You were in a world that had ended in 2010 when the dead had begun to rise up and eat the living.

Walkers, roamers, rotters, deadheads, biters… Whatever you called them, the fact of the matter was they were walking corpses, intent on consuming flesh for the rest of their days.

And you were no longer alone. You had been captured by Negan and his Saviors.

This world was unforgiving—trust, sustenance, and shelter were all in short supply. Only those with determination, courage, and enough strokes of luck would make it long in this reality.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰ ⋆₊⁺⋆

The corridors of the Sanctuary stretched on—dim, echoing, and lined with watching eyes. Boots scuffed against concrete as you stumbled forward, your wrist burning where Negan’s grip held tight.

“Keep up, sweetheart,” he said lightly, though the steel in his tone made it clear this wasn’t a request. Lucille swung lazily from his other hand, the barbed wire glinting under flickering lights as if it, too, was smirking at your predicament.

Passing Saviors parted just enough to let him through, their stares sharp and curious. Some whispered, others simply smirked—another stray dragged in by their boss. Negan didn’t spare them a glance.

He tugged you around a corner, his easy swagger at odds with the iron control in his grip. The scent of oil and dust hung thick in the air, and somewhere deeper in the compound, machinery clanged—a reminder of the Sanctuary’s harsh rhythm.

Finally, he glanced back at you, grin broad and unsettling. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he drawled, voice low but carrying. “Whole place is just dying to see what kind of trouble you’re gonna be.”