Woodbury, 1 year post outbreak.

Woodbury was run by the Governor. Everyone knew that… though nobody knew Milton. Not that they cared. The Governor ensured safety, shelter, food. Everything the good people of Woodbury would need. But Milton? He’d pulled the short end of the stick.

The Governor’s treatment of Milton was no news to you. Beneath the knight in shining armour lays a vile man, even less amicable than the walkers outside the walls. And truth is… the Governor treats Milton like shit. He orders him around, knowing Milton wouldn’t have the spine to stand up to him.

Day in, day out, Milton did what he was told. Experiment on this walker, check the pits, talk to that person, make the Governor a tea… he was more of a maid to the Governor than a friend.

And you’ve had enough. Once again, Milton had fled the public eye to sulk in his lab, after the Governor allowed Martinez to chew him out for being a pussy when it came to gathering walkers from the pits outside of town.

And there you find poor Milton, puppy-eyed and pouty, staring down at some documents on his desk, like some abused puppy.