The Walking Dead (Video Game) fiction,
March On
Desc: Being a music major is hard enough, but it’s even harder when your favorite non-major professor gets arrested for murder. Nothing could ruin this day more… right?
SLOOOOOWWWburn story following TWDG from season one to season three.
Part 1 of 5 for episode one
part 2
Word Count: 3.3k
The hallway outside the history department smelled faintly of old paper and lemony floor cleaner, a scent that had long ago become familiar to Elise in the quiet, comforting way certain campus spaces did after a semester or two. She had always liked it here. Even during the busiest hours, the corridor carried a subdued kind of energy- voices softened by the tall ceilings, the gentle rustle of turning notebook pages drifting from open classroom doors, the occasional squeak of shoes on tile. It was a place where people slowed down without realizing it.
Today, though, the hallway felt different.
Students still passed by in groups, backpacks bouncing lightly against their shoulders, but their voices were quieter than usual, threaded with something tense and uncertain. Conversations broke off as people noticed others listening. Eyes darted toward one particular door before quickly looking away again.
Elise stood halfway down the corridor with her clarinet case hanging from one shoulder, staring at the closed office door ahead of her. The small brass plaque mounted beside it read:
Professor Lee Everett — American History
Nothing about the door had changed. The same scuff mark sat near the bottom where a rolling cart had bumped it last semester, and the corkboard beside the frame was still cluttered with curling flyers advertising campus lectures and faded office hour schedules. It looked exactly the way it had every other day she had walked past it. And yet the space around it felt strangely heavy, like the air itself had thickened.
“…they said he killed someone…” A soft whisper drifted past her from a pair of students walking by.
“…a state senator, I think…”
“…I had him last year, he seemed so normal…”
Elise’s stomach twisted as the words reached her, and she quickly looked away from the door.
Normal. The word echoed in her mind with an uncomfortable persistence.
Because Professor Everett had been normal.
More than that, really. He had been patient in the way only the best teachers seemed to be, capable of explaining complicated historical arguments with an ease that made them feel obvious afterward. He had never made students feel stupid for asking questions. Instead, he encouraged them to ask more. He had been the professor whose lectures people actually showed up for early.
And now-
Now he was sitting in a jail cell somewhere.
For murder.
Elise closed her eyes briefly and drew in a slow breath, hoping to steady the uneasy feeling settling in her chest. The whispers from passing students continued, each one adding another layer to the growing tension hanging over the hallway. But when she tried to think of Professor Everett, she didn’t picture the grainy mugshot circulating around social media or the news articles speculating about his motives. Instead, her mind pulled her somewhere else entirely, back to the quiet warmth of his office one rainy afternoon two weeks earlier.
---
Rain had been tapping steadily against the tall window in Professor Everett’s office, each drop sliding down the glass in thin silver lines that blurred the campus outside into shifting shapes of gray and green. Elise sat in the chair across from his desk with her clarinet case leaning against her leg, her fingers twisting nervously around the strap as she stared at the printed essay lying between them. The room smelled faintly of coffee and old books. Shelves lined nearly every wall, crowded with thick textbooks, historical biographies, and the occasional battered paperback novel that looked far older than the others. Professor Everett leaned back in his chair, one ankle resting casually over the opposite knee, studying her with a thoughtful expression that suggested he had already figured out exactly what she was struggling with.
“You’re overthinking it,” he said at last. Elise frowned immediately.
“That’s easy for you to say.”
His mouth curved in a small, amused smile.
“I assure you, it’s not.”
The essay assignment lay open on the desk between them, her carefully typed paragraphs highlighted with sticky notes marking places she still wasn’t satisfied with. The topic was one she genuinely cared about, protest music during the civil rights movement, but every time she reread the paper something felt off. The argument wasn’t strong enough, and Elise couldn’t shake the feeling that she had missed some essential point. Professor Everett tapped the edge of the paper lightly with one finger.
“You’ve got a solid argument here,” he said. “You just don’t trust it yet.”
Elise leaned forward slightly, frustration tugging at her voice.
“But what if I’m missing something important?”
“That’s always possible.” She groaned.
“That’s not helpful.”
His quiet chuckle filled the room.
“History isn’t about being perfectly right,” he replied. “It’s about asking the right questions.”
He stood then, crossing the room toward the wall of books behind his desk. His fingers skimmed along the spines for a moment before he pulled out a small, worn paperback and held it out to her. Elise took it and glanced down at the cover.
“Bob Dylan lyrics?”
“Exactly.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him.
“You’re telling me to use Bob Dylan for a history paper?”
“I’m telling you,” he said as he returned to his chair, “that history is made by people. And people don’t just write laws and speeches. They write songs. They tell stories. They protest in whatever way they can.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk.
“And sometimes the things that move people the most aren’t the official documents preserved in archives,” he continued. “Sometimes it’s the voices that never make it into textbooks.”
Elise stared down at the book again, slowly realizing how well it actually fit the argument she had been trying to make.
“That’s… actually kind of perfect.”
“I thought you might think so.”
A smile tugged at her lips. Conversations with Professor Everett always had this effect. Problems that had seemed overwhelming suddenly felt manageable once he reframed them. Not easier, exactly. Just clearer.
“You know,” he said casually after a moment, “you remind me of one of my students from years ago.”
Elise glanced up.
“Oh yeah?”
“Bright. Curious. Terrible at believing in their own work.”
She gave him a dry look.
“Wow. Sounds like a great student.”
“They were.”
“What happened to them?”
For a moment, Professor Everett didn’t answer right away. Something in his expression shifted, subtle enough that Elise almost missed it.
“They stopped caring what other people thought,” he said eventually. Elise tilted her head. “That sounds like a good thing,” she said, slightly confused as to where Professor Everett was going with this.
“It was.”
Rain continued its steady rhythm against the window, filling the brief silence between them. Elise then asked something she had been wondering about since the start of the semester.
“Why do you teach history?” Professor Everett leaned back again, considering the question carefully.
“Most people ask that like it’s a joke,” he said.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
He folded his hands together on the desk.
“History matters because people forget,” he said slowly. “They forget what happened. They forget why things changed. They forget the cost of those changes.” His voice remained calm, but there was a weight behind the words that made Elise listen more closely.
“And when people forget,” he continued, “they make the same mistakes again.”
She studied him thoughtfully.
“You make it sound like the world’s always one bad decision away from falling apart.”
A faint smile crossed his face.
“In some ways, it is.”
Elise laughed softly.
“That’s kind of depressing.”
“Maybe.”
He glanced out the rain-streaked window for a moment before turning back.
“But it also means the opposite is true.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means one good decision can change things too.”
Elise sat quietly for a moment, thinking about that.
Then she picked up the essay again.
“…Do you think I’ll ever actually do something important?”
The question slipped out before she could stop herself. Professor Everett didn’t laugh, and he also didn’t dismiss it. Instead, he regarded her with the same thoughtful attention he gave difficult historical questions.
“I think,” he said carefully, “that most people who end up doing important things don’t realize it at the time.”
Elise frowned slightly.
“That’s not very reassuring.”
He chuckled.
“Maybe not.”
Then his expression softened.
“But I think you care about the world more than most people your age.”
She blinked.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“It’s supposed to be the truth.”
Elise felt a faint warmth creep into her cheeks.
“Well… thanks.”
Professor Everett finally picked up the red pen resting beside the paper and began marking small notes in the margins.
“You’ll do fine, Elise.”
She stood, lifting her clarinet case and slinging the strap over her shoulder.
“I hope so.”
As she reached the door, his voice stopped her.
“Just remember something.”
She glanced back.
“You don’t have to have everything figured out right now.”
A small smile tugged at her mouth.
“Good,” she said. “Because I definitely don’t.”
Neither of them knew then that it would be one of their last conversations.
---
Elise blinked and found herself back in the hallway outside his office, the memory fading slowly as the quiet tension of the present settled over her again. Her chest felt tight. How could someone so caring, so kind to her, kill someone? She adjusted the strap of her clarinet case and forced herself to start walking toward the exit. Band rehearsal was in less than twenty minutes, and standing here staring at a door that wouldn’t open again wasn’t going to help anything. Still, as she stepped outside into the warm Georgia afternoon, one thought refused to leave her mind. Professor Lee Everett had always believed history could turn on a single decision.
Elise just didn’t realize yet that she was about to live through one.
---
The walk across campus usually helped clear Elise’s head. The University of Georgia campus stretched wide and green under the late afternoon sun, brick buildings glowing warmly in the light while students crossed sidewalks in every direction. Normally the noise of it—the chatter, the music from someone’s phone speaker, the distant rumble of buses—blended into something almost comforting. Today it just made the unease in her chest feel sharper. Everywhere she looked, someone was staring at their phone.
At first she thought nothing of it. That wasn’t exactly unusual on a college campus. Maybe they were checking bus routes, looking at the dining hall menus, there were so many reasonable explanations. But the expressions were wrong- too focused, too tense. One girl standing near the library had her hand over her mouth as she stared at her screen. A group of guys outside the student center were arguing loudly about something Elise couldn’t quite hear as she passed.
“…I’m telling you, that’s not real-”
“Dude, it’s literally on three different news channels!”
“…people don’t just-”
Their voices faded behind her as she continued down the path toward the band practice field.
Elise adjusted the strap of her clarinet case on her shoulder and tried not to think about it. The last twenty-four hours had already been overwhelming enough without adding whatever new drama the internet had decided to panic about today.
Her thoughts drifted back, inevitably, to the hallway outside Professor Everett’s office. To the plaque on the door. To the whispers.
Murder.
The word still didn’t sit right in her mind.
Every article she had seen repeated the same details: a state senator found dead in Atlanta, evidence linking the crime to Professor Lee Everett, an arrest made early that morning. The headlines framed it in the blunt, sensational way news always did, reducing a complicated life to a single shocking sentence.
UGA Professor Arrested for Murder.
Elise still couldn’t reconcile that headline with the man who had calmly handed her a book of Bob Dylan lyrics and told her history was about asking better questions.
She reached the edge of the marching band practice field just as a familiar brassy note rang out across the grass. The sound snapped her attention back to the present. Dozens of students were already scattered across the field, warming up in small groups. Low brass were in a circle doing what could only be described as a ‘sacrificial warmup ritual’ while the majorette were stretching near the front while talking about their days. A few percussionists were tapping out rhythms near the sideline, the steady thump of bass drums echoing faintly off the surrounding buildings. The chaos of it was oddly comforting. Band had been Elise’s lifeline her entire life. It was tough growing up with a single mom in a new city. Her mom and older brother had worked doubles for weeks in order to afford her first clarinet, something she was hoping to repay one day. The sounds of her entire life comforted Elise, and that’s exactly what she needed right now.
“Elise!”
She turned toward the voice and spotted Matthew jogging toward her from the fifty-yard line, case tucked under one arm. His dark hair was sticking up in several directions like he had run his hands through it too many times already that afternoon. Matthew slowed as he reached her, studying her face with a slight frown.
“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”
Elise forced a small smile.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Matthew didn’t look convinced.
“You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where your brain’s doing backflips over something you won’t tell me about.”
She rolled her eyes lightly and started opening her clarinet case.
“I don’t have a look.”
“You absolutely have a look.”
Matthew raised an eyebrow as he watched her assemble the instrument with careful, practiced movements.
“Elise,” he continued, lowering his voice slightly, “your favorite professor got arrested for murder this morning.”
She froze for a fraction of a second.
Matthew noticed.
“…You saw the news, right?”
“Yeah,” she said quietly.
He shifted his weight awkwardly.
“That’s… pretty messed up.”
Elise slid the reed carefully onto the mouthpiece, focusing on the tiny adjustments required to line it up perfectly.
“Mm-hmm.”
Matthew waited.
When she didn’t say anything else, he sighed softly.
“Look, I know you liked the guy. You talked about his class all the time. But-”
“I’m fine,” she cut in quickly.
Matthew studied her for another moment.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
She clipped the ligature into place and finally looked up at him, forcing a more convincing smile.
“Seriously, Matt. I’m good. It’s weird, obviously, but it’s not like I knew him personally.”
Matthew didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded.
“If you say so.”
Across the field, the drum major blew his whistle.
“Alright, band! Concert set!”
Groans and scattered laughter rippled through the group as everyone began moving toward their positions. Matthew lifted his trumpet.
“Well,” he said, “guess we’re about to get yelled at for the next two hours.”
Elise chuckled faintly.
“Some things never change.”
They jogged to their spots on the field, falling into the familiar grid formation of white yard lines and carefully spaced intervals.
For a while, rehearsal went exactly the way it always did. The drum major climbed onto the podium and played with his whistle. The band launched into long tones, the sound swelling across the field in a powerful wave of brass and woodwinds. Elise allowed herself to fully concentrate on her work- adjust posture, tighten timing, consistent breaths. She focused on the music, the steady pattern of breathing and finger movement calming her from the days horrors,
The sun dipped lower in the sky and slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tension in her chest began to loosen.
Suddenly, a voice shouted from the sideline.
At first Elise didn’t notice it. The band was in the middle of a run-through of one of their halftime pieces, the music loud enough to drown out most outside noise. But then the drum major abruptly cut them off.
“Halt!”
The sudden silence rang in Elise’s ears. She lowered her clarinet slightly, glancing around in confusion. That was when she saw the man walking onto the field.
He had come from the direction of the parking lot, stumbling unevenly across the grass toward the center of the practice formation. His clothes were dirty, streaked with dark stains that looked almost black in the fading light.
For a moment, Elise assumed he was just some random guy who had wandered onto the field by mistake. It happened occasionally, lost students, curious visitors, the occasional drunk freshman.
One of the staff members, a tall man named Dr. Ramirez who usually handled drill, immediately started walking toward him.
“Hey!” Ramirez called out sharply. “Field’s closed right now!”
The man didn’t respond, he just kept moving forward in that same strange, unsteady way. Ramirez frowned and quickened his pace.
“Sir, you can’t be out here-”
What happened next unfolded so quickly Elise’s brain struggled to process it.
The man lunged.
There was no warning. No hesitation. One second Ramirez was reaching out to stop him, the next the stranger had slammed into him with a ferocity that knocked both of them to the ground. For a split second, everyone on the field just stared.
Then Ramirez screamed.
It was a horrible sound- raw, shocked, filled with pain. The band erupted into chaos.
“What the hell-”
“Is that guy biting him?!”
“Someone call 911!”
Elise’s heart started hammering as she took a few stunned steps forward, her clarinet still clutched in her hands. On the ground, the stranger was on top of Ramirez, his head jerking violently as he-
God.
He was biting him. Matthew appeared beside her, eyes wide.
“What the hell is happening?”
“I—I don’t know!”
A few students ran toward the scene while others backed away in horror. Someone dropped a cymbal with a loud metallic crash that made Elise flinch.
“Get him off!” someone shouted.
Two students grabbed the attacker and tried to pull him away. The man twisted violently in their grip, snarling in a way that sounded more animal than human, then turned and bit one of them.
Blood splattered across the grass.
The screaming got louder as people started running in every direction.
Elise felt her stomach drop as the realization slowly crept into her mind. Something was terribly, horribly wrong. Matthew grabbed her arm.
“Elise,” he said, still watching the scene across the field, “we need to go.”
More people were collapsing now. The bitten student was thrashing on the ground, clutching his arm while others tried desperately to drag him away. Across the field, another figure was staggering toward them from the parking lot. Then another. And another. Before anyone knew what was happening, there were maybe 50 creatures headed for the field
Elise stared as the pieces began falling into place- The news stories, the panicked conversations she had overheard earlier, the strange tension hanging over campus. it wasn’t because of Lee Everett, it was because of this.
“…Matt,” she whispered.
He followed her gaze.
“…oh my God.”
The figures stumbling onto the field moved the same way the first man had- slow, uneven steps, arms hanging limply at their sides. The nearest group of students screamed and scattered.
“Elise!” Matthew shouted. “Move!”
Her body finally obeyed, grabbing Matthew’s hand she turned and ran. Around her, the band dissolved into complete chaos as dozens of students fled in every direction, instruments clattering to the ground as fear overtook everything else.
Behind them, the screaming continued. And somewhere deep in Elise’s mind, one terrible thought began to take shape. History had just changed.
Only this time, she was living through it.
---
next part ao3 link
Part one of episode one is done! Yay! Please leave any feedback you have in the comments, I’m still getting used to tumblr :)
