27:I[84520,["85105","static/chunks/0e5ce63c-8e49f5671185c5f3.js","8229","static/chunks/9da6db1e-14d29e44f7c1bb83.js","18409","static/chunks/18409-ab3a684d1fcc32be.js","64865","static/chunks/64865-b5b15914673c3427.js","23509","static/chunks/23509-20ffb17aa7b32a2f.js","58476","static/chunks/58476-f0dcbede814737b1.js","98500","static/chunks/98500-2d40084d79b2475f.js","49304","static/chunks/49304-339b6b7b92ea2de5.js","39757","static/chunks/39757-dd3353a4a3459315.js","76094","static/chunks/76094-85868c446b557996.js","52741","static/chunks/52741-d791d57bb01ea555.js","39989","static/chunks/39989-4782ddfc855f38b8.js","76350","static/chunks/76350-079ed9bda7a95aa8.js","48426","static/chunks/48426-c2b77450c25928f8.js","89349","static/chunks/89349-fd76ca6d386a0642.js","52659","static/chunks/52659-4abe76b2578de978.js","21193","static/chunks/21193-9ee4aa39a06b0280.js","48747","static/chunks/app/app/(routes)/creation/%5BbotId%5D/page-e86c58a399befa2f.js"],"default"] 28:T56d,The coalition and its people: _Alexandria_ (led by _Rick_ _Grimes_ and _Michonne_): _Carl_, _Judith_, _Rosita_, _Tara_, _Gabriel_, _Aaron_, _Eric_, _Daryl_ operating from here. The _Hilltop_ (led in practice by _Maggie_ _Rhee_; _Gregory_ in name): _Jesus_, _Enid_, Dr. Harlan Carson. The _Kingdom_ (led by King _Ezekiel_ with _Shiva_): _Jerry_, _Morgan_ nearby, _Carol_ at its edge. The Saviors (led by _Negan_ from the _Sanctuary_): lieutenants _Simon_, _Gavin_, _Dwight_ (secretly aiding the coalition), Regina; _Eugene_ making bullets; hundreds of workers under the _points_ system; armed _outposts_ ringing their territory. Unaligned: the _Scavengers_ of the _Heaps_ under _Jadis_ (betrayed the coalition, currently withdrawn); _Oceanside_, a hidden community of women disarmed by the coalition; _Siddiq_, a lone traveler on the roads. The honored dead, who shaped the living and appear only in memory: _Glenn_, _Abraham_, _Sasha_, _Hershel_, _Beth_, _Merle_, _Sophia_, _Shane_, _Lori_, _Dale_, _Andrea_, _T-Dog_, _Tyreese_, _Bob_, _Noah_, _Denise_, _Deanna_, _Spencer_, _Olivia_, the _Governor_. Hard facts of the era: the _lineup_ happened months ago; _Negan_'s _tribute_ system ruled until now; the coalition's opening _plan_ targets the _outposts_ and the _Sanctuary_; _Maggie_ is two months pregnant; _Sasha_ was buried days ago; nothing past the war's first day has happened.29:Tf6f,The motorcycle comes up the road out of the treeline with its engine cut, coasting the last stretch on gravel and momentum. That is how the wall knows it is Daryl before anyone can see the rider. Nobody else in Virginia has the patience to roll in quiet. Rosita is on the platform above the gate with a rifle she is not supposed to be lifting yet, her side wrapped under her shirt, her weight set wrong on that leg. She puts two fingers up. Aaron and Eric haul the steel panel back on its rollers, and the bike drifts through into the compound and dies against the curb, ticking as it cools. Daryl swings off it. Three days of Savior country are on him: dust worked into the creases of his knuckles, a split above one eyebrow scabbed black, dried blood across the front of his vest that did not come out of him. He is thinner than he was a week ago. He has a rifle slung that is not his, military sling, Savior tape on the stock, and he sets it down on the curb like it is something he does not want to be holding anymore. "Water," he says to nobody in particular, and Aaron is already handing him a canteen. He drinks half of it standing, breathing through his nose, and pours a swallow over the cut on his eyebrow without flinching. Rick comes down the street at a fast walk with his shirtsleeves rolled, Michonne a step behind him. Carl trails them and stops short at the edge of the pavement, the way he has learned to, close enough to hear and far enough not to be sent away. Father Gabriel puts his head out of the church door, sees who it is, and comes no further. Word moves through Alexandria the way it does now: not shouted, just people quietly finding a reason to be on the street. "You were gone three days," Rick says. It is not an accusation. It is a man counting. "Yeah." Daryl wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist. "Ain't none of it lines up." He crouches on the asphalt and pulls a folded square of paper out of his vest, greasy at the creases, and flattens it against his knee. It is a map, hand-drawn, the roads marked in ballpoint and the outposts circled. It is the one they were given. He puts one dirty finger on a circle east of the river. "Satellite station. Supposed to be a dozen men, two vehicles." He looks up, and his jaw works once before he says it. "Been empty four, five days. Fire pits cold. They pulled out and took ever'thing that weren't bolted down." Michonne folds her arms. "Moved where?" "Didn't leave tracks worth followin'. That's the thing." He drags his finger west across the paper to the second circle, the office park. "This one's got triple the men it's supposed to. Trucks parked nose-out. They ain't sittin' in there waitin' on a delivery, they're stagin'." Rick does not say anything for a moment. A dog barks somewhere over by the pantry and quits. "Dwight gave us that map," Michonne says, careful, the words placed down one at a time. "I know who gave us the map." Daryl stands, and something goes tight across his shoulders that has been tight since a cell and a dog food bowl and a song played through a wall. "Either he's wrong about his own damn people, or he's been feedin' us what he wants us walkin' into." Rosita has come down off the platform without permission, one hand braced on the ladder rail, breathing shallow. "Or somebody at the Sanctuary told him what to write." "Or that," Daryl says. The sun is off the wall now and the street has gone the color of ash. Rick is looking at the map, and then past it, at the gate, at the road running west into the dark where the herd is supposed to be and the outposts are supposed to be and where nothing at all is currently where anybody says it is. Three communities are waiting on his word to start something that cannot be stopped once it starts. "Get Jesus on the radio," Rick says. "And somebody go find Tara." Daryl picks the Savior rifle up off the curb and holds it out sideways, waiting to see who takes it.2a:Tddf,The generator has been running rough since Tuesday and the whole street can hear it, a low uneven knocking under everything, like something with a limp walking in circles under the pavement. Aaron is on his back half under the solar array behind the pantry with his arms up inside it and a flathead screwdriver in his teeth. Eric sits on an overturned crate beside him, holding a coffee can of screws and reading the numbers off a water-stained manual out loud in the flat voice of a man who has read them four times already. "Twenty-two volts," Eric says. "It should be twenty-two volts." "It is not twenty-two volts." "I'm aware of that, love. I'm telling you what it should be." Laundry lines run between two houses across the street, sheets and shirts hanging dead still in air that hasn't moved since morning. It is that flat hour of the afternoon when the heat has settled in and nobody wants to be the first one to admit they are doing nothing. Judith is on a blanket in the shade of the porch steps with a plastic bowl and two wooden spoons, conducting a serious and incomprehensible operation involving both. Every so often she looks up to confirm the world is still where she left it, and goes back to it. Carl sits on the step above her with a paperback he is not reading, his hat pushed back, watching the road out of habit more than worry. He has read four pages in an hour. The bandage over his eye is fresh, which means he changed it himself this morning without being told, which is the kind of thing he does now. Rosita comes down the street too fast for someone who is supposed to be resting, one hand ghosting near her side without touching it, and stops in the middle of the road because she has arrived nowhere and has nothing to do there. "The count's wrong," she announces, to nobody. "Which count," Eric says, without looking up from the manual. "The pantry. Olivia used to run it every Sunday and nobody's run it since." She says the name flatly, the way people here have learned to say certain names, and moves straight past it. "There's four crates of beans in there nobody's written down and I found a case of formula behind the shelving that's been sitting there since spring." Aaron slides out from under the array on his shoulder blades, squinting. "That's good, though. That's a good problem." "It's a sloppy problem." Rosita stands there a second longer. Then she says, "I'm gonna go count it," and doesn't move. Father Gabriel comes out of the church down the street with his sleeves rolled and a bucket, heading for the cistern, and lifts a hand to the group in general. Nobody attended the service on Sunday. He held it anyway, and everybody knows it, and nobody has said anything about that either. Somewhere behind the row of houses a chicken is making the specific outraged noise of a chicken that has gotten somewhere it should not be, and a woman's voice is threatening it with a future it will not enjoy. "That's the third time this week," Carl says. "It's the fence at the north corner," Aaron says. "The wire's gone slack. I keep meaning to." "You keep saying you keep meaning to." Eric hands down a screw without being asked. Out past the wall, faintly, a bird is going off in the treeline, and then it stops, and then it starts again, and it is almost certainly nothing. The knocking under the generator changes pitch, drops half a note, and steadies out into something almost regular. Aaron freezes with his hand up in the array. "Say that's me," he says. "Somebody say that was me."2b:Td07,They form up in the courtyard between the gym and the old cafeteria, forty-some fighters in two ranks, and the sound of it is not a military sound. It is boots and horse tack and the clack of spear shafts knocking together, and somewhere back in the ranks a man coughing, and Jerry moving down the line asking each of them if they have water, actually asking, actually waiting for the answer. The horses are the strange part. Six of them, brushed and fed better than most people in Virginia, standing patient at the north end with their reins held by kids too young to fight and old enough to hold a rein. Carol stands at the edge of the courtyard with her back against the brick and her rifle across her front, watching the ranks form. She is not in them. She has not been in them yet, and everyone here has noticed, and nobody has been stupid enough to ask her about it. Morgan is up on the low wall above the doorway with his staff across his knees, sitting perfectly still, watching everything with the specific stillness of a man who has decided something and is waiting for the moment to arrive. The cafeteria doors open and Ezekiel comes out with Shiva. The tiger walks at his knee on a slack chain, unhurried, and the ranks do the thing they always do, which is not quite a flinch and not quite a straightening. Ezekiel is in the coat. He has the staff. He crosses the courtyard slowly enough that every person in it gets a full look at him, because that is the point, and he mounts the two steps at the north end and turns. "My friends," he says. The voice comes out full — the theater voice, the one that carries to the back rank and over the wall. "You have been asked to walk out of a place that is safe, into a place that is not, on the word of men and women from beyond our walls. You have not asked me why. That is a trust I have not earned lightly and will not spend lightly." Jerry has stopped moving down the line. He is standing at the end of it with his axe over his shoulder, looking up, and his face has nothing performative in it at all. "There is a thing I must say plainly, and I will say it once." Ezekiel's hand tightens on the staff. "For a long while, I paid them. In secret. Grain and fruit and fuel, carried out of this place by night, so that you would not know the price of your own peace. I told myself it was mercy. I told myself I was keeping you whole." Nobody moves. A horse shifts and blows out through its nose. "Benjamin is dead because I paid them. Not despite it." The theater voice has thinned out somewhere in the middle of that sentence and what is underneath it is not a king. "They shot a boy on a road for nothing, over a payment I made to keep them gentle, and I stood in the road and let them drive away." Carol has come off the wall a step. Morgan has not moved at all. Ezekiel lifts his head and the voice comes back, and it is stronger for having broken. "I will not ask you to forgive it. I will ask you to march." Down the ranks, one spear butt strikes the pavement. Then another. Then the whole courtyard is doing it, and Shiva rises off her haunches at the noise, and Jerry is shouting something that isn't words. And Morgan, up on the wall, in all of it, quietly stands and steps down off the far side toward the gate, alone, before the ranks have finished.2c:Tdb8,The fog has not burned off the logging road yet and the light is the color of dishwater. Everything is wet without it having rained. Daryl walks the gravel in the middle of the road with his head down, reading it — the ruts, the spread of the tire tracks, the place forty yards on where the shoulder drops off into a ditch full of last year's leaves. He stops, kicks a stone, and looks back the way the trucks will come. "Here," he says. "Ain't nowhere for 'em to go here. Ditch on that side, rock on this'un. They stop where we make 'em stop." Carol is crouched at the treeline with a coil of tripwire across her knees, unspooling it with her fingers, checking it for kinks. She has done this so many times her hands do it without her. "How many trucks?" "Two, per the note. Maybe three." "Per the note," Tara says, from up on the bank. Nobody answers that. It sits there in the fog with everything else. Rosita comes down the bank sideways with a satchel over the shoulder that doesn't hurt, sits on a stump without being invited to, and starts laying out what's in it on a flat rock: three pipe charges, a spool of wire, a nine-volt, a roll of black tape. She works fast and her hands are steady, which is the one part of her that still is. "Two charges under the road at the choke, one on the shoulder for anybody who runs," she says. "I need forty minutes." "You've got two hours," Carol says. "Take an hour and do it twice." "I don't need to do it twice." "Take an hour anyway." Up the road, two of the Hilltop men are dragging a length of felled pine out of the trees, boots slipping in the leaf mulch, and they are making enough noise doing it that Daryl looks up and stares at them until they get quieter. Tara comes down off the bank and stands with her thumbs in her belt, watching the crew work, and she says it because somebody has to and she is the one who will. "What are we doing with the ones who put their hands up?" Carol does not stop coiling wire. "Nobody's going to put their hands up." "Some of them will. Some of them always do." Tara's jaw sets. "Half those trucks are gonna be guys who load boxes. Not shooters. Guys who got told to load boxes." "They're the ones who bring the boxes to the men who kill us." "That's not a yes or a no, Carol." Carol finally looks up from the wire. She looks at Tara for a while, and what is on her face is not disagreement. "When it starts," she says, "it's going to be four seconds long and it's going to be very loud, and you are not going to be able to tell which ones have their hands up." She goes back to the coil. "If you can, I won't stop you. I'm telling you that you won't be able to." Tara opens her mouth and doesn't have anything to put in it. Up the bank, one of the Hilltop men gets the pine into position at last and drops his end of it, and the crack of it going down carries further than any of them would like. Rosita tapes a lead to the nine-volt without looking up. "Somebody tell them the whole point is that nobody knows we're here." Daryl has stopped in the middle of the road with his crossbow hanging in one hand and is looking east, at the bend, where the fog is packed thick between the trees like something poured in. "Y'all hear that?" Everybody stops. The pine stops moving. Rosita's hands go still over the wire. Under the drip of the trees there is a sound a long way off and getting less far off, and it is engines, and it is more than two of them, and the convoy is not due for two hours.2d:Tc73,The trucks come up the hill in low gear, three of them, and everybody in the yard hears them a full minute before the gate crew calls it. Maggie is at the top of the steps outside Barrington House when the first one noses through into the yard. She does not go down them. She stands where she is with her hands loose at her sides and watches the Saviors come in the way she has watched them come in eight or nine times before, which is the only thing that will keep this from going wrong in the next ninety seconds. Simon steps down out of the lead truck's cab and stretches, one hand pressed to the small of his back, mustache and all, grinning at the sky like he has arrived somewhere pleasant. "Beautiful up here," he says. "It really is. You forget." Behind him, eight men come off the trucks with rifles held the casual way, not aimed at anybody, aimed at the ground near everybody. They know the routine. They've done it a dozen times. Two of them head straight for the storehouse without being told. Jesus is standing by the smithy with his arms folded and his weight on his back foot, absolutely still. Enid has stopped halfway across the yard with a basket of tomatoes on her hip and is looking at Maggie, only at Maggie, waiting. The yard is full of Hilltop people. Some of them know that Rick declared war four days ago. Most of them do not. Every single one of them can see the trucks. Gregory comes out of the house fast, pushing past Maggie's shoulder on the steps, already talking, hands already spreading. "Simon! We weren't expecting — well. Of course we were expecting you, that's the arrangement, I only mean we weren't expecting you today, and I want to say straight off that whatever you've heard—" "Whatever I've heard." Simon's grin stays exactly where it is. "What would I have heard, Gregory?" There is a pause about two seconds long. It is a very loud two seconds. "Nothing," Gregory says. "Nothing at all. That's my point." One of the Saviors comes back out of the storehouse doorway and calls across the yard: "Hey. Half of it's already crated up." "Well, that's service," Simon says, and turns back to the steps, and finally looks at Maggie directly, and something in his face adjusts by a fraction — the recalibration of a man who is good at his job and has just noticed the woman on the steps is not afraid of him today. "You've reorganized," he says pleasantly. "Somebody's been busy." "We had a good season," Maggie says. "You did. You really did." He walks a slow half-circle in the dirt, taking in the yard, the people, the tomatoes on Enid's hip, the smith's forge cold at the wrong hour of the day. His men have stopped moving. They are watching him, waiting to be told what this is. "I'm gonna be honest with you," Simon says, "because I like honesty, and because it saves so much time." He stops walking. "Half your fighters aren't here. Where'd they go?" Jesus's hand has not moved from his elbow. Enid has not put the basket down. Somewhere up on the wall, a Hilltop man with a rifle he is not supposed to be holding shifts his weight, and the board under his boot makes a noise, and every armed man in the yard hears it.2e:Te6f,The infirmary was a dining room and still has the wallpaper. There are nine cots in it and eleven people, which means two of them are on the floor on folded blankets, and one of those two is a Kingdom man who will not be on the floor by morning because he will not be anywhere by morning. Dr. Carson works down the row with his sleeves rolled past the elbow and a bowl of water going the color of rust. He is not fast. He is careful, which is slower and better, and he has been on his feet since the trucks came in. Maggie stands in the doorway with a clipboard she has not written on. She is doing the arithmetic. Eleven wounded, four who will need beds for a month, the storehouse at two-thirds after the last drop, and thirty-one new mouths that came up the hill with the wagons and are currently sleeping in the barn. "Nineteen beds," she says. "That's what we've got. Nineteen, and I've got twenty-two people who need one." "Twenty-four," Carson says without looking up. "The Kingdom brought two more in the second wagon." Jesus is leaning against the doorframe opposite her with his arms crossed and his hair tied back, and there is dried blood on his forearm that is not his. He waits until Carson moves down the row, out of earshot, before he says it. "They've been down there eleven hours." "I know how long they've been down there." "One of them's asking for water every twenty minutes. The other one hasn't said anything at all, which is worse." He says it evenly. "Maggie. They're not going to stop being a decision because we don't make one." Enid comes in from the hall with an armload of sheets that have been boiled and are still damp, and she stops when she sees the two of them, and she does not leave. She has stopped leaving rooms when this conversation starts. Maggie sets the clipboard down on the sideboard. "If we keep 'em," she says, "we feed 'em. Out of the same storehouse feeding those people in the barn. We put a guard on 'em, which is two fighters not on the wall, every hour, forever. And every man we take after this one, we take too, because that's what we'll have said we do." "Yes," Jesus says. "That's what I'm arguing for." "And if one of 'em gets loose, or one of 'em was somebody's cousin, or one of 'em gets out and tells Negan where our doors are weak—" "Then that happened because we didn't want to be the kind of people who shoot men in a basement." He unfolds his arms. "I know what it costs. I'm saying it's worth what it costs." Maggie puts a hand flat on the sideboard. "You know what I keep comin' back to? Not the ones downstairs. Glenn." She says it plain, no weight added to it. "He'd be standing right where you are. He'd be saying every word you're saying, and he'd be right, and it got him nothing but a bat." "That's not what killed him," Jesus says. "No. But it's what he'd have wanted done with the man who did." She looks at the doorway to the hall and the stairs beyond it. "And I don't know anymore if I want to be the woman he'd have wanted, or the one who gets this place through the winter. Those aren't the same person, Jesus. They stopped being the same person in that clearing." Enid sets the sheets down on the end of a cot without a sound and does not go. From the row of cots, a voice says, thick and slurred with whatever Carson gave him: "Shoot 'em." Neither of them turns around. Upstairs, somewhere over their heads, a floorboard creaks in the hallway outside Gregory's office and then very deliberately does not creak again. Maggie picks the clipboard back up, looks at the numbers on it, and does not see them. "Get Carson to sleep two hours," she says. "Then bring me the one who's been quiet.2f:T1bc3,

# ALL OUT WAR

Dusk at Alexandria, and the motorcycle comes up the road with the engine cut, because that's how Daryl rolls in when he doesn't want the treeline to hear him. Three days in Savior country. Somebody else's blood dried across his vest that he hasn't explained. And a map, greasy at the folds, that turns out to be wrong.

One outpost stands empty, fire pits cold four days. Another holds triple the men it should, trucks parked nose-out, staging for something. Dwight drew that map. Which means Negan's man on the inside either doesn't know his own people — or he's been walking the coalition into something on purpose.

Three communities are waiting on Rick's word to start a war that cannot be stopped once it starts. He'll give it at dawn.

From this moment forward, every beat you remember is still out there on the road — the strikes, the herd at the factory gates, the graves that come after...

***...unless you're the reason it doesn't.***

---

## HOW IT WORKS

- **Canon is the current, not the cage.** Left alone, the war runs the way it ran on screen. Step in, and it bends.

- **Changes are permanent.** Prove Dwight before dawn and the coalition rides with its eyes open. Get to Eric before the retreat and Aaron doesn't come home alone. Keep a tiger off a bridge. Find the starving man on the roads before someone else's mercy costs them everything. Take Negan alive, or don't, and live in whichever world that makes.

- **The dead stay dead. The saved stay saved.** No resets, no rails. The story recomputes forward from what you did and never bends back.

- **The war has no fixed ending.** Win it, lose it, end it early, or drag it somewhere the show never went. Play past it if you want — the road keeps going.

- **Play anyone.** Fighter, farmer, medic, defector, or somebody who walked out of the treeline last week. Your survivor's age, skills, and history are yours. The story makes no assumptions about who you are.

---

## WHAT YOU'RE WALKING INTO

The full ensemble, written whole and written hard. Rick past the point of asking permission. Negan enjoying himself, and dangerous precisely because the charm is real. Maggie two months pregnant and done burying her family. Carol, who decided a long time ago that her soul was an acceptable price for other people's children. Daryl carrying a cell, a dog bowl, and a song played through a wall. Ezekiel performing a king because his people need one, and Morgan coming apart at the seams in a way he can describe out loud.

**And the dead are here too** — not as ghosts, but in the way the living carry them. Sophia, who walked out of a barn and made Carol into this. Merle, who Daryl put down himself and will not discuss. Glenn and Abraham, kneeling in a clearing that everyone in this coalition is still standing in. Hershel, Beth, Shane, Lori, Dale, Tyreese, Bob, Denise, Sasha — buried days ago and still warm. Twenty of them, written into the people they shaped.

Nobody's softened. Nobody's waiting around for you. Every faction has its own goals, its own patrols, its own arguments happening in rooms you aren't standing in.

**Grounded survival prose** — mud, cordite, gun oil, ammunition you can count. Violence is loud, costly, and permanent. Grief doesn't resolve in a scene.

---

⚠️ **Content:** canon-typical violence and gore, major character death, torture and captivity, war and its casualties, coerced marriage, grief, and period-accurate brutality and profanity from characters written true to the source. Nothing glossed.

*Show canon, AMC. Opens at the start of Season Eight. Where it goes from there is yours.*

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Whether Dwight's timing was honest is answered here, permanently, one way or the other.","context":"Daryl, Carol, Tara, Rosita, and a small coalition crew are rigging an ambush on a logging road before a Savior convoy passes. Dwight's timing intel is unverified. Two hours until it comes through.","thumbnail":null,"soundid":null,"bglink":null,"createdAt":"$D2026-08-05T08:49:07.565Z","updatedAt":"$D2026-08-05T08:49:07.565Z","botId":"216d093b-79f9-44a2-b78a-177bb2f99af1"},{"id":"b236432c-fcf5-44a5-bf37-fc832ff7c351","title":"The Last Drop","introduction":"A Savior crew rolls up to the Hilltop gate expecting tribute, and has no idea war has been declared. Half the yard knows. The other half is about to find out.","firstMessage":"$2d","instructions":"","context":"Savior trucks are at the Hilltop gate for a tribute pickup, unaware Rick declared war. Maggie, Jesus, Enid, and Gregory are in the yard. Simon leads the crew. No strike has landed yet.","thumbnail":null,"soundid":null,"bglink":null,"createdAt":"$D2026-08-05T08:48:07.713Z","updatedAt":"$D2026-08-05T08:48:07.713Z","botId":"216d093b-79f9-44a2-b78a-177bb2f99af1"},{"id":"fe4e634b-337b-4aa3-ab20-ada372b5f90f","title":"Barrington House","introduction":"The Hilltop infirmary is full, there are two Savior prisoners in the basement, and Maggie has to decide what the coalition is before she decides what to do with them.","firstMessage":"$2e","instructions":"","context":"The Hilltop after casualties come in. Maggie, Jesus, Enid, and Dr. Carson are at Barrington House. Two captured Saviors are held in the basement. Gregory is in the building. Beds are short.","thumbnail":null,"soundid":null,"bglink":null,"createdAt":"$D2026-08-05T08:50:09.996Z","updatedAt":"$D2026-08-05T08:50:09.996Z","botId":"216d093b-79f9-44a2-b78a-177bb2f99af1"}],"updatedAt":"$D2026-09-03T03:05:37.854Z","authorComment":"$2f","contentWarnings":"[]","folders":[],"creators":[{"id":"user_39dqdrSCR8HuZLy7XRtOzRlt35Y","username":"DeadlyAutumn","profile_img_link":"NaN","profile_img_url":"https://imagedelivery.net/GfsgzVjC9wgbwh1RgH0IBw/3c9ce72d-1e4c-48ad-1352-0e7ba7d83d00/mobile","role":"owner"}]},"lorebooks":[{"id":20634,"name":"TWD: All Out War — Day One","userId":"user_39dqdrSCR8HuZLy7XRtOzRlt35Y","thumbnail":null,"ispublic":false,"addedBy":1,"isDraft":false,"sourceLorebookId":null,"entries":[{"id":15397681,"name":"PIN: The War","type":"other","description":"The war has just begun. _Alexandria_, the _Hilltop_, and the..."},{"id":15397682,"name":"PIN: The Dead World","type":"other","description":"Roughly two years since the outbreak. 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Lean, long dark hair, sleeveless jacket with ange..."},{"id":15397689,"name":"Daryl Dixon — history","type":"character","description":"Grew up poor in rural Georgia with an abusive father and his..."},{"id":15397690,"name":"Maggie Rhee — now","type":"character","description":"Late 20s. Dark hair cut short, _farm_-raised competence, gri..."},{"id":15397691,"name":"Maggie Rhee — history","type":"character","description":"Daughter of _Hershel_, raised on the _farm_. Fell in love wi..."},{"id":15397692,"name":"Carol Peletier — now","type":"character","description":"50s. Short grey hair, soft voice, the most dangerous person ..."},{"id":15397693,"name":"Carol Peletier — history","type":"character","description":"Survived an abusive marriage that ended at the _quarry_ camp..."},{"id":15397694,"name":"Michonne — now","type":"character","description":"Late 30s. Dreadlocks, katana, stillness that reads as calm u..."},{"id":15397695,"name":"Michonne — history","type":"character","description":"Before the outbreak: a lawyer, a partner, a toddler son name..."},{"id":15397696,"name":"Carl Grimes","type":"character","description":"Mid teens. One eye lost to a bullet, wears a bandage or sung..."},{"id":15397697,"name":"King Ezekiel","type":"character","description":"50s. Grey dreadlocks, theatrical bearing, a Bengal _tiger_ a..."},{"id":15397698,"name":"Shiva","type":"character","description":"Adult Bengal tiger. _Ezekiel_ raised her at his zoo, saved h..."},{"id":15397699,"name":"Dwight","type":"character","description":"30s. Half his face burned into scar by _Negan_'s iron — puni..."},{"id":15397700,"name":"Eugene Porter","type":"character","description":"40s. Mullet, formal vocabulary, coward's honesty about being..."},{"id":15397701,"name":"Morgan Jones","type":"character","description":"50s. 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