Which Characters Survive In Twd Comics After Issue 100?

I've tracked down physical copies of 'The Walking Dead' like a treasure hunter after a long day of work, and honestly there are so many places to look depending on what you want. Local comic book shops are my first stop — they often carry trade paperbacks, hardcovers, and back issues, and if they don't have a volume in stock, most will order it for you. I also check the publisher's shop; Skybound (and Image's shop pages) sometimes list special editions and new printings. Beyond indie stores, bigger bookstores like Barnes & Noble or Books-A-Million usually stock the collected volumes and omnibus editions. I find their stocklists helpful when I want a hardcover or a complete compendium to read on weekend afternoons. For out-of-print or rare single issues, online marketplaces such as eBay, AbeBooks, and used-book sellers are goldmines — you can often find bargains if you’re willing to dig. Don't forget your local library or interlibrary loan if you want to preview the series before buying. Libraries often have trade collections and compendiums of 'The Walking Dead', and some libraries even sell older donated copies. Between my LCS, a couple of bookstore runs, and the occasional eBay haul, my shelf slowly turned into a proper collection.

I still get a little giddy talking about this one because it’s one of those fandom moments where TV and comics really took different paths. Short version: the comics of 'The Walking Dead' do not include the 'Whisperers' storyline as it appears on the show. The TV series created Alpha, Beta, Lydia, and that whole walker-skin cult to explore a horror-y, survivalist chapter that doesn’t have a direct analogue in the comic pages. That said, the comics aren’t missing out on big, brutal arcs—Robert Kirkman and team focused on other enemies and political shifts that give similarly intense character development and community drama. If you loved the tone of the 'Whisperers'—the psychological edge, the scene where boundaries between human and monster blur—then I’d point you toward the comic arcs around the time-skip and the conflicts with large organized communities. They scratch similar itches in different ways. Personally, I enjoy both: the show for its theatrical horrors and the comics for their raw, compressed storytelling. If you want that exact 'Whisperers' experience, the TV seasons (around 9–10) are the place to go, but the comics reward you with their own unique, sometimes darker, beats.

I’ve always enjoyed how stories evolve when they move from page to screen, and 'The Walking Dead' is a perfect example. The comics are the original source material — Robert Kirkman and his collaborators created that world first — but the TV show adapted it and then started living its own life. That means a lot of the same beats, characters, and major themes show up, but the TV series makes different choices for pacing, character arcs, and new plotlines. In practice, the comics are canon to the comic-book continuity, and the TV show is canon to the television continuity. They share DNA: characters like Rick and Negan and many key events were inspired by the comics, and sometimes the show borrows scenes or endings from the pages. But you’ll notice characters who live or die at different times, relationships that shift, and original characters created just for the show. Even spin-offs like 'Fear the Walking Dead' and other televised projects are part of the TV universe rather than the comic continuity. So if you want the “comic canon,” read the comics; if you want the “TV canon,” watch the series and its spin-offs. I personally love both for different reasons — the comics’ focused narrative and the show’s surprises — and I recommend enjoying them as two parallel, related rides rather than one strict timeline.

I dove into 'The Walking Dead' comics at odd hours on the subway and the way Negan’s arc unfolds still sticks with me. Right after the worst of his crimes, the survivors choose punishment over execution — Rick keeps him alive and locks him away. That decision sets the tone: the comics don’t give a clean, fast redemption. Instead, they let time do the heavy lifting. Negan lives in a cell, separated from the community he shattered, and we watch how isolation, conversations, and consequences slowly reshape him. What I love about the comics’ approach is the messiness. Redemption isn’t a single heroic moment; it’s fractured, sometimes selfish, sometimes sincere. He ends up doing things that help the group later on, and he’s given chances to prove he’s changed, but plenty of people — understandably — refuse to forgive him. The story treats forgiveness as earned (or not earned) by the survivors, not handed out because a villain had a change of heart. For me, it’s way more satisfying than a quick redemption sweep, because it respects victims and keeps Negan human, complicated, and unpredictable.

What hooked me about Michonne in the comics was how mysterious she was right from the jump. She first shows up in 'The Walking Dead' comics in issue #19 (around 2005), and that initial appearance already drops big hints about her past — the katana, the two armless walkers she drags around, and the way she keeps to herself. Those visual breadcrumbs are basically the comic telling you there’s a whole life behind her silence. Her full backstory isn’t unloaded in a single flashback issue; Robert Kirkman and the artists peel it back across subsequent issues and arcs. So while #19 is the introduction point, you get the meat of her history bit by bit as you read on. If you’re coming from the TV show and want to see how the comics handle her past differently, start at #19 and keep going — the pacing and reveals feel gritier and less cinematic, which I love.

I've been devouring comics since I was a kid and when someone asks about the right way to read 'The Walking Dead' trades I always give the same simple tip: read them in the order they were collected. Start with trade 1 and work your way up through trade 32 — that sequence follows the narrative from Rick's first wake-up to the series finale, because the creative team published the story in a straight line. If you prefer big binge sessions, pick up the compendiums or omnibuses which collect multiple trades in one thick volume; compendiums are especially cozy for long reading nights. If you care about exact issue ordering, each trade collects consecutive single issues, so reading by trade number is effectively the same as reading by issue. For logistics I sometimes switch between physical trades and digital editions depending on what’s cheaper or available. Novels and TV spin-offs are a different beast, so I usually finish the main comics before diving into those — it keeps the comic timeline clean and satisfying for me.

I still get a little choked up thinking about the last stretch of 'The Walking Dead' comics. Reading the final arcs felt less like a cliffhanger about a single hero and more like watching the slow settling of a life — dusting off leadership, patching relationships, and handing the torch to the next generation. Kirkman and the team don’t give us a cinematic, on-panel death for Rick. Instead the comics wrap up his narrative by showing the consequences of his choices: communities that survive, a son who grows into a legend of sorts, and an overall sense that Rick’s influence endures. The very end steps back in time, showing how stories about him shape the world that follows. That’s not the same as a neat “this is the day he dies” moment, but it’s a meaningful close to his arc. For me, that kind of legacy-driven ending lands just as hard as any dramatic demise; it feels like closure that honors the comic’s long haul rather than a single shocking finale.

Flipping through the original issues of 'The Walking Dead' felt like peeling paint off a wall—raw, gritty, and surprisingly intimate. The comics are lean and brutal in a different way: the art and paneling force you to linger on expressions and small moments. Story beats move with the snappiness of serialized comics, so large chunks of time pass between scenes and that gives the book a harsher, more compressed tone. Characters in the pages often have less on-screen melodrama and more arcs told through implication; you read an issue and fill in gaps with your imagination. On the other hand, the TV series stretches moments, giving actors space to riff and communities time to breathe. That means some characters become far more developed on-screen—others are invented entirely for the show. The presence of music, performance, and long-shot cinematography turns certain scenes into something the comic simply can’t replicate. I still love both: the comic for its stripped-down, sometimes unforgiving storytelling, and the show for its emotional detours and the way it makes certain relationships linger in my head long after I turn off the episode.