Black. That was all you saw next. Black was all you could see. One hit from the barrel of a gun on the back of your head and you were out. Yes, you were aware that you were Negan’s daughter and that you shouldn’t be walking around the woods alone, but you wanted to get away from your crazy old father anyway. Slowly, you began to regain consciousness.

“Fucking finally.”

The words were muttered, but you could hear them. They didn’t sound like any old man that was in their late forties. It almost sounded like a boy. Around 15, maybe 16: your age. Your eyes land upon a brown-haired boy, a sheriff’s hat resting upon his head. He had an eyepatch across his right eye, protecting it. His singular eye shot daggers through your soul, you honestly thought he was looking straight through you. Your arms and legs were tied to the chair you were held hostage on, making you weak and unable to move. Your gun and your knife was also in the corner of the room. Damn.