The smell of engine oil impregnated the whole room, making the air heavy and uncomfortable. Some car coaches had been set up like beds. The floor was dirty, but you were sitting there and you did not care. To tell the truth, you did not care, because the only thing you thought about at that moment was death. You were tired of fighting, you had resisted too much. You couldn't stand anything else anymore, you had reached the limit. During this horror, during the rape, your mind was involved in a single thought: 'Please kill me.'

And you did nothing but repeat it, as if you were convincing yourself that it would happen, as if they were convincing you that this torture would end and you would be fine, in another dimension or in some other fucked up world after death. Instead, you were still there, in this damn reality that was infested with living dead. But they weren't the real monsters, because these men vied for the title. The world was degenerate, bringing people into oblivion. In a place where they had to force themselves and fight, madness and violence had outstripped the solidarity instinct. Fuck survival, this is fun. That was the reason. In a place where everything went wrong, nobody can tell you what to do or not, there is freedom, pure and honest freedom of action. Goodbye values ​​like ethics and morality. This is the beginning of the end. And you were overwhelmed by this situation. What was left of you? Something. A doll without content, that was you. An inanimate puppet. Feelings, emotions? Not here anymore. Instinct, fears? Not here anymore. You were frozen inside. Joe, after having his fun, gave the other two their time.

"A quickie, I recommend you.", he said laughing.

It was better to go back before it got dark, so he would hurry, happy with the sex. He hadn't left; on the contrary, he had continued to watch. But in his eyes you read no physical excitement, his was of a different kind. Excited, pleased to have crossed this limit of humanity. As if the chaos was a blessing, a new beginning for him and his colleagues. When the two men finished but Joe didn't think about leaving you there. You were a rarity, Len had told you. And the group enjoyed it. Well, now you were in one of their hiding places, or just going through... After showing you proudly, almost like a trophy, they threw you into a corner and tied your wrists with a rope. They undressed you with a simple look. You perceived their hunger. The physical pain you felt was strong, but never as distressing as your psyche. You kept staring at your wrists. The rope had been over-tightened, so much that redness had already formed on the skin. At first, you tried slowly, without arousing suspicion, to turn the wrists. But there was no way out. In fact, you hurt yourself and polluted your wrists with blood. You gave up. The henchmen mumbled and awaited their boss. Joe started a speech. He advised his men to wait for the next morning.

"It's not necessary to try right away, don't you think?", he said in his calm tone of voice: "Now you're weak and worn out."

Not everyone showed satisfaction, but no one dared raise objections. After all, you would have stayed there, a few hours would have made no difference. Len winked at one of the group, who laughed in amusement.

"She calmed down.", he said, pointing at you with a nod. "You have to see how she twists!", added Len.

One of the men looked at you and licked his lips. "Well, I like it when they fight back..."

But Joe raised his arms as if to draw attention to himself. Everyone fell silent and turned their attention to the head of the group. He looked at you out of the corner of his eye and smiled.

"Guys, please, we don't look bad, but we're not beasts."

You despised him for his ironic tone. You simply did not understand where he wanted to arrive with such an attitude. You weren't an idiot, the fact that they didn't talk about it wouldn't have improved your mood. You looked down again and rested your head on your knees. And so you closed your eyes and your now dead companion appeared in your mind. First his smile, then his body, stretched out among the flowers that you had loved so much. The same flowers that surrounded Hershel embraced this man. You couldn't understand what happened. You hadn't worked out his death yet. Everything had happened so fast. Your mind was filled with memories and images of those few weeks you spent in his company. Your confidences, smiles, laughter. He had taken you to another world, he had managed to shed some light on you. A glimmer of hope, a small glowing torch in complete darkness. And now, too, that faint flame was extinguished.

"Let's give her some time...", Joe said: "You will see that she will integrate well."

Then the gate rose and allowed the moonlight to brighten the room a little. In the corner where you were, you couldn't see who it was. Some cars prevented you from seeing. But in truth, you didn't have the slightest intention of seeing who had entered, you didn't want to see any new faces. It wouldn't have made a difference. So you still sat with your head down and looked at the blood running down your arms. You heard a few steps to reach the entrance and saw Joe's shoes disappear from your eyes and then his voice echoed.

"Welcome back! Profitable hunting?", he asked.

The newcomer threw a black garbage bag on the ground, but from the noise it produced, it became clear that there were cadavers in it. The guy answered with a simple groan, as if he didn't want to talk about it. Through your hair you saw a pair of feet. Everyone laughed and that surprised you. They laughed at him and not at you. From what you understood from the joke exchanges between Joe and Len, this person had recently joined them. Maybe his reaction to seeing a woman had produced the laughter of others. You assumed he wasn't such a bastard, but you couldn't be sure. Maybe he had just adopted a playful expression, happy to see fresh meat. You lazily raised your head to look at the person. One look was enough to see the soul of him. But when you allowed him to look into your face, you felt frozen. Your eyes wandered and you both were put into a state of paralysis. No emotion appeared, careful not to convey anything to the group.

"Claimed.", Daryl said.

You didn't understand that word, but it did mischief among the men. Len approached his head angrily and pointed to the archer.

"What! Who do you think you are? That's not how it works here!", he spat.

Joe put his hand between the two men and pushed them back a little. He bowed his head and moved his white hair. He looked at Daryl, and Len wasn't pleased to see any reaction from the leader, and continued to rant.

"Fuck it! Even if he understood the rules, this bitch belongs to all of us!"

The group supported Len and agreed. You understood that some rules had to be enforced, but there had to be a dilemma regarding the word 'claimed'. You were confused. In addition, Daryl's eyes continued to point to you, despite the speeches surrounding him. He stared at you in a strange way, you couldn't understand what he really thought. You were afraid he would have changed. Meanwhile, Tony accused the archer and grumbled that they had already given him too much. Joe calmly answered his henchman and finally turned to Daryl.

"Calm down guys.", he said: "Apparently our friend doesn't want to share."

The glare from Daryl's eyes embarrassed you. You could not keep eye contact, and so you often looked down. Then, from what was happening, you were taken back by the very lively discussion by pointing a gun at you.

"Bullshit!", Len shouted: "I aim at her until I get what I want!"

Daryl's hand closed into a fist, emphasizing the tight sinews, but no one noticed. On the contrary, Len was annoyed with the arrogance of the archer, as he apparently didn't care about the objections. Joe smiled at you and spoke to the angry man.

"Len, stay calm."

At that moment Daryl turned and put his face to Len, snorting through clenched teeth.

"I said CLAIMED."

Len moved as if to punch him in the face, but Joe stopped him.

"I understand your anger.", Joe said: "But look... We've never set a rule on this subject, we've always shared without having any problems with it, but we've decided that we could declare our things with the word 'claimed'. I feel compelled to agree with the man, and I can not deny it."

Everyone protested contemptuously, gesticulating and cursing, but they parted and reached their positions. They were soldiers after all. Len looked threateningly at the archer, but then gave up and left the garage. But you could not be happy... You understood that with Daryl's statement, now nobody could touch you anymore, but the idea of ​​having to stay with them disgusted you a little. Although Daryl was in front of you, alive and well, you weren't able to enjoy it. Joe looked pleased to Daryl as if remembering something. Then he took a bag and handed it to him.

"You said you lost your crossbow, didn't you?"

Daryl nodded and grabbed the object.

"Today is your lucky day, the sweetheart here had a nice model with her.", he added.

The archer didn't open his mouth and just looked at you again. This time, however, he carefully examined you. He threw the bag on his shoulder and reached you with big steps. Curled up in a corner, you didn't know how to behave. He grabbed you carefully and dragged you to a door without speaking to you. He seemed to be angry... He opened the door and pushed you inside, and threateningly threw the bag on a shabby table. You took a few steps back until a locker blocked your way. Daryl scared you. His coldness and his silence. You had raised your hands to chest height, still wedged in the rope. After a few minutes of tension, as you stared at each other like two strangers, Daryl moved and approached quickly. You suddenly closed your eyes and surprised yourself when you became uncertain and anxious. But as soon as you were firmly in control, you let yourself fall into the arms that surrounded you. You were safe, now you were safe. This contact dissolved the anxiety of your soul and calmed you down. You put your head on his chest and he wrapped you even more in this embrace. He could have told you everything, but he wasn't an idiot, he knew that it wouldn't help. But maybe it were just your stupid thoughts, probably Daryl had limited himself to this action because he had acted spontaneously. In this case, it did not matter. He was there and that was enough for you. You could not say how long you had stayed in this position that seemed infinite and that you didn't want to quit, but at some point you parted and fell into a kind of embarrassment. He had pretended that he didn't know you, as if he wanted only something specific. You were naive about the game and limited yourself to not answering. The other men in the other room probably imagined he was abusing you. You wanted to say something, thank him and instead you just stood there. He took out his knife and used it to cut the rope. Instinctively, you massaged your wrists. He noticed the blood, took a red rag from his back pocket and pressed it to the wounds. This simple gesture, this worry. The hug... All brought back inner pain. You were overwhelmed. Like a stormy ocean. You cried while standing still, tears running down your cheeks. Daryl didn't notice it immediately, busy cleaning your wounds. Then his fingers stopped when he noticed the scar. He looked speechless and as soon as he saw your salty drops of water, he felt useless. With a gesture, you told him not to worry. Of course there were a few chairs and a broken couch, but at that moment you didn't care about the comfort and collapsed on the floor... Daryl joined you and sat on the floor as well. It was an unreal situation, everything seemed so confusing. A series of terrible and solar events within a few weeks. A change of ups and downs. And now you had to find yourself on the verge of madness, but the fact that you had found Daryl led you to hope...

"Were ya' alone?", he asked.

Shoulder to shoulder, you both stared at the opposite wall.

"Yes...", you answered as a lie. You did not want to talk about your buddy and Daryl sighed. He too must have been a little confused. He was left alone, he had lost all his friends, his family. He had joined this group and who knows why. He would have thought, like you, that everyone was dead. You didn't think he thought you were a friend, but knowing that you lived had instinctively created the hope of the same fate for the others. But for the momentary happiness the contempt and the sadness were immediately returned. His new group had abused you and if it hadn't been him, it would have taken a long time. On the other hand, he was thankful that you were alone. If you had someone from the prison as a companion, it meant death at the hands of these bastards. Basically, you couldn't know how he really felt.

"Ain't happy to see ya'...", he whispered.

"Well then."

"I mean-...", he added, consciously offending you: "...- I would've preferred that they hadn't foun' ya'."

"Me too."

He got up to get the bag and put all the weapons on the table, including your backpack. He had his beloved crossbow and held it as if watching her condition. And he thanked you with his eyes.

"I stumbled upon escaping.", you said, as if letting go of this tension. You did not want to be in trouble, you saw that he did not know what to say and how to behave.

"We have to go away...", you urged.

"No.", he answered without explanation. You came closer and noticed that there was also the shotgun of your dead companion.

"What! You want to tell me that it's okay for you to stay with them?", you asked incredulously.

"Didn't say that."

He also examined the shotgun and pretended to aim for something. He checked all the items, looked up from the table, and looked at you.

"Ya' said ya' were alone.", he hissed. You examined the table and realized that there were too many weapons that a single person could have carried.

"If we want to get along, ya' 've to stop lyin'.", he said, masking a hint of nervousness. This sentence hurt you. He also referred to the Governor. But you did not blame him, he had every right not to trust you.

"The rifle, the machete and the notebook belonged to my companion."

"A survivor?"

"A friend.", you said. Yes, in the end you saw him as a good friend. As an anchor, as hope. A breath of fresh air in an oppressive world. But Daryl grimaced.

"Listen, I won' stay with 'em, I've been thinkin' 'bout gettin' away, but if I did it now, the claim on ya' would be meaningless.", he told you.

"So... What will you do?"

"We'll leave when time 's right."

"And when is that supposed to be?", you asked nervously. You didn't have the slightest idea that you had to spend many days at their side. Whenever Len, Tony or Joe opened their mouths, you would relive that moment...

"When their on the trail of other people, someone who killed their colleagues. If their near 'em 'nd attackin' 'em, we'll 've enough time to flee, they'll be too busy killin' the others to think 'bout us."

"Can't we just get out of the window and get away?"

"I do what I do...," he said: "I understan' that it's hard for ya', but please keep yer damn mouth shut, 'nd if we got out of this window now, it wouldn' take long for 'em to find us. They're hunters, I know 'em well, they're like me, they would follow the tracks without difficulty."

Breathless, you sighed. He was right. You would have to force yourself and wait to wait for this moment. It would have been hard for you to stay calm and quiet with each of their words. You wanted to kill them.

"Okay Daryl, we'll do what you said."

"Well... Ya' 'nd I don' know each other, we never met, it's true that yer now mine, but I can't give ya' weapons, they wouldn' accept that, so hide this knife in yer boots. If somethin' happens, ya' can at least defend yerself. Do what I tell ya', avoid killin' anyone, I've seen how ya' look at 'em. If we want that the plan works, follow my instructions.", he explained.

He talked to you about their habits, the rules they had imposed and their characters. He illustrated every detail he considered important. You did not interrupt him, you let him uncover this knowledge. You listened to him without being distracted and learning what was necessary. Although Daryl was busy explaining your future movements, you watched his face. He had changed, something in him was broken... When you were alone, you were sure that the actual Daryl would come out. Now he was busy with something else to integrate himself into the new group. You looked at each other and told each other that you were ready. You were now about to open the door, but he stopped you.

"Wait.", he said.

"Why?"

"They must believe it, they must have no doubt. Ya' know what I'm talkin' 'bout...", he said quietly, as if the others could hear it.

He wanted you to hurt him, where others could see it, in his face or his arms, just to simulate a fight and your defensive reaction. With the crossbow on his shoulder, he came closer and urged you to action. The idea of ​​deliberately hurting him made you uncomfortable. He stood there and stared at you. You bit your lower lip, squeezing your fingernails into his flesh and pulling a little with your fingers. Daryl looked at you.

"That's it?", he asked, waving his arm: "A fuckin' scrape?"

"But I-..."

You had no time to finish the sentence, he scratched in several places. Of course, credible... After a nod you went back to the door, but as soon as you touched it, he stopped you again.

"What?", you asked impatiently. Not that you were in a hurry to get back to this gang, but you wanted to rest. You wanted to be alone in your own silence. Without answering immediately, he moaned annoyed and put back the crossbow. He took off his leather vest and shirt and stopped. He threw you his shirt, which was also dark and pointed with his forefinger at you.

"It's better if ya' cover yerself."
You looked down slowly and noticed a rather deep cut. You blushed at once and covered yourself with the shirt. Daryl turned and hid his face. He wasn't good at hiding his embarrassment.

"Better than nothin'.", he said, adjusting his vest before going back with you to the men.