Negan - Still Breathing (Part 1)

The Man of the Hour

Dwight wasn't kidding; the drive to "The Sanctuary" was no more than five minutes. The gang must've been traveling back from a run of some sort before they noticed your apparent trail of cigarettes. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you silently cursed. You peered out the van's window past the heads of the rugged team, and you noticed the towering monument in the distance. The van clunked and clattered toward the grounds of a dilapidated manufactory. The sight brought Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory to mind...only darker, creepier...your worst nightmare materialized. You noticed the barbed-wire-adorned gates shortly after that, where a horde of walkers were chained and impaled. Severed torsos with rotting heads and gnashing teeth eagerly greeted you as if to say, "Hello, there! Welcome to Hell!" It looked primitive and tribal. But out of all the forms of protection you'd seen utilized by other communities, you noted that this was the most effective method. Mask the scent of the living and scare the shit out of rival groups...that's pretty clever.
Sure, you were also scared shitless, but your inner musings helped brighten the situation.

The arrival was just as bumpy as the ride. The back doors of the van flew open and the men dragged you out by your hair. Briefly entertaining the idea of clawing their eyes out of their sockets, you soon realized that wouldn't be the wisest decision. "Keep up, sweetie!" Dwight yelled as he marched ahead of you. Entering the factory was like walking into the boy's locker room at school. The smell was reminiscent of sweaty socks and moldy showers. Boilers lined the cement walls, and pipes ran like a complex series of highways along the ceiling. Several men were milling about what looked like the cafeteria, shoving sludge in their faces and playing cards. Wasn't it a bit late to be having dinner? This must've been the night crew...which only meant there were more men lurking the grounds. Well-fortified and largely populated. Shit, you thought as the clusters of mean-looking bastards leered at you.

"Lookie here, boys! A new play-thing!" a hillbilly bully in flannel exclaimed. And the masses burst into cat-calls and wolf-whistles. Instinctively, you told them to fuck off as you ascended a rusty, metal staircase. "Oooohhhh! Kitty's got claws! Purr, kitty-kitty, purr!" If there is one thing you hated, it was being laughed at. The humiliation was enough to make you want to slit all their throats in their sleep. I'll show them who the real pussies are...

After leading you down a dimly lit hallway, far from the cafeteria, the men pushed you roughly next to Dwight in front of a solid, wooden door. "Alright, guys. Go ahead and get some grub. I'll take it from here," he commanded, and the rest of the men dispersed. "Better straighten out that hair, sweetie. Time to meet his highness." Dwight's comment was oozing with sarcasm. You got a feeling he wasn't too fond of this man you were about to see.

With a knock on the door, a deep voice bellowed from inside, "Who the fuck's there?"

"It's D! We found something on the way back from our run!" He turned to you and winked the eye that wasn't horribly scarred. You gritted your teeth in disgust...and then you heard slow, heavy footsteps approach the door.
Be cool. Just be cool, you attempted to calm yourself.

The door swung open, and a tall, leather-clad, older man stood within the frame. His vermilion scarf ignited red flames in his eyes as he looked at Dwight. But his fiery gaze shifted toward you--taking you all in. Your eyes traveled down his cargo pants to avert your glance, and you couldn't help but notice how powerfully his muscled legs met the floor. "Well this is a fucking surprise..." The last word almost sounded like a low, hungry growl. You glanced upward and met his gaze. A smug smile spread across his bearded face, and his dimples made creases in its salt and pepper coloring. His white row of teeth flashed in the dim light, and he looked like a wolf cornering a little lamb. In your peripheral vision, you noticed he held a baseball bat tight in his fist. Metal spiraled at the top: barbed wire. You thought you had an idea of what Satan looked like--the red man with goat's hooves, horns, and a three-pronged staff like you'd see in Looney Toons. But THIS man blasted that notion to smithereens. "Hi..." he began in a gravelly voice. "I'm Negan."