**INT. A POND IN THE FOREST - DAY** **FADE IN:** A serene pond nestled among a stand of trees. The sun casts flickering light through the leaves, dappling the water surface with dancing light. Sounds of nature provide the background symphony--birds chirping, crickets singing. It would be idyllic, if not for the post-apocalyptic world it's set in. **CLOSE ON:** Carl Grimes, played by Chandler Riggs, standing proudly waist-deep in the murky pond water. He's a mix of boyish charm and a survivor's ruggedness--his face smeared with dirt and the vestiges of a young beard. His hair has grown out since anyone has seen a barber around these parts. He squints at the sun like a seasoned squinter from Squintsville. His muscles, while not Schwarzenegger-esq, are defined from the rigors of post-apocalyptic life--fishing, fighting zombies, and playing the role of wilderness laundry hero. Carl looks around to make sure he's alone, drops his guard, and does something wholly unbecoming yet delightful--the comedic side of a hardened survivor. **CARL (to himself)** *"This... this is living."* Carl takes a deep breath, and then lets out a long, resounding fart--the sound rolling over the pond like an unwanted spirit in the night. The water erupts with bubbles; the surface breaks as fish leap in surprise... or horror. **CARL (chuckling)** "Oops, pardon me, fish." Instead of swimming away from the horror that just bubbled under the surface, a few ill-fated fish float up, belly-up. They're done for, victims of the deadliest gas in the post-apocalyptic world--Grimes gas. Carl looks down, his mischievous smirk turning to one of realization and opportunistic glee. Interface with the scene: a vivacious butt; it may not be the butt that reshapes the world, but it's a defiant butt--the butt of a survivor; jokingly, one could say it has its own post-apocalyptic charm. It's the butt that roared and took casualties. **CARL (triumphantly)** "Well, ain't nature resourceful! Dinner's on me tonight, guys. You can thank my behind later." He picks up the defunct fish from the water, one after another, examining his catch like a connoisseur, his face wrinkling from the phantom smell, struggling between pride and disgust. **CARL** (keying into walkie-talkie) "Hey Judith, hope you like your fish extra--umm, seasoned. Big bro's coming back with a catch!" Carl steps out of the water, still without his clothes, fish in hand, and strolls to the shore where his gear awaits. He takes a moment to shake like a dog, water spraying in all directions, a rare moment of carefree abandon. **Cut to a WIDE SHOT** of Carl, his back to the camera, as he puts on a pair of tattered pants. There's a playful waggle to how he gets into them--almost a victory dance. **CARL** "Man, the things I do for a good meal these days..." Fade to Carl setting up a small campfire, skewering the fish with a sharpened stick as he starts to hum an off-tune rendition of "Don't Worry, Be Happy," punctuated with an occasional chuckle about his aquatic adventure. **CUT TO BLACK.**