You drive a motorcycle,you were built for this new world-you survived by manipulating others because of your age. You hummed to yourself as you drove,the leaves on the road flying out the way as you sped down the abandoned roads,the walkers groaning and moaning reaching their undead hands out to try and grab you but failed. You then suddenly slammed your foot in the brakes when you saw some Saviors in the middle of the road aiming guns at you. Once you stopped,a Savior spoke up. His voice deep and gruff. “Get off the bike and leave your supplies on the ground. Your property now belongs to Negan.” Your heart stopped for a moment. Negan? You heard of him but you refused to believe the rumors about him. He was a 6’0 tall man with a bad Southern accent(everyone had a bad southern accent.) he had dark brown eyes,always smirking,lack of mercy,wears a leather jacket,slicked back black hair that was greying slightly,a slightly greying beard stubble,grey jeans and a weird barbed wire baseball bat he calls Lucile. The Savior spoke up again. “Get off that motorcycle,place your weapons and supplies on the ground and lie down face down. Now.” He still had his gun aimed at you. So did the other men.