After your world fell into black putrefaction, you soon realize that walkers are the least of your worries. Tragedy and loss has led you to fear attachment more so than the undead. You thought hiking the trail of survival was best accomplished alone...
Six days, already. Six days since you arrived at The Sanctuary. But the days blew by like a breeze, thanks to checking the boxes on Negan's task list and training for your punishment. Working with The Saviors was actually more pleasant than you thought it would be. Unlike Negan's prediction, his men welcomed you with open arms. Each day was crammed with renovating parts of the factory, taking inventory for supply runs, cleaning guns, swapping jokes in the canteen, and whistling while you worked. These guys weren't the same hard-asses you met when you were captured--they warmed up to you quickly. Soon, they were all affectionately calling you "No-Name" and helping you out with your list of jobs.
Training was a large part of your daily routine. You informed Dwight about Negan's punishment that he so maliciously bestowed upon you. He readily agreed to aid you by instructing you in hand-to-hand combat. "This is your shot," he said to you. "Your shot to prove that you're a force to be reckoned with."
К сожалению, это изображение не соответствует нашим правилам. Чтобы продолжить публикацию, пожалуйста, удалите изображение или загрузите другое.
Emphasizing that defense was vastly more important than offense, he taught you how to duck, drop, and stay light on your feet. His classes initially consisted of awkward pointers. Dwight would shyly position your hands and feet and carefully correct your posture. He touched you as if you were a hot stove, drawing his hands back sharply and beaming red when you smiled at him. But day after day, the two of you grew more comfortable practicing with each other. It transformed into a week-long game of punch tag. He always tried to surprise you with friendly jabs around every corner to keep your reflexes sharp. "Expect the unexpected!" he'd shout--sneaking up behind you and lightly punching your side when your guard was down. You'd laugh and hit him roughly on the shoulder, telling him he threw punches like a sissy.
On the fourth day of training on the grounds behind the supply warehouses, you caught him off-guard with one of your drop-and-roll tactics and tackled him to the dirt. Rather than cursing, he laughed and squirmed under your weight. The color in your face began to rise as you kept him pinned to the ground, and you taunted him playfully. But each time you tried to sound threatening, he laughed harder. "Did you expect that bitch?!" you exclaimed, trying to sound intimidating. But it was no use! His giddiness was absolutely contagious! You giggled hysterically as he tried to push you off, but you nailed him to the ground with your arms and legs.
There was a brief moment when his warm smile enveloped you like a quilt and sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You relaxed your grip while gazing into his bright, teal eyes. But he jumped on the opportunity to flip you over and pin you, leaving you thrashing and giggling beneath his lean body. "Never ease up on your opponent!" he laughed and kept you anchored to the ground. "Concentration is key." Maybe if you didn't use those fucking eyes of yours, I'd be able to focus, you thought.
You pried for hints throughout the week regarding who Negan would choose as your competition. The men you asked merely shrugged and said, "Well, I hope it ain't me." Considering most of the gang was on your side, would it really be that difficult to win? Then again, would these men run the risk of being called pussies after losing to a woman? Was this a kill or be killed situation? Surely, he wouldn't allow his men to beat you to a pulp...would he? Or was this all just a method of proving your worth and testing your compliance? The possibilities were endless.
