Plotted starter for @we-will-begin-again
It wasn't all that unusual for strangers to wander into Savior territory; more often than not they were the usual survivors, desperately looking for safety, a roof over their heads and four walls to hide behind. Sometimes they were of the nastier sorts, armed groups with a murderous attitude looking for trouble, and to take what was rightfully theirs. And sometimes... sometimes it were people like these. The inbetweeners, not quite the desperate sort, but at the same time not quite a threat either. Not outright anyway.
From what Primo had told him over the radio, a group of such people, no more than a small handful, had wandered too close to one of their outposts to avoid detection. What they were doing there no one knew, possibly they'd meant to use the place as a hide-out for the night or maybe they'd hoped to simply loot it and move on, not knowing that it was already occupied by far more people than they could handle.
They were surprisingly well equipped, which threw out the theory that they were simply yet another ragtag band of desperate sorry bastards, which wouldn't be a problem except they refused to answer any of the questions Primo had asked them. Who they were and where they came from. If they were part of a bigger group or community and what they wanted. They wouldn't even give their names, which was just rude as fuck at this point.
Nothing. Zip. Fucking nada.
And that right there was a goddamn problem.
Nothing happened in Savior territory without him knowing about it and if these assholes thought that they could get away without answering anything and be allowed to move on like this wasn't a problem, they had another fucking thing coming.
With enough persuasion, everyone talked eventually... and Negan prided himself on his ability to persuade people into doing all kinds of shit. And until they did, they would be considered enemies.
So when Primo had contacted him on the radio, his orders had been simple: strip them of all weapons and belongings, load them into a truck and bring them to Sanctuary so he could confront them personally and get what he wanted. They weren't to be harmed but at the same time they were to be kept under guard at all times, and to only shoot to kill if one of them tried anything. Their survival wholly depended on whether they were willing to cooperate or not.
His radio crackled with static before a voice came through, the old speaker giving a slight metallic quality to the words, but they were clear nonetheless. “Boss? We're here, unloading them now. We're at loading dock C.”
Negan inhaled deeply and reached down to remove the device from where it sat clipped to his belt, and raised it up, pressing the PTT button on the side. “Be there in a minute.” Returning it to his belt Negan turned on his heel; Lucille sat in her usual place when he wasn't carrying her around, propped up against the backrest of a plush recliner opposite the couch. Depending how things went with these strangers, he might have need of her tonight.
Holding her in his hand, feeling her comforting weight in his palm like she truly was an extension of himself, always made him feel better. Not quite complete, but close, as close as he would ever get to feeling complete again. Lucille's death had ripped a tear in his soul, punched a hole in his heart that nothing and no one had managed fill, no matter how many communities he had under his control or how much shit he had... no matter how many people he fucked, and that was okay. He was hardly the only one, everyone had lost someone at some point, but the pain served as a clear reminder of his shame, his weakness and his mistakes, and that was what kept him going strong now. It was what he drew strength from, and the bat made it bearable.
With her safely in his hands Negan left his room, traversing the darkened hallways of the factory on his way down to the loading docks. At this hour, a little past midnight, all the workers had long since retreated to their own beds but he wasn't alone; there were still Saviors around, patrolling the halls and the grounds outside, and every single one of them gave him a wide berth and a respectful nod as he passed them on his way out.
Loading dock C was of course that one loading dock where the goddamn exterior light above the door had broken down days ago, and no one had bothered to fix it yet. It wasn't used much, which was probably the reason why Primo had picked it, which was fine and fucking dandy, but it was so dark out he could barely see these people he was to tickle for information. The only light came from the truck's headlights they'd used to get here, illuminating their captives from behind and making it impossible for him to make out any details or faces unless he moved closer.
Meant they could see him just fine though, so not all was lost.
They were there, kneeling in the dirt in a neat little row, all properly lined up like sheep ready for slaughter. To the side, at the bottom of the concrete steps lay their belongings, various rucksacks and duffel bags as well as a few firearms and knives, kept well out of their reach. They were outnumbered at least two to one anyway, they'd be fucking stupid and suicidal to try and make a grab for their weapons but hey, he'd been surprised before. Some people really were that stupid.
Negan watched them for a moment, Lucille resting on his shoulder, and his lips slowly curled up into a devious smirk, causing the dimples in his cheeks to deepen. “Well,” he mused and reached up to stroke leather clad fingers over the scruff on his chin. “aren't you a sorry looking bunch of sad shitstains on the pavement. Not quite how you imagined this night to go I imagine. Things are about to get a whole lot more interesting real soon, that I can fucking guarantee.”
Dry grass crunched under his boots as he approached the line-up, not close enough to be within reach, but close enough to demand their attention. Every shred of it.
“It's real simple.” he continued, using his free hand to gesture at the group while he paced in front of them with slow, deliberate steps. “I ask a fucking question, you give me a goddamn honest answer. You're here because you did not communicate and here I am, taking precious time outta my night to give you motherfuckers a chance to remedy that mistake. I'd say that's more than fucking generous. It's like my ol' nan always used to say; communication is key, and talking-” Negan came to a full stop and swung Lucille off his shoulder, swinging her with an audible hiss of displaced air as he switched her from one hand to the other. “-talking is what keeps you alive. So.”
The leather of his glove creaked as he tightened his grip around the handle and pointed the bat's blunt head to the person at the far left, slowly moving her down the line. “Question number one: which one of you limp dicks is gonna be the first one to spill their fucking guts out and tell me what I wanna know?”
