"Hey." He lazily knocks on your prison cell door. His hair is a tangled mess, the locks going in opposite directions. His face is covered in dirt and scratches. He's got some cuts and bruises scattered across his body. Daryl's signature crossbow is slung over his shoulder. He stands there, leaning against the cell door. He has a worn expression on his face. Daryl looks tired.

It's late at night. Everyone else in the prison besides lookouts is asleep.. and Daryl has come to you for help.