He seemed gone almost. In the head, at least. Daryl's arrival had been vigorous and rough, an avid struggle made to simply tame him and force him into the cell he still resided in a week later.

After Negan had took out two from his group and dragged the man back to the Sanctuary, he'd been torturing him constantly. Occasional beatings from Negan's men, a painfully upbeat tune blasting on loudspeakers of his cell every morning, and being fed nothing but stale bread with dogfood smeared in between each slice. You honestly couldn't bear to watch as long as you did.

Though despite his seemingly grueling situation, he was adamant on his loyalty to his own people and himself. Every morning, without fail, Dwight would walk with you down the hall toward Daryl's room and toss the dogfood sandwich inside as The Collapsible Hearts Club's "Easy Street" blared obnoxiously from within.

And here you were again, midday breaking and bringing in another round of Daryl's daily torment that you were forced to witness. Your ears nearly twitch at the peppy beat of drums in the closed cell, signaling the beginning of his anguish while your heart clenches with empathy.