TWD: Titans on the Move

Hey everyone! 👋

I'm super excited (and a bit nervous 😅) to finally share Chapter 1 of my original fanfic: TWD: Titans on the Move! 🛠️🧟‍♂️🌍

This story has been a passion project for a while, and it's finally out in the wild. It's a blend of Walking Dead, sci-fi tech, a sarcastic System, and a MC who's building something huge 👀⚙️🚶‍♂️

Let me know what you think! 💬Did you like it? Was something off? Got suggestions or ideas? I'm all ears! 👂📩

Special thanks to UnIReap and Matthew_D_Santos for their helpful feedback 🙏🧠 — your insights made these chapters stronger.

Thanks for reading and supporting! 💚— UmU / UmU Studios 🛠️📚

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TWD: Titans on the Move

Chapter 1: New Day, New World

Zombies. Man-eating abominations that only looked good in fiction, not reality.

When I was a kid, I was terrified of them. Every night I'd double-check windows and doors, keeping a hammer and knife under my pillow, convinced they might become real.

But when I grew up, I realized zombies weren't real. Biology doesn't work like that.

So why the hell am I in The Walking Dead universe?

Yesterday I was binge-watching YouTube shorts till 3 AM. Today I woke up in some afterlife waiting room, given the option to choose any world I wanted. I picked two for random selection—and landed in the one I'd rejected first.

Now I'm lying in a different room, different country, hell, different universe altogether.

The silk sheets beneath Michael cost more than his old monthly rent. The air carried that sterile, expensive smell—like a five-star hotel that's never seen real living. Marble floors stretched toward windows so massive they'd take up an entire wall of his old apartment. This bed could sleep a family of five without anyone touching.

'What the fuck is my life right now?'

Michael had spent the first hour after waking up in pure panic mode, checking everything twice. The smart panel built into the wall confirmed Atlanta's existence with neat little map icons. CDC websites loaded normally, full of boring research updates and public health bulletins. The world looked perfectly normal, perfectly peaceful.

Like it had no idea what was coming.

And most importantly—this floating, glowing tablet that refused to leave him alone.

"Michael, if you're done monologuing, can we get to serious work?"

The voice makes him jump—actually jump, like some kind of startled cat. Twenty minutes he's been staring at the ceiling, trying to wrap his brain around this impossible situation, and apparently his "companion" is getting impatient.

He rolls over with more force than necessary, fixing the pink-purple screen with his best death glare. The thing hovers there, completely unbothered by his hostility.

"I'm not monologuing." His voice comes out rougher than intended. "I'm trying to wrap my head around waking up in a zombie apocalypse universe. Give me a minute to have my existential crisis in peace."

"Listen, I made a mistake, okay? A big one." The system's tone shifts, becoming almost pleading. "But you can't sulk forever. It's a new world, new day. And you have me as your trusted companion."

The word 'trusted' hits like a physical slap.

'Trusted? This bitch has the nerve to say trusted?'

Michael sits up so fast the blood rushes to his head, making him dizzy. But the anger burning in his chest burns hotter than any head rush.

"Trusted?" The word comes out harsh, bitter. All the frustration that's been building since he opened his eyes in this place finally finds its target. "You literally clung to my leg crying like a koala back there. Begged me to pick you as my system instead of a normal one."

His bare feet hit the cold marble as he starts pacing. The memory floods back in perfect, embarrassing detail. That sterile white waiting room in whatever cosmic processing center he'd found himself in. The calm, professional voice explaining his options. Neat rows of system choices displayed like products in a catalog—most of them clean, efficient, non-sentient interfaces.

And then this one had thrown itself at his feet like a desperate child.

"I felt sorry for you—alone, abandoned, going on about nobody choosing sentient systems anymore." His voice cracks slightly, raw emotion bleeding through. "So my soft heart couldn't say no. I took pity on you. And what did you do with that kindness? Fucked up the first thing I asked for!"

The screen actually seems to shrink back, its glow dimming. "I'm sorry! Please, I'm begging you."

But Michael's not done. Two years of bottled-up loneliness, the shock of waking up in hell, the crushing weight of knowing what's coming—it all needs somewhere to go.

'People are going to die. Good people. Kids are going to watch their parents get eaten alive, and I'm supposed to what—play hero with this incompetent AI?'

"Do you have any idea what this world becomes?" His hands shake as he gestures toward the peaceful view outside. "People get eaten alive. Children watch their parents turn into monsters. Entire communities get wiped out because someone made one wrong decision."

He stops pacing, shoulders heaving. "And you dropped me here by accident."

The silence that follows feels heavy, oppressive. Outside the massive windows, birds sing their morning songs like it's just another beautiful day. Like the world isn't scheduled to end in exactly twenty-four months.

"How about compensation?" The system's voice is small, uncertain. "Double package bonus for dropping you in the wrong universe. You rightfully deserve it after my mistake."

Michael stops pacing. The word hangs in the air like a lifeline he's afraid to grab.

'Compensation. What kind of compensation could possibly make up for dropping me in hell?'

"What kind of compensation?"

"Access to twice the normal shopping categories. Advanced tech unlocked early. Cross-universe items that shouldn't be available at your level."

Despite everything—despite the anger and fear and confusion—curiosity wins. It always does with him. Michael sinks back onto the bed, and the system seems to sense the shift in his mood.

"Here, look."

The screen expands, filling his vision with categories and subcategories. His anger doesn't disappear, but it gets pushed aside by sheer amazement.

"Oh shit." He's scrolling through options, his eyes widening with each section. "This is... this is actually incredible."

Sci-fi weapons that belonged in movies. Armor systems that could stop tank rounds. Knowledge chips containing entire libraries of information—agriculture, metallurgy, engineering, combat tactics. It was like having access to the combined technology of a dozen fictional universes.

'Holy fuck. Maybe I'm not completely screwed after all.'

"See?" The system sounds relieved, almost hopeful. "You were overreacting."

"Maybe I was." Michael's still browsing, but something catches his eye that makes him forget everything else. "Wait. Hold on. Is this what I think it is?"

A sleek aircraft dominates the screen. He's seen it in a dozen Marvel movies, watched it soar through alien invasions and superhero battles.

"This is a Quinjet. An actual Quinjet from the Marvel universe."

"You have access to cross-fictional technology," the system explains, and he can hear the pride in its voice. "Though it's restricted by world level. Can't have you nuking planets on Day One with a Death Star or anything."

Michael laughs despite himself. The image of him accidentally blowing up Earth while trying to kill zombies is absurd enough to cut through his lingering anger.

'A fucking Quinjet. In a zombie apocalypse. This is either the best thing ever or I'm having the weirdest breakdown in history.'

"Fair enough. What's available seems more than sufficient for dealing with walkers."

He keeps scrolling, each new item shifting his perspective a little more. Multiple Batmobile variants—from the classic TV show version to the military-grade Tumbler. Freeze guns with different specifications and power levels. Advanced medical equipment that could heal wounds in minutes instead of weeks.

Then something makes him stop scrolling entirely.

"Holy shit." His voice comes out as a whisper. "A Custodian spear."

The weapon fills the screen—gleaming, impossibly detailed, radiating an aura of power even through the digital interface. Michael's read enough Warhammer 40K to know what this represents. These aren't just weapons; they're works of art designed to kill the most horrific creatures imagination can conjure.

'A fucking Custodian spear. These things can kill actual daemons from the Warp. What the hell is it doing in the basic tier?'

"Why is this here?" He turns toward the system's main interface. "Shouldn't something like this be locked behind higher tiers?"

"You're not a genetically modified superhuman warrior," the system points out reasonably. "And there's no Warp here, no daemons to fight. It's functionally limited to basic use—but that basic use is still more than enough for most universes."

The logic makes sense. Without the cosmic horrors of the 40K universe, a Custodian spear is just an incredibly well-made weapon. Overkill for zombies, maybe, but definitely effective.

Michael continues browsing, his mood steadily improving with each discovery. High-tech firearms that never need reloading. Full-body armor that could shrug off explosions. Exoskeletons that could let him lift cars. Mini mechs for when subtlety wasn't an option.

But then he sees something that makes everything else pale in comparison.

Giant industrial vehicles dominate the screen. Not military weapons, but mining and construction equipment scaled up to impossible proportions. Vehicles so massive they make buildings look small. Tires taller than houses. Engine compartments you could park a bus inside.

He stares at them for a long moment, imagining what they could do in a zombie apocalypse. Those tires alone could crush thousands of walkers without even slowing down. The sheer mass would make them unstoppable.

'Oh my god. Oh my fucking god. These things would turn zombies into paste. Literal paste.'

"Hahaha!" The laughter starts as a chuckle but builds until he's nearly falling off the bed. "Yes! This is exactly what I need!"

In his excitement, Michael grabs the system screen and plants a kiss on it without thinking.

"Wait, no! Yamete kudasai! My purity!"

The system's dramatic protest only makes him laugh harder. "Drama queen. It's not like we're actually kissing."

"Still counts! My first kiss was supposed to be special!"

Michael rolls his eyes but he's still grinning. The mood shift is complete now—from anger and fear to genuine excitement about the possibilities ahead.

'Maybe this won't be so bad. I mean, sure, I wanted One Piece or One Punch Man, but this... this could actually work.'

Sure, he'd wanted to go to One Piece or One Punch Man. Adventure on the high seas, meeting incredible people in Oda's masterful world of beautiful, voluptuous masterpiece of wom—I mean places, people. Yep, just people. The action and heroism of Saitama's universe.

But lying here, looking at these options, Michael realizes this might not be so bad after all. Meeting Rick, Daryl, Glenn, Shane, Dale—characters he'd grown to love despite their flaws. Getting to experience their world firsthand, maybe even help them survive what's coming.

'At least I won't have to deal with any relationship drama. Unlike certain people.'

Just had to make sure he didn't let TWD's brutal logic claim them. And definitely had to avoid certain people—like that trainwreck Lori and her house-breaking bullshit.

The thought of Lori makes him grimace. "Seriously, what was the point of lying to Rick about Shane on the farm? Woman caused more problems than a herd of walkers."

"Did you say something?"

He realizes he'd been muttering to himself. "Nothing important. Just thinking about the future."

Michael's mind drifts to other things he's left behind. Baba would have loved to see this—his grandson in a world of adventure and possibility. At least he'd made him proud before he left the world. Good job, stable life by thirty. Just missing a wife, but maybe in this bigger world, that would change too.

'Baba always said make the best of any situation. Well, this is definitely a situation. At least I got my shit together before he died—made him proud with the job and everything. Just... fuck, I miss him. And I still don't have a wife. Maybe in this bigger world, that'll change. Things do change when you're left alone in a house, don't they?'

A sound breaks through his thoughts—a soft slurping noise coming from the system screen.

"Are you drinking something?"

The screen turns toward him, displaying a small emoji taking a sip from a bottle. "Booze. Authentic stuff straight from Shakky's bar in the One Piece world. Want some?"

Michael can't help but chuckle. Here he is, in a zombie apocalypse universe, talking to an AI that's drinking fictional alcohol.

'If someone had told me this would be my life a week ago, I'd have recommended therapy.'

"You know what? Why not."

"That's the spirit! No point sulking about what we can't change."

She's right. This is his life now—take it too seriously and it becomes unbearable. At least he has someone to share it with, even if she did screw up his destination choice.

"You're absolutely right. No point in dwelling on what-ifs." Michael stretches, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. "New day, new world. Can't waste time in sad monologuing."

He gets up and starts moving around the room, really looking at it for the first time. The space is enormous—more like a luxury hotel suite than a bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of rolling hills and forest. The furniture looks like it belongs in a magazine.

'This place probably costs more per month than I made in a year. And it's all mine now. In a world about to go to shit, I've got a fucking palace.'

"System, how about we celebrate properly tonight? Good food, good drinks, and we can plan out what we're going to do with all this incredible tech."

"Now you're talking! I've been waiting for this moment since I first activated."

As Michael adjusts the furniture and opens the massive retractable window, more details about his new home become clear. This isn't just a mansion—it's an entire estate. Several acres of private land, complete with gardens, a lake, fountains, and multiple outbuildings. The garage alone is bigger than most people's entire homes. And those two runways he spotted from the aerial view come with matching customized aircraft.

All of this belongs to him now. In a world that's about to become hell on earth, he's got a paradise to work from.

"Here, let me help with the setup."

Michael watches in fascination as the system screen begins to expand and shift. Items start materializing on the coffee table—bottles he recognizes from anime, snacks that shouldn't exist in this reality.

Then a hand emerges from the screen.

What follows takes his breath away. She's beautiful in a way that's both striking and approachable. Short blonde hair with streaks of red and blue catches the light from the window. Her build is athletic, clearly strong, but unmistakably feminine. The loose-fitting clothes she wears somehow make her more attractive, not less.

She's also tall—tall enough that her chin could easily rest over his head, and he's 6'4". The height difference is both intimidating and intriguing.

'Holy shit. My system is a tall, athletic tomboy with no bra. Is this a signal from God or what?'

'Wait, are those— holy shit, no bra. Good God, lady.' She's wearing a T-shirt that, due to her large bust size, leaves an open space around her belly button region, paired with short pants that go just over her knees.

'Oh yeah, baby! No wait, she could be an android or a spirit type thing, but she is female, so...'

"You going to help or just stand there staring?" She's already setting up glasses and plates with practiced efficiency. "I may be an advanced AI, but I still appreciate good manners."

Her voice in person is even better than through the screen—warm, with just a hint of teasing. Michael finds himself smiling as he moves to help her.

"Sorry. Still getting used to having a system that can materialize like this."

"Fair enough. Most of my kind stay digital." She hands him a bottle he doesn't recognize. "This should be interesting—Zoro's sake, the good stuff he keeps hidden from the crew."

As they settle onto the couch together, the massive window revealing more stars than he's ever seen from any city, Michael feels something he hasn't experienced since waking up here: genuine contentment.

'You know what? Maybe I can make this work. Two years to prepare, advanced tech, and a partner who's easy on the eyes. I've had worse situations.'

"I still don't know what to call you," he realizes. "Do you have a name, or do I just keep saying 'system'?"

"I haven't decided yet. Maybe something that fits this new partnership of ours." She raises her glass with a grin. "But whatever I choose, I think we're going to have quite an adventure together."

Looking at her, thinking about the technology at their disposal, considering the challenges ahead, Michael finds himself genuinely excited for what's coming. Two years to prepare for the end of the world. Advanced technology from multiple fictional universes. A partner who, despite her mistakes, clearly wants to help.

And she's gorgeous. That doesn't hurt either.

'God made us men so simple, didn't he?'

"Here's to us," he says, raising his glass. "New day, new world, new partnership."

"New day, new world," she agrees, clinking their glasses together.

Outside, the stars shine down on a world still at peace. Inside, they're planning for war.

But for tonight, they're just two beings from different realities, sharing drinks and stories under a sky full of possibilities.

'Two years until hell breaks loose. Better make them count. At least I have someone to talk to openly now.'

The future could wait until tomorrow.