It had been quite some time since Jason left the prison, which was still under renovation. However, the achievements made so far had been unimaginable just months ago.
Five months had passed since he left that place. If everything followed the course of the main events, in about a month, the events of the third season would begin. But Jason was more than prepared for that. He hadn't been increasing his power outside the prison for nothing.
…
At that moment, in the streets of Atlanta—once desolate and silent—the atmosphere was completely different. Now, the area was bustling with movement, with groups of people pushing forward to get closer to a wire fence guarded by at least a dozen soldiers.
The soldiers, with impassive expressions, wore a bandana on their right arm with two bright lines and the letters "S.C.T." embroidered on it. For them, containing the crowd was just another routine task, far from extraordinary.
Just a few months ago, seeing one or two people on these streets was a rare event. However, the recent establishment of a refuge and the massive walker-clearing campaigns had attracted many survivors. Scattered groups had begun arriving in search of a safe place.
Everyone wanted to survive. But beyond that, they sought leadership. A leader without ambition or intelligence was a dead end in this devastated world. Now that this refuge represented an opportunity, no one wanted to be left outside.
With the constant influx of people, the number of survivors in this part of the city had already surpassed eight hundred. Even so, everyone had to be patient. The wait to be accepted into the refuge was long, and not everyone would make it through.
"Attention! All survivors wishing to enter the refuge, make sure to bring your belongings. Form an orderly line and wait your turn. You will be screened for any signs of infection, and your weapons will be confiscated for security reasons. Do not lose your identification bandana, and avoid causing trouble."
The voice echoed through the street, which was sealed off with wire fences. In front of the entrance, a line of at least forty people waited anxiously, their faces reflecting a mixture of distrust and exhaustion. Meanwhile, heavily armed soldiers stood to the side, scanning the area with serious expressions, keeping the situation under control.
Beyond the line, an even larger group of survivors slowly approached, advancing with the hope of finding a safe haven.
Outside, military trucks were lined up in an orderly fashion. The troops escorting the civilians gathered nearby, maintaining a disciplined structure as they listened to the instructions of the officer in charge.
"You will have water, food, clothing, and a warm bed here." The high-ranking officer continued at the entrance. "We know the situation is difficult, but once inside, you will receive detailed information about the state of the world. Former soldiers, nurses, doctors, and anyone with military service experience will be called upon to contribute to the refuge's security."
The first group of survivors accepted into the S.C.T. refuge in Atlanta was not large, barely a hundred people. Under the supervision of a dozen soldiers, they entered one by one, following instructions.
Upon reaching the admission lines, each person went through a brief interview. It was a quick process, but necessary to get a better understanding of each new member before granting them full access to the refuge.
The questions varied from person to person as they stepped forward to join the S.C.T.:
"What is your specialty?"
"Age?"
"How many walkers have you eliminated so far?"
"Have you killed anyone? Why?"
These were essential questions for evaluating the newcomers, but everyone knew that, with so little time, it was impossible to truly know each person entering the refuge.
For this reason, the refuge was divided into two main areas. The first was an observation zone for newcomers, where their behavior was monitored before fully integrating them. The second was the core of the refuge, where supplies and weapons were stored, and a hierarchical order was maintained.
At that moment, a young man stepped forward until he stood before a soldier. His tense posture and the unease in his gaze betrayed him—he was nervous. The soldier, accustomed to such reactions, quickly approached to conduct a brief inspection.
He gave him a quick look before speaking in a firm but friendly tone. "Welcome. What's your name, friend?"
"I… I'm Issac, sir. Is this place really as safe as they say on the radio?" Issac asked, his voice filled with uncertainty. Seeing soldiers these days was rare, and the situation had left him confused.
The soldier offered him a slight smile and said, "Don't worry. You'll be safe here. We have resources and the right personnel to protect everyone who becomes part of our community. Little by little, we're reclaiming the city—this is a safe place."
Hearing the doubts and insecurities of many survivors, the soldier understood their fears. Patiently, he answered each of them without exception. Large groups like this were uncommon in these times, but if someone took the initiative to organize them, it meant an opportunity to build something new and secure.
Observing the people still waiting in line, the soldier turned his attention back to Issac. He briefly examined his posture and movements before nodding.
"Alright, follow all procedures, and you'll be accepted into this community without any issues."
Issac nodded and moved toward the entrance. He crossed the wire fence and, upon reaching the door, hesitated for a few seconds before stepping inside the refuge.
His eyes scanned the place with curiosity. Inside, numerous heavily armed soldiers patrolled the area, while enormous trucks towed abandoned vehicles from the streets. Men in helmets and green vests worked in an organized manner, some moving back and forth with assigned tasks.
In the distance, a lonely and empty street contrasted with the buildings, where people were constantly entering and exiting. The refuge appeared far more structured and functional than Issac had imagined.
Just as he was about to observe in more detail, a voice beside him pulled him from his thoughts.
"Please take a seat. We will conduct a blood test, and you will need to answer a few questions."
"Yes!" Issac responded with a reassuring smile.
The interior of the refuge impressed him. There were no corpses, no evident filth—everything was surprisingly clean and orderly. His first impression of the place exceeded his expectations.
After completing the registration process, answering questions, and receiving a brief orientation on the refuge's rules, Issac was given a bandana with the community's initials and the level of authority assigned to him.
The weapons he carried were confiscated, but that didn't bother Issac. He knew that if he managed to become a refuge guard, he would ascend to the second level of authority and gain access to weapons for personal defense without any issues.
"Keep moving, don't stop!" ordered a soldier stationed not far away, watching the newcomers.
One by one, the survivors were guided toward a military truck.
"Alright!" someone in the line responded.
Adjusting the strap of his backpack, Issac climbed into the vehicle along with the others. Once the truck was full, the engine roared to life, and the convoy began to move slowly through the cleared streets.
What surprised Isaac the most was the size of the shelter. The area was completely free of walkers, yet curiously, many streets and buildings remained uninhabited. His curiosity was noticed by one of the soldiers, who decided to clarify the situation.
"We are clearing out this part of Atlanta," he explained proudly and added, "Before occupying an area, we must ensure it is completely secure. We can't risk a horde of hundreds of thousands of walkers breaking in here."
Saying this, he pulled a radio from his vest and pressed a button.
"Miss Anna, we're heading to the support center from the south side with thirty new survivors."
A brief crackle sounded over the radio before a female voice responded, "Understood. We're expecting you."
As the truck moved forward, small groups of soldiers patrolled the streets, supervising civilians engaged in various tasks.
Isaac observed the closed buildings and couldn't help but ask,
"Are you sealing the structures?"
The soldier beside him nodded.
"Yes, buildings that currently have no use are sealed after being cleared."
"Why go through all that effort?" a woman asked with curiosity.
"Our goal is to secure total control of Atlanta," the soldier calmly replied. "Our people are moving through the city, locating small shelters, and relocating survivors here."
Isaac nodded enthusiastically.
"That's incredible." The number of soldiers in the area was surprisingly high. Everything seemed meticulously organized, making him think that this place could be his best chance to survive.
…
From the top of a building in Atlanta, Jason observed how the streets were being sealed with massive wire fences and strategically placed trucks. However, that wasn't the only thing being done. Groups of harmless walkers were also being left in certain areas to keep others controlled, a tactic that helped consolidate his community's dominance.
Little by little, his influence was expanding. Tanks, military trucks, combat helicopters, planes—they had everything at their disposal. But for now, only weapons arsenals were being transported to the city, along with large shipments of food and construction materials.
Thanks to the presence of numerous architects, a long-term plan had been designed to ensure total control of Atlanta. His vision included the construction of three massive walls that, over time, would encompass the entire city and allow them to contain any threat—even if a new outbreak occurred within the safe zone.
For now, the priority was consolidating the first wall. Although it would be the only one for a while due to the number of survivors and the countless walkers still roaming the streets, it represented the first major step toward their goal.
Under Jason's orders, tanks, helicopters, and armored vehicles continued arriving at the shelter. All their combined efforts were focused on strengthening the community and growing this bastion of survival.
It was no easy task, but Jason had earned the respect and loyalty of the soldiers he had encountered along the way. Many of them had been reunited with their families thanks to him, while others kept their loved ones safe in the prison.
Unexpectedly, Jason had ended up protecting the families, friends, and acquaintances of many of his men, ensuring that the refuge's security remained uncompromised. Now was the time to expand the production of food, weapons, clothing, medicine, and, of course, establish strategic alliances.
Even if scientist Candace Janner managed to develop a cure for the virus, Jason knew that her discovery wouldn't change the future immediately. With billions of walkers worldwide, restoring civilization in a short time would be nothing more than a dream.
Even if the cure were in the prison, mass-producing it would require resources and specialized facilities—many of which were lost when the CDC exploded. For that reason, Jason decided to focus on taking control of Atlanta step by step.
If his memory served him correctly, no large community had ever managed to dominate Atlanta in the original history, which gave him a significant advantage. This would make developing shelters at strategic points in the city much easier.
It was still a dream to think about completely controlling a metropolis like Atlanta, but with dedication and planning, the city's key points would soon be under his command.
"Sir, it's time to head to the central base!" said Elias, looking at Jason, who was still observing the landscape from above.
Jason nodded and boarded a helicopter. Although fuel was a difficult resource to obtain, these quick trips between the central prison and Atlanta were necessary.
"It's time to go back," he murmured with a cold expression, worthy of the leader of a powerful community that was slowly taking shape.