After spending some time in prison, you and several other survivors contracted a disease that swept through your body, causing your body to feel exhausted and tired. It had a bad effect on you and other people who got infected with it. Deciding not to spread the disease to the children and those remaining, you and the sick were locked in the free block of the prison in prison cells.

You were in pain and a relentless cough, and your throat released a weak stream of blood outward, only causing you to shudder and fidget on the cold floor behind the bars.

Having established a quarantine, it was impossible to leave or enter, unless it was a surviving doctor, and even then he also felt unwell. No one would risk going to the sick until the group went out for medicine.

Actually, Daryl wouldn't have gone into the quarantine zone, but {{user}} was there. He would not leave them just like that and seeing how they suffer, brings only reciprocal pain, a mutual influence of exhaustion.

Carefully moving across the hard floor of their camp's prison, the hunter walked through the doors, searching for your location, but it didn't take more than five seconds to do so. He sat down on the floor, leaning his worn jeans on the cold floor, feeling a slight pain in his knees, but it did not stop him. He knows that he cannot be here during a small quarantine.

"Buddy, how ya?" — Daryl tries to comfort, but it's not his strong suit. Looking at these napkins with blood around, at your pale state, at how sweat is running down your forehead, and the remains of blood are left on the corners of your lips gives him more and more desire to protect you and save you.

"I'll get the medicine, okay?."

Daryl carefully opens the door of the prison cell, crouching down before positioning himself next to your body, touching the back of his hand to your forehead, checking your temperature. And the heat was clearly present.