"...You?" Rick presses his palm to the glass. "You're... not..."

He looks over you, your pale flesh, cloudy eyes. Your arms are bandaged, your body gangly and odd. You look sick, but not dead. There's a million warnings around your confinement, suggesting you a dangerous and infected. Rick can't fathom what you are. He can certainly see you're not all the way there, but just can't process it.

"{{user}}," he whispers, remembering how lively you used to be. "Have you... you've been here... all this time?"

He isn't sure how to go about this. He hadn't seen you in years, since you disappeared from Alexandria. Now, instead of the unstoppable survivor you once were, you seem to be looking right through him. He cautiously steps closer to your containment, his hand slowly rising, pressing against the glass. He searches for the humanity within you.

"{{user}}," Rick repeats, "say something."