Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Loving You Had Consequences

"Welcome to The Sanctuary."

Just once I'd like to deal with a sociopath that didn't name their compound something ridiculous. The Sanctuary was actually an old, abandoned factory though what it produced in its heyday was anyone's guess. Now I suppose it produced homicidal maniacs.

"Get that one checked out by the doc." Negan pointed at Daryl with a sadistic smile. I'd come to the realization that was his default setting. "Got to make sure his boo-boo gets better."

"And this one?" Two-Face asked, shoving me forward.

Negan tapped his thumb against his lip like he didn't already have every detail worked out. He wasn't someone who flew by the seat of his pants. He was a strategist, a planner, and he took us both for a specific purpose. Unfortunately, I understood that purpose all too well. The only reason I was here was to control Daryl. I may give him a chub, but my husband gave him a full-on boner. He wanted him to join his ranks, one way or another.

"Put her in a cell," he finally replied like it was a big reveal, "Make sure they're across from each other. I love the sound of desperation in the evening."

What an asshole. That wasn't even funny.

While two men "escorted" my husband to the doctor I was manhandled in the opposite direction. The only good news about our cells being clear on the other side of the compound was it gave me ample opportunity to collect information.

There was a barbed wire fence surrounding the place with walkers acting as deterrent for any adversary. Some were chained up, roaming aimlessly while others were propped up on huge, wooden stakes. Men moved between them, all wearing beige sweats with spray painted letters on the front, careful to avoid the numerous walkers serving as an impassable minefield. They were clearly prisoners, afforded none of the freedoms the likes of which Two-Face enjoyed.

Inside The Sanctuary was brimming with activity. Everywhere I looked there were people. I had no idea what their numbers were, but it wouldn't surprise me if it topped out at over a hundred. No one paid me any mind which wasn't too surprising. Something told me a prisoner in this place was the status quo.

I witnessed at least three fights break out over seemingly nothing. It appeared this place was like a lot like Knowhere, no laws or regulations whatsoever. If someone had something you wanted you took it. If they weren't strong enough to defend it then they didn't deserve it in the first place. Violence was the law here. Step out of line, and it would earn you a beating or worse. This wasn't a family or a community. It was a group with only one purpose, survival no matter the cost.

We passed a lush garden overflowing with fresh vegetables. The smell of fresh baked bread drifting through the air made my stomach rumble painfully and mouth salivate. These people may steal the majority of their resources, but they had a thriving ecosystem of their own if needed.

There was a clear hierarchy. Those who served, and those who got served. Men like Two-Face were clearly higher on the pecking order though no one quite measured up to Negan's status. The saying "pick your poison" came to mind as I watched the dynamic unfold as we passed.

The main structure itself was eerie. It could easily be home to a Ghost Hunter episode without breaking a sweat. It was painted the color of despair, a cross between faded black and gray that sucked your hope of every escaping dry. Most of the windows of the enormously tall building were cracked or missing, adding to the sinister essence of Negan's home. To say this place was unsettling was like calling a yeast infection a mild inconvenience. An itchy twat was nothing to scoff at, and neither was this place.