The land lay quiet beneath a fading sun, save for the distant moans of walkers echoing through the trees. Rick sat atop his horse on a small hill overlooking the river valley—his chosen ground for the community he dreamed of building.
It was the foundation of a future.
Rick had gathered the Vatos fighters from the city to join the effort. These were the Vatos he knew from the show:
Guillermo, the de facto leader, calm and steady.
Antonio, tough and loyal.
Miguel, quick and sharp-eyed.
Eduardo, strong and dependable.
Sergio, young but fearless.
Gathered around a campfire, Rick addressed the group.
"We're no longer just surviving. We're building a home. We need a name—a symbol of what we stand for."
Guillermo spoke up, "We fight like brothers. Like the right arm that protects the body."
Antonio nodded, "The Right Arm — strong, reliable."
Rick smiled. "The Right Arm it is."
The name felt right. It represented their unity, strength, and purpose.
The following days were grueling.
Rick led efforts to clear fields for farming, while Morgan and Guillermo organized patrols around the perimeter.
Walls would be built using fallen trees and scrap metal, with natural barriers like the river providing defense.
Elderly residents were settled in safe shelters near the water.
Weapons were inventoried — rifles, shotguns, pistols, and grenades — all from Rick's police haul and the Vatos' supplies.
On the third evening, their preparations were tested.
A small horde of walkers shuffled through the woods, attracted by the noise.
Morgan shouted, "Walkers inbound!"
Rick mounted his horse, taking aim with precision. He picked off the nearest walkers, while Antonio and Miguel guarded the barricades with shotguns blazing.
Tino and Duane ushered the elderly inside, locking doors and windows.
After a tense standoff, the walkers fell silent.
Rick exhaled deeply, "This is just the beginning. We must be ready."
That night, by the firelight, the group shared stories of loss, survival, and hope.
Morgan spoke of the loneliness after his wife's death, and how Duane gave him purpose.
Guillermo told of his time protecting the elderly in Atlanta.
Rick stood on the hill as dawn broke over the clearing fields.
The Right Arm had taken its first steps—walls to build, crops to plant, defenses to fortify.
More challenges awaited: walkers, hostile groups, internal struggles.
But for the first time in a long time, Rick felt hope.
They were more than survivors.
They were The Right Arm.
After days of grueling labor, the walls of The Right Arm stood tall and formidable. The large gate, reinforced with steel and wood, was the centerpiece—a symbol of their newfound security. Leftover supplies were carefully inventoried and stored, ensuring they could withstand future challenges.
Rick stood at the gate, scanning the horizon. The community had become a beacon of hope in a world consumed by chaos. But the fight was far from over.
Before venturing out to find his family, Rick knew the importance of strengthening those who would protect the community in his absence.
He gathered the Vatos fighters, Morgan, Duane, and the rest of the able-bodied survivors.
"Listen up," Rick said, his voice steady and commanding. "Walls and gates can keep walkers out, but it's our skills, our discipline that'll keep us alive. We're going to train hard."
Rick introduced tactical drills based on his special forces background. Mornings began with endurance runs through the forest, focusing on stamina and agility.
Afternoons were for weapons training: marksmanship with rifles and pistols, shotgun handling, and even improvised melee combat for close encounters.
He demonstrated silent takedowns, situational awareness, and team communication techniques.
Guillermo and Antonio picked up the tactics quickly, passing the knowledge to others. Even the elderly learned basic defense, building morale.
Rick emphasized, "We move as one. We fight as one."
Over the following days, the group transformed.
Where once was uncertainty and fear, now there was confidence and discipline.
Morgan, Duane, and the Vatos fighters became more than survivors—they were a trained unit.
Rick watched them with pride, knowing the community's survival depended on their readiness.
One evening, after a hard day of training, Rick stood alone at the gate, staring toward the distant city skyline.
He thought of his family—Carl, Lori, Shane—and especially Daryl, whose skills and loyalty he desperately needed.
But his thoughts grew complicated.
Lori.
The memories of her flickered—a mixture of love, pain, and conflict.
Rick sighed. "If I find Lori… if Shane is still out there... I have to let go of the past."
His focus sharpened. Carl—his son—was the priority now. His survival mattered most.
Rick clenched his fists. "I can't wait any longer. The city is dangerous, but I have to find them."
He called Guillermo and Morgan aside.
"I'm heading into the city to find my family. This community—The Right Arm—is ready to stand without me for a while."
Morgan nodded gravely, "We'll hold down the fort here.
Guillermo nodded.
At dawn, Rick mounted his horse, the morning mist swirling around him, and said to himself "I will use my knowledge to my advantage, I will be one step ahead".
The walls of The Right Arm faded behind him as he headed toward the city—the heart of danger and hope.
But Rick was ready.
For Carl, for the community, for the future.