We don't run things with fear. We run with trust. With rules. And when people cross those lines... they answer for it."

Carol looked back at the other group. Some of them wouldn't meet her gaze. Rick had finally climbed to his feet, but he looked away, ashamed. Glenn was tense. Carl looked hurt and unsure. Daryl stood still as stone, unreadable.

But none of them stepped forward. None of them called her name.

No one asked her to stay.

"I'm not gonna make this choice for you," Aiden said, turning his full attention back to her. "But I'm offering you both something better. A real place. A real chance. A fresh start."

He stepped back, giving her the space to decide. "You don't have to answer right now. But you should know—Sophia already has a place with us. No matter what."

Carol stared at him. Then at Sophia.

And something cracked in her armor.

She pulled Sophia in tighter, whispering something that only the girl could hear. Sophia gave a small nod, eyes welling again—not with sadness, but something closer to hope.

Carol turned back to Aiden, breathing deeply, voice steady.

"If you'll have us… We'll come with you."

Aiden nodded once, firmly.

"Then you're in."

No more speeches. No more tests. That was all he needed to say.

Around them, the field remained tense, but a shift had occurred. Something solid had been claimed. A line had been drawn, and one mother had chosen what side of it she and her daughter would stand on.

And Aiden had no intention of letting them regret it.

Aiden stepped back into the dim circle of light where Rick's group had gathered, the weight of his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. His eyes locked onto Rick's with a hard, unwavering gaze—silent but commanding. Every muscle in his body was coiled, ready, his face a mask of calculated control. The air thickened as the others sensed the challenge brewing beneath the surface.

Finally, breaking the silence, Aiden spoke, his voice low and sharp, cutting through the quiet. "What will you do if we let you go?"

The question hung there like a blade poised to strike. No one moved. No one dared answer right away.

He let his gaze drift slowly across each member, reading their reactions, measuring their resolve. Then, voice steady but laced with suspicion, he added, "Is there anything—any discussion—that needs to happen? Something you haven't told me yet?"

He was forcing them to confront the reality of their situation, to reveal their intentions without the safety net of lies or deflection. Aiden knew this wasn't just about survival—it was about trust. Or the absence of it.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed subtle signs—the way a few shifted uneasily, how eyes flicked away too quickly, and the taut tension that rippled through the group.

But he said nothing about what he knew or suspected regarding Carl's injury or Shane's actions. He held that knowledge close, a secret weapon yet to be played.

The moment stretched out, heavy with unspoken truths and possibilities. Aiden waited, his stare demanding honesty and clarity before he would decide their fate.

Aiden's gaze swept over the group gathered before him, every face illuminated faintly by the flickering firelight. His eyes lingered on each figure, silently cataloging and analyzing. The tension in the air was palpable, thick and suffocating, but beneath that tension, his mind was moving faster than ever, racing through the fragments of information he had gathered from previous encounters and his instincts.

He thought about Hershal. Hershal, the steady, grounded one—he had to be tending to Carl right now, somewhere at the farm. That much was certain. Carl was lying there, wounded, fragile, probably weak from the blood loss and pain. The boy was too stubborn, too tough to admit how bad it really was, but Aiden knew better. The reality was grim, and Hershal, with his calm hands and quiet determination, would be doing everything in his power to keep Carl alive.

Aiden's mind shifted to the others. Otis and Shane—two names that carried weight, danger, and unpredictability. If Aiden's understanding was correct, they had set off together earlier that day, leaving the safety of the farm behind. Their mission: to retrieve medical supplies desperately needed for Carl's survival.

And then the darker truth settled in his thoughts like a stone sinking deep in water. Shane... Shane wouldn't just be going for supplies. No, Shane had a way of dealing with problems that was sharp, ruthless, and final. Aiden's mind replayed what he had heard and pieced together from observations—Shane's actions always carried consequences, often deadly ones.

He thought about Otis's fate. Aiden was almost certain Shane had killed Otis during that run—whether it was a calculated move or an impulsive strike, he didn't know. But the signs pointed that way, the way Shane's eyes gleamed with something harder than fear or hope, the rumors whispered among the survivors about how Shane handled threats and liabilities alike.

Yet Aiden kept all these thoughts locked tightly inside. He did not let a single word slip to Rick's group about his knowledge or suspicions. He held his silence like a shield, guarding it carefully. To reveal what he knew would be to shift the fragile balance in unpredictable ways, potentially tipping the scales toward chaos. Right now, information was power, but power wielded too soon could destroy everything.

He watched Rick, noting the weariness etched into the man's features, the burden of leadership pressing heavily on his shoulders. Carl—Rick's son—was lying somewhere out of sight, vulnerable and helpless, and Rick himself had to be torn between hope and dread. But Aiden did not speak of Carl's condition or the truth behind Otis's fate. It wasn't his place—not yet.

Instead, his mind continued to race through every possibility, every outcome that could unfold once the truth came to light. What would happen when Carl's injury became undeniable? When Hershal's quiet prayers and efforts at the farm collided with the brutal reality Shane had set in motion? How would Rick respond to the knowledge that Shane had betrayed Otis, that the fragile thread holding their group together was beginning to fray?

Aiden felt the weight of those questions like a cold wind against his skin. He knew that these things mattered deeply, but for now, he had to keep his thoughts to himself. The stare-down he'd initiated was not just a test of their intentions, but a careful gauge of their resilience and honesty.

His eyes locked once more on Rick's. The man looked back, steady and cautious, measuring Aiden's presence as if trying to read his soul. But all Aiden gave away was that calculated calm—calm-the calm of a man who had seen too much to trust easily, who knew more than he let on but chose silence as his weapon.

In the quiet between them, Aiden's mind worked tirelessly, turning over every piece of the puzzle. The farm, the wounded boy, the supply run, Shane's dark decision—all woven together into a tapestry of survival, betrayal, and hope.

And still, he said nothing.

Because sometimes, knowing when to hold your tongue was just as important as knowing when to speak.