Slumped back in his throne, Negan let out a breath of succession. What a day, he thought to himself and reached over the counter to take a swig from the bottle. Whiskey soothed its way down his throat, its sharp aroma cutting at his insides and he threw up his muddy boots on the table. This life was it.
"Boss, whatcha want me to do with the newcomers?"
Simon appeared in the doorway, giving his superior a curious look. A concerned frown altered his features the slightest and the beard resting on his upper lip did him nothing good either.
"Let 'em stay out for the night. I'll take a look at them in the morning and see what use we can make of them," said Negan in reply, waving Simon away and lifted the bottle to his lips once again, his eyes fixated on the blood dripping from Lucille's barbed wire.
"Sure thing," obeyed Simon and turned on his heel, calling out a couple of men down the hall. Picking up his pace, he rushed to their side and told them of Negan's command.
It had been weeks since you had last seen a living person, one whose heart was actually beating and possed the sense of reality in this surreal world. How it was possible for the dead to continue living – with a new purpose though – you did not know, and had you actually found the surplus in you to open a comic or go see one of those dumb zombie movies back when times were not a life or death situation, you might have been slightly less ignorant concerning the walkers and possibly equipped with some life-hacks.
But that was not the case and so here you were, paranoid and wake in your sleep, too scared to get rest until you had no choice but to finally close your eyes.
More than once, had you been in that deep, dark place you prior had only ever visited on sleepless nights in your warm bed in Arid Ridge. That place where a bullet in the head sounded tempting. Fast and clean, that would be it. No more fucking zombies, no more fear, no more life. It had become some of a pros-and-cons thing, where you would sit slurping stolen beer and sniffing lines of crushed mysterious pills from the pharmacy, listing all the good and bad coming from such a scene.
Often it would end with you having the barrel of a gun between your teeth, but somehow the trigger was never pulled. Call it sense or lack of gut, you treated yourself another line before going to bed, thinking you just might of be lucky enough to be killed in your sleep. The pain was just about the only frightening con in that particular fate, but you figured people had suffered worse.
Days passed and you were forced to travel by foot, having to outrun or take down the passing dead. Killing whatever opposing you seemed to be the only solution nowadays, as outrunning really was more about hiding, until they moved on. At times, for them to move on was a difficult part as they often would not move much if they had nothing specific to chase after. They could stand there, still and swaying, looking as if they had just dug their way out of the grave and they would not do much more than that until they caught something else moving.
It was a nightmare, this world.
But the time for salvation came, and just as you had thought you would never again get the chance to rest your weary head on Adam's shoulder, you were blessed with his handsome face.
Bloody and dirty, cut up and bruised, but handsome. Him and old Coach.
Was it luck or was it misfortune—and were they, in fact, one and the same? You did not know and frankly, you did not care much either, for it was your fate and one that came in the form of a large scrappy-looking facility. It reached high in the sky and in times like these, it too seemed only a reminder of what used to be a city. The grey with a tint of rusty red building lit up much to the likeness of a safe haven, and surely, by the judge, jury and executioner and its inhabitants, the old factory shared a name of the resemblance.
You had reached the Sanctuary.
It was partially destroyed and looked to be in ruins, its decaying sides disintegrating here and there. Had it not been for the spiked head as well as tied down dead, you would have deemed it abandoned and walked by. Nevertheless, you should indeed have taken this as your omen, only this was about the only sign of life you had seen in only God knows how long and you swore by his side, if you were to spend another minute by yourself you would end up deader than the dead.
Cautious and with wary eyes, you made your way closer for inspection and it was not long before those bodies chained to the fence began rustling, yawning, moaning and screeching as they tugged for dear life, or not really, eager for a bite. It caught the attention of a guard who immediately yelled at the sight of a possible infiltrator. Your eyes widened as rifles were heaved, taking aim. They took their security very seriously.
"You stop there!"
It was a thick accent and the bellow put a scraping sound to his rough voice and your heart immediately picked up on velocity, deciding how to react. More men came running toward you, arising panic in you and although this was the first sign of human life you had seen in what felt like forever, you were ready to sprint away. The dead seemed less terrifying now that people had you in their bullseye.
One caught sight of the gun strapped to your side. Unaware you were not in possession of any bullets nor other ammunition, he reacted, suddenly scared with the frightened-looking girl before him. Ordering for you to raise your hands, your eyes warily searched around you. Forming a tightening circle around you, the guards had you surrounded and you actually considered what was worse, finding out what ominous looking place this was or having put a bullet in your brain. As far as you knew, you had nothing and no one.
The guards' screams mixed with the dead's and your pulse throbbed in your muscles, you felt in your fingertips, your pounding head, and your sprained ankle. Giving up now was not an option, you decided that, but you felt another panic attack building in your chest and the aggressiveness shown towards you did not make you feel much better.
"Hands in the air!" reiterated the hostile man.
With all the distractions you failed to notice one man was sneaking up behind you, and you reacted violently in surprise, not fond of having someone force you to the ground. With what little technique you knew of, you kicked him in the side of his knee and his agonizing scream curled in your ear, doing no good for your aching head. Busy trumping one gorilla, another caught your punch and twisted your arm on your back, violently throwing you in the ground. Pressing your face into the cement underlay with his knee, you let out a cry and you were disarmed.
"You think you're smart, huh?" taunted he, pushing down harsher on you. It was the one who you had kicked in the knee and he was certainly not content by being caught off guard, letting you know and you screamed in pain as your face scraped against the ground. Whether he was more angry from being taken unawares by a potential threat or by the threat being a woman, you did not know but his fiery eyes acknowledged, either way, he did not care if he hurt you. Digging your nails into his arm, the guard pulled up your head and forced it right back unto the tarmac terrain, spitting in your face. "Fucking bitch!"
Another spoke up.
"Easy, man! You know Negan doesn't approve—"
"Fuck I care about him, this bitch—"
His words went over your head and you zoomed out for a second, time stopping at the name bringing back tons of memories. It seemed ages ago since someone had last spoken the name, and you did not know if the face you remembered and this man they spoke of even coincided. Nonetheless, the pain faded for a minute and you wrestled under the gorilla.
"Wait what did she say? Damnit, Mac—let her go for a second, will ya!"
Gasping for air, you turned as much as you could, trying to reason with the guards hovering you.
"Negan," you tasted his name, the familiarity and trip down memory lane sending a shiver down your hurting spine. "What's his last name?"
The voices shut up, each mind assessing the question from the struggling, defenseless woman. Glances were exchanged and another voice spoke, confusion in his voice as it peaked. "Wait, what is his last name?"
No one seemed to have the answer and you cried out, the aching returning as the man giving you a hard time did not yield. These goons were to no use and your head dropped back to the ground, ceasing in restraining.
The chances you did not know the size of, and considering your luck, your guess was not 'immense', but it was what kept you listening to their discussing as you shifted to decrease the pain induced. Could it possibly be?
As you, helplessly, lied there on the tarmac you closed your eyes, mind struggling to conclude if you even wished for it to be the Negan you knew. Perhaps a bullet would have been better than facing that confrontation.
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