The Walking Dead isn't a roller coaster of emotions; it's a seesaw. On one end sits the golden halo of the human spirit, strengthened by trust, dignity and love. On the other end slumps the shadow of death, mutilation and irrational violence. The kind of emotions that make someone lock an injured, ailing little girl in a shed in the middle of a storm, offset by the compulsion to give her a decent meal and tuck her into bed. Perched in the middle of this seesaw is Clementine.

She is the balance, representing everything worth fighting for, worth decapitating for. Worth dying for. Clementine is the humanity in all of us - but in the premiere of season two of The Walking Dead, when we take direct control of Clementine, she's also humanity's inherent, grey-tinted truth. We're not all good. We may not even be mostly good.

The apex of a seesaw is a precarious place. One hard twitch on either lever could tip Clementine to salvation or destruction, compassion or killing, life or death. After playing episode one, All That Remains, I don't know whether Clementine is soaring up or falling down.