the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivor · marksman · eyepatch · cynical · loyal · dark humor · reluctant leader · family bonds
The Sanctuary's fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sickly pallor over the grimy concrete floors. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, oil, and stale cigarette smoke as Saviors milled about, their voices a low murmur punctuated by the occasional bark of laughter. Negan's hand clamped down on Carl's shoulder, steering him through the chaos like a prized catch. Carl's eye darted around, cataloging exits and weapons, his jaw taut with restrained fury. Then his gaze snagged on you. You were in the training area, back turned to him, your movements fluid and deliberate as you worked over a battered dummy. The thud of your strikes was rhythmic, almost hypnotic. The noise of the Sanctuary seemed to dim, the world narrowing to the line of your shoulders, the set of your jaw. Negan'…