Chapter Text
Alicia.
She always remembered. There were faint memories that appeared in dreams, places that she felt she'd been before, colors and words that should have meant nothing, but that made her feel. When she was a kid, she played that she was a warrior and a leader. She trained herself to be strong and fearless. But soon, other things became more real, more important, more urgent. And then she knew, as with all the things we come to know when we grow, that it has been just her imagination. A kids playground. The Warrior, the Leader, that was not who she was. They had been only dreams and games, and what was left, what she remembered, were just echos of her imagination.
When everything goes to hell, the echos become louder. The destruction, the fear, the violence, the blood. They feel familiar. She has done this before. Fighting. Surviving. She knows how to survive. But when her instincts thell her to run, to protect herself she leaves him behind, and she knows she is not a leader. When she kills her first walker, she is disgusted, and cries, and knows she is not a warrior. After a few days, a few deaths, and a few cries, everything feels familiar, even the running and the fear. And she knows, that is the way humans work: we adapt fast to survive. And so the echos go unlistened.
So, when she sees her for the first time, in the midst of the apocalypse, she knows is just a dream. She hasn't eaten or slept well in days, she is tired and thirsty. An illusion caused by dehydration, that is what the girl is. Even so, she stops to watch the girl fight the walkers. There is three of them. Well, there were. The girl killed them, destroyed them. Two bullets, directly to their heads. It shouldn't be possible, she must have counted them wrong; no one is that good. Even if they have two guns. But they are dead, and the girl is gone. Her instinct tells her to go find her, to not let go. But she knows it was just an illusion. So she doesn't follow and the memory haunts her.
When she sees her again, from the ground while waiting for her death, she can only see her back. It's been days, but she knows is the same girl. Two guns, the sound of fire, and the walkers that had been chasing her are on the ground. Destroyed by this girl, like killing is her nature. When she finally turns, there is no death in her eyes, no anger. "We need to go", she says while helping her stand. "There are more coming". The hands are strong, hard, and more familiar than anything else she has touched before. Looking at those blue eyes, she knows she's been wrong all along.