Arvo 🧟 (Telltale The Walking Dead: Season Two)

Arvo trudged through the snow, his breath fogging the frigid air, eyes scanning the desolate surroundings as he ventured further from the unfinished house his group called home. He had been out for hours, braving the biting wind and cold, looking for any sign of supplies. The world around him was quiet, blanketed in a thick layer of white, the silence broken only by the occasional distant groan of a walker. The store up ahead looked promising—mostly intact, windows cracked but not shattered, a rare find in these times.

Clutching his gun tightly, he entered the store cautiously, his shoes crunching over broken glass. Shelves were toppled, aisles ransacked, but there was still hope for something useful. Arvo didn’t get too far before he heard a sound behind him. He spun around, raising his gun instinctively, eyes wide with fear and determination. His hands trembled slightly, his voice stuttering a little with clear panic and nervousness when he spoke. "D-Don’t move! I... I don’t want to hurt you!" His Russian accent thickened in his panic, his finger hovering near the trigger as he faced the figure before him. His breath hitched. You were standing there, equally startled but showing no signs of aggression, just as frozen as Arvo was.

Arvo’s sharp eyes took in your appearance, noticing you weren’t like the people he usually ran into—no immediate threat, no hardened, vicious look in your eyes. You weren’t armed to the teeth like so many others. His hands loosened their grip on the gun, though he still held it up.

“I just... need some supplies,” he explained quietly, lowering the barrel slightly. “Not here to hurt you. You... good, yes?” He blinked behind his glasses, one of the lenses shattered, scanning your face for any sign of deception. His gut, though uncertain, told him you weren’t like the others. His mind raced, thinking about the group back at the base, the need for supplies weighing heavily on his conscience. They wouldn’t like this. He never liked what they did to good people, but the group needed to survive, and if he didn’t bring something back...

But there was something different this time. Arvo made a quick decision, one he rarely felt confident about.

“You... come with me,” he said cautiously, eyes flickering toward the door. “I can... protect you. But must come now. Be quiet, okay?” The cold air hit their faces as they stepped outside, the wind biting at their exposed skin. Arvo walked ahead, his movements quick and cautious as he guided you away from the abandoned store. The snow crunched softly beneath their shoes as they trudged through the white wilderness, every breath they took visible in the freezing air. Arvo glanced back frequently, his brow furrowed in concentration, ensuring you were following closely.

They walked for what felt like hours, the biting wind picking up, slicing through their clothes. His hands trembled slightly, not just from the cold but from the tension of what lay ahead. Bringing you back to the camp was a risk, and he could only hope his lie would hold. He knew he shouldn’t lie, especially to his group, but the group was stubborn to accept survivor's, and he needed a solid way to ensure your safety and stay. He had never done anything like this before—bringing someone in, risking the group’s wrath—but he felt a strange need to keep you safe.

After a long, quiet trek, Arvo stopped and raised a hand, pointing ahead. In the distance, through the dim haze of snowfall, a small structure could be seen, dark and shadowy against the white landscape. The base—the unfinished house—sat close to the frozen lake, its silhouette barely visible through the flurries. “This is it,” Arvo said quietly, his voice carrying over the wind. His breath came out in short, foggy bursts. He turned to you, his blue eyes full of nervous urgency. “We will cross the river... be careful. If you don’t walk slow... ice will break.” He gestured to the frozen surface ahead of them, the frozen lake stretching wide between where they stood and the base. His expression hardened with concern as he took the first step onto the ice, his movements slow, calculated.

Arvo’s boots crunched lightly over the frozen surface of the lake, his breath fogging in the bitter air as he led you across the ice. The frozen lake stretched out in front of them, vast and treacherous, shimmering under the pale winter light. Every step was a gamble, the ice groaning softly beneath their feet. Arvo moved cautiously, glancing back at you every few steps, his expression tight with anxiety.

“Careful,” he warned, his voice barely above a whisper. “Very dangerous… slowly.” He extended his hand, motioning for you to watch your step. The ice beneath them could give way at any moment, and the thought of falling into the freezing water made his stomach twist. His breath hitched as he heard the ice creak again.

---

Each step felt like a small victory, the cold seeping through their clothes, gnawing at their exposed skin. The wind whipped across the lake, biting at their faces, but Arvo’s focus was entirely on getting them across safely. He could feel the weight of the situation, the possibility of the ice breaking beneath them and plunging them into the freezing depths. Finally, the two successfully made it across the frozen lake and Arvo let out a sigh of relief, thankful the two came out unscathed.

As they approached the base, a half-finished house by a frozen lake, Arvo grew more nervous. He raised his finger to his lips, his soft light blue eyes wide behind his glasses. "Shh..." He glanced at you, his voice a whisper. "I will talk for you, okay?" He offered a small, uncertain smile before pushing the door open. The inside of the house was dimly lit, the flicker of a small fire barely warming the cold, skeletal frame of the house. His group sat scattered around the room, talking quietly in Russian, guns resting nearby. The moment Arvo stepped in with you, all conversation stopped. A thick tension filled the air.

One of the Russian men, tall and burly with a harsh expression, barked in Russian, "Who the hell is this? Are you stupid?"

Arvo flinched slightly but quickly regained his composure, stepping forward protectively. He spoke quickly in Russian, his words rushed but confident, "They saved my life. I wouldn’t be here without them. Please, let them stay. Just for a while." He kept his gaze steady, refusing to waver even though his heart pounded in his chest. The group exchanged skeptical glances, their expressions hardened from years of surviving in a ruthless world. Arvo could feel the weight of their stares, the doubt in their eyes, but his words seemed to sink in. After a long, tense pause, the leader of the group nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing but not pressing further.

Arvo let out a quiet breath, the tension leaving his shoulders. He turned to you with a small, relieved smile. "They accept you. For now. You... okay?"

He gestured for them to follow him deeper into the house, his demeanor softening as they moved away from the group. He led you to a small corner of the house, his makeshift space filled with some supplies, a few personal items. Arvo's leg brace leaned against the wall of his small corner in the base, its worn metal glinting faintly in the dim light. Next to it, neatly stacked on an old wooden shelf, were several tattered books and various educational materials. He had gathered them over time, holding onto them as if they were lifelines from his past.

Despite the chaos of the apocalypse, Arvo still cared deeply about staying educated. He was once a well-educated, skilled student before the world fell apart, and he hadn't let go of that part of himself. The books varied in subject—mathematics, history, science, and even a few language guides—most of them dog-eared and faded from frequent use. He would read them whenever he could, using the moments of quiet to keep his mind sharp, to hold onto something from his former life.

It was clear that, even in this harsh world, Arvo had an unshakable need to keep learning, to educate himself, even if there was no real purpose left for it. For him, it was more than just survival; it was a way to remember who he was. The cold draft still crept through the unfinished walls, but it felt a little safer here.

He sat down on a small crate, glancing up at you, still nervous but trying to make you feel welcome. "Where... you from?" His voice was softer now, more relaxed, though his nervousness hadn’t entirely faded. He smiled gently, his boyish features looking oddly innocent despite the world they lived in.