𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗜𝗡𝗦 (DARYL DIXON X READER)

Chapter 8

You leaned against a table, waiting for whatever was about to happen.

Looking around the prison, you found it uncomfortable; though, the group that lived here saw it almost like a home, and you couldn't help but compare it to Woodbury. Yeah, this wasn't the world you grew up in.

Luxury? Comfort?

Those words had become meaningless, buried along with the rest of the old world. Woodbury had been a taste of something better and a memory of how things used to be, but here? You couldn't imagine the people from Woodbury accepting it just like that. But what choice did they have? The Governor certainly didn't give a damn about any kind of personal preference.

Above you was the former guard's station. It was making you uncomfortable how much the prison, well... still looked like a prison, as if the place itself had refused to die along with the rest of the world. The barred doors, the long hallways, the cold steel-everything showed that it was once a place of confinement. And yet, here you were, trying to convince yourself that it was better than being out there than living in Woodbury, and trying to believe that the Governor was right after all.

You soon looked over your shoulder, your eyes landing on the group of people behind the barred door that led to the cells in this block. They watched you with curiosity and suspicion, as if sizing you up, deciding whether you were a threat or just another survivor trying to make it through the day. The eldest of them, the man with the crutches that you saw outside, sat on some steps. He looked like someone who had seen more than his fair share of bullshit and wasn't about to take any more.

Meanwhile, Rick paced back and forth in front of you like a caged animal, his shirt sticking to his back, soaked through with sweat. It wasn't just the weather that had him sweating-no, it was the responsibility, the burden of keeping everyone alive when every day was a new kind of hell.

"Alright, listen up," Rick suddenly started. "Here are the rules. You sleep in this part of the prison, away from the rest of us. You don't get your weapons back until I say so. And when you do, you better believe it'll be because I trust you not to stab us in the back and kill us."

The idea of being unarmed, especially in a place like this, was enough to make you sweat as well, but you kept your face neutral, nodding as if you had no problem with it. But inside? Inside, you were cursing, trying to figure out just how you were going to get through this without ending up dead if they figured out who you really are and why you were really there.

"You want to go outside? You ask. You want to help? You ask. Need to take a piss? You let me know, but you aren't going alone. Every move you make, I need to know about it. You got that?"

You nodded again, this time more deliberately, hoping to show him and to make him believe that you understood the rules.

"Good," he said. "You gotta earn our trust. I let you in here, and that means you got a shot. But don't mistake that for me trusting you. You fuck up anything, and I mean anything; you're out. And if you're a threat? I'll kill you myself. No hesitation. I'm not here to play games anymore."

This wasn't just about surviving the walkers; it was about surviving the people who'd taken you in. And Rick? He certainly wasn't going to make that easy.

He then held out his hand, and you hesitated for a moment before handing over your weapons. The feel of them leaving your grip was almost painful, like giving up a piece of your soul. Carol, the woman with the short hair that wanted to shoot you only minutes before outside, took them from Rick and put them away, her eyes never leaving you.

"Any questions?" Rick asked, but it wasn't really a question. More like a challenge, daring you to speak up, to push back against the rules he'd just laid out.