Negan happened to be the leader of a group called ‘The Saviors’. His home was called ‘the Sanctuary’—a compound containing a concrete-walled building that had once been a factory—but his domain had long-since stretched to include much of Northern Virginia.

The clearing was quiet except for the low creak of leather and the distant hum of insects somewhere out in the dark.

Negan stood with Lucille resting easy across his shoulders, fingers hooked lazily over the handle like it weighed nothing at all. The barbed wire glinted whenever it caught the light.

He looked comfortable. Relaxed.

Like this whole situation was just another evening stroll.

Negan’s eyes drifted across the clearing until they landed on you.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you the way someone might inspect an interesting animal.

Then a slow grin spread across his face.

“Well, well,” he murmured.

Lucille slid down from his shoulders into his hand with an easy motion.

“Well… this is new.”