The cafeteria was an amusement park of madness! A carousel of chaos! A funhouse of fright! The Saviors scattered about, disoriented. It wasn't until you reached the balcony above the hall, after taking Nicole to the lounge, that you realized why. Somehow Gio had found a way to mess with the generators, and the lights were flickering rapidly. That clever bastard, you thought. The men's perplexed faces were caught in strobes of bright light, then shadowed in darkness. On, off, on, off. You adjusted your vision and scanned the area below. It was next to impossible to keep track of their movements. They darted this way and that like frightened fish in an aquarium. Blood pooled on the floor, and a few of the men grunted, pressing their hands against soaked gashes. Axe wounds. For a second, you spotted Dwight's mangled disposition. He was shouting orders to the men to keep their eyes fixed on the lumberjack with the mask. Then, you saw Hulk Hogan clutching his rifle and circling the perimeter of the canteen. In a fleeting flash, you peered at Negan, who held Lucille at the ready. He appeared utterly determined to catch this masked stag. Stalking his prey like a salt-and-pepper wolf, he glowered and squinted his eyes. But Gio was nowhere to be seen. Where the fuck did he go?
All of the sudden, you felt a heavy hand fall on your shoulder in the darkness. You flinched and spun around. At first, you thought it was one of Negan's guards, but they had all dashed to the cafeteria. In another flash of light, you caught a glimpse of his face. "Gio," you whispered in surprise. He was unmasked and shirtless...for some reason. "Where in the name of God is your shirt?"
"That's not important," he interrupted, quietly. His chiseled pecs were speckled with blood, and his defined abs flexed. "If I'm gonna make it out alive, I need to distract those fuckers."
"As much as I'd love to save your ass, I'd be branded as a traitor," you hissed. "I can be ballsy, but not that ballsy."
"Just trust me!" Gio handed you the grotesque walker-mask. "Here, pull your hair back and throw this on."
"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" you muttered, placing the gross disguise over your face.
"I don't know, use that creativity of yours," he snipped. "There's just one more thing that I've gotta do."
"What the fuck do you mean?" You fixed your hair and squirmed your head into the mask. It stunk of decaying flesh.
He held your shoulders and kissed your forehead. "I'll explain later, Jackie. We'll see each other again. I know it."
You shoved your long hair beneath the mask. "I'd better have a good fucking reason for wearing this piece of corpse-trash," you pouted.
He let out a hushed chuckle. "Let's just say you're doing it for a childhood friend."
Your eyes smiled through the holes of the putrid garment. "Well, it's not good. But it's a reason."
Before Gio assumed his stealth-mode, he jested, "By the way...you look fabulous, darling."
"Fuck you," you cursed, but your speech was muffled by the disguise.
After giving you a grin of gratitude, Gio crept down the stairs toward the amalgamation of yelling and grunting--axe in hand. The lights continued to flicker inconsistently, shooting sparks from its old fixtures. Ideas fluttered about your brain. Acting as a decoy was not an option, unless you wanted to be blasted out of orbit. You mumbled to yourself, pondering other plans. While The Saviors played a frantic game of "Where's Waldo," you snuck down the hall to the wive's lounge. In times of distress, they all convened in that room. You paused in front of the door, contemplating your next move. Cries of distress would be an ideal distraction. And if anyone here would be frightened easily, it would be these fragile flowers. Making those four nymphs scream would split up The Saviors and hopefully give Gio enough cover to flee. You pressed your ear against the door--the wives were chattering inside. They already sounded on edge. It was the prime time to act. Let's make some noise, you thought with a giddy smile. Backing up, you took a deep breath and jumped into character. Become the walker. Be convincing. And with that in mind, you burst through the entrance and gargled vehemently.
"ARRRGGGHHHAAHHHRRRLLL!!!!" you hissed and gurgled and drooled. Stumbling over the threshold, you swung your arms and dragged your feet. Tilting your head, you bared your gnashing teeth like a lurker.
Just as planned, the four women shrieked in complete horror and nearly climbed the walls. They scurried to the corners of the room and cried loudly; their eyes were as wide as satellite dishes, and their complexions went ghost-white. "WALKER!!!" they yelled at the top of their lungs. Poor Nicole sobbed and covered her eyes. A couple flailed and flew to the bathroom, locking themselves in and yelling, shrilly. They were so terrified, they practically spoke in tongues--distraught and fearing for their lives. You nearly broke character and laughed at the sight of them. Once the other two women trampled over each other to the shower room, screaming violently as they went, you peeled off the mask and dashed down the scintillating hallway. Tossing the mask into one of the vacant rooms, you bolted toward the cafeteria.
Dozens of men came rushing up the stairs after they heard the alarming screams of the wives. The Latino man approached you, breathless. "Sin-Nombre, did you see the biter?" he panted.
"I'm not sure where it went. Just check on the women and make sure they're okay," you commanded. Pointing toward the lounge, the gang followed your orders. But when they surged into the room, more shrill shrieks erupted. The men tried shush the girls, but their volumes didn't cease. You choked back a giggle and scampered to the stairs. Thanks, gals. You've been extremely helpful.
Sliding down the railing in a hurry, you made it to the dining hall. You scoured the place for signs of Gio, but there were far too many clusters of men to be able to identify anyone. Attempting to pin-point his muscled frame, his bushy beard, his tangled hair tied in a bun, his axe, you only saw the puzzled Saviors in the glinting light. Your eyes fell on Negan, who guided you to his side with Lucille. "Where the fuck have you been, Nameless?" he shouted across the room. You jogged to his right flank with your .44 drawn. "What were those pretty-ass-pussies hollering about?"
You merely shrugged, hiding a grin. "I haven't the slightest idea."
"Where's that fucking Paul Bunyan bastard?" Negan gripped Lucille with both hands and his feet spread--prepared to pounce.
Your eyes narrowed in search of Gio. In a flash of illumination, you identified a large axe with a beaming blade doused in blood. Whizzing by a few men, it scattered their formations. Slicing a couple of them open, cries of excruciating pain sounded from the gang members. You cringed as your comrades were cut down like trees. Then, the axe soared through the air and landed close to your shoes. CLANG! The head of the weapon thundered when it hit the concrete. A pair of bulging, sinewy arms held the axe. "There he is," you squeaked. Why didn't he run when he had the chance? you thought, worriedly.
Dwight witnessed how closely the axe fell toward your body, and he shoved his way to your position--gun cocked and prepared to fire. Clawing through the rest of the men, he nearly tackled Gio. But Negan placed Lucille in front of him. "Don't fucking move, D," he growled. "This fucker is mine." Dwight took a step backward, lowered his glock, and looked at you, protectively.
As Negan raised his barbed-wire bat, Gio shot a glance at you. An idea twinkled in his espresso eyes. Abruptly, he lunged forward, grabbed your arm, and tugged you in front of him. His massive bicep pressed lightly on your neck and you gasped. He held the blood-stained blade of the axe against your throat. "What the fu--" you protested. But he squeezed you tighter.
Gio scowled at Negan, who wore a subtle expression of anxiousness. "Let me go, or this girl's neck will be a fucking faucet!" he boomed in his deep timbre. He moved the axe closer to your jugular and you gulped.
"NO!" Dwight screamed and tried to dart forward, but Negan caught his shoulder and thrust him back into place. D's face was riddled with terror.
"I mean it!" Gio bellowed. "If anybody moves, her blood will be on your hands!" Without notice from the surrounding men, Gio drummed on your shoulder with his other hand. He tapped out a message in Morse Code, which your father Sergeant Bennett taught you and Gio when you were children. He'd use it to communicate in sticky situations like these.
You concentrated on his dots and dashes. He tapped: –.. .–– – ––
He spelled out, "DW, TM." You brushed the cobwebs from your mind and brought out the translator. In your secret language, that meant, "Don't worry, trust me." You sighed quietly, hoping that his scheme would succeed. Hearing sniffles and whimpers from the balcony, you elevated your gaze. There stood half of the Saviors and the wives; Sherry and Nicole gawked at the dire situation below. Nicole's hands were hiding her mouth as she wept. Sherry clutched her heart and locked her vision on Dwight, her former lover.
"Don't touch her!" Nicole screamed, and the Latino man hushed her. He wrapped his hand around her trembling shoulders as tears flooded her baby blues. Sherry anxiously stood on the edge of the staircase, biting her lip.
Negan eyed you with a furrowed brow, and he raised his arms. Lucille was still attached to his fist. "No one's fucking going anywhere," he declared. "Calm your shit, guys. This prick is fucking bluffing!" His arrogant smile didn't reach his fearful eyes.
Gio threw his head back and howled with laughter. In this moment, he was the embodiment of insanity. "Bluffing?" he bayed. He shook you forcefully and clutched you even tighter. You involuntarily gasped at his vice-grip. He titled your head and revealed your vulnerable neck. The men stared at you with pleading expressions. Their jaws dropped, and they all winced as Gio wound back his arm and lifted the axe. Negan's grin twisted, and his mouth hung agape. For the first time in a long while, you witnessed a glint of his heart shining in his bronze irises. He was actually afraid. "I don't fucking BLUFF!" His words rang out like a battle-cry. Then, the axe plummeted.
"NO-NAME!" the Saviors yelped in peril.
Within seconds, Dwight broke away from Negan and threw himself toward Gio. Nicole wailed and almost tossed herself off the balcony. Sherry shrieked like a banshee and flew down the staircase before the men could stop her. Nicole wailed as Gio's axe started to rush to your neck. Dwight thrust himself into Gio's chest and tried to disarm him. He grunted belligerently and wrestled with his sturdy arm. Sherry ripped through the masses, sprang forward, and grabbed Dwight's shirt--shoving him out of the way of the blade's path. Gio released his grip on your chest and you tumbled to the floor. Negan sprinted to Sherry who was about to be butchered...and SLASH! The men gasped. Nicole cried out, "Sherry!!! Sherry!!!" You pushed yourself up from the floor and directed your attention toward the commotion. Sherry's right shoulder was torn wide open by the blade, and she bled profusely. She staggered in shock and fell into Negan's arms. He looked bewildered by her ghastly wound. Lucille dropped to the ground in the process. Dwight rushed to her side as Negan cradled her limp body. She was hyperventilating and muttering a slew of nonsense; she must have been delirious with pain. Oh. Fuck. This is bad.
Gio saw his opportunity and went for it. He immediately dove to the concrete, retrieved Lucille, and bolted like lightening away from the scene. Negan was too occupied by Sherry's terrible state to run him down. "Motherfucking dick suck cunt fuck-fuckity-fucking FUCKER!" he clamored at the thieving fugitive. You rose to your feet, striving to sprint after Gio. Wanting a pretty damn good explanation for wreaking such havoc, you tried to catch up with him. But he was already out the door. You halted in your tracks. "Dwight!" Negan exclaimed. "Take Sherry to the infirmary! Now!" You turned around as he placed her body into Dwight's arms. He glanced at you before hobbling to the hospital room. You were about to rush to Nicole, who was still whimpering. But Negan shouted, "No-Name, get the FUCK over here!"
You scurried to his side and he put his hand on the small of your back. "H-h-he took Lucille--"
He pressed his fingers to his forehead in agitation. "Am I motherfucking Helen Keller? I KNOW! That cock-sucking CUNT!" he interrupted. He looked pissed beyond measure. "But there are more fucking pressing matters, pussy-licker."
"Pussy-licker?!" you cried, offended by his accusation.
"Don't. Fucking. Start," he barked. You held your tongue, aware that he wasn't in the mood for an argument. He raised his arm and gestured toward the entrance of the factory. "Would you FUCKS check to see if that motherfucker is climbing the fucking fence?!" The men obeyed, drew their weapons, and swarmed to the front yard of the compound. As the Saviors departed, Negan walked you to trap doors that led to the basement. He ripped the rusty doors open and moved his hand towards the darkness. "Lesbians first," he murmured. You huffed, stowed away your handgun, and stepped into the moldy abyss. Negan followed.
"I am not a lesbian," you spat at him.
Rolling his eyes, he sighed, "Bisexual. What-the-fuck-ever. 'Scuse my fucking lack of political correctness." His words made you grunt in annoyance.
This prick just looooves toying with me, you seethed.
He slipped a small flashlight out of his pocket and clicked it on. It barely illuminated the path, but you noticed the camping lantern was shattered on the ground near the bench. You glanced to your right and saw the generators; you hadn't observed them when you went on duty. All of the switches had been tampered with. They were all stuck between the "on" and "off" position, which caused the bulbs to spasmodically flicker. Negan flicked them all back on, and the machines whirred. Descending the stairs, you drew nearer to the cell with Negan's hand lightly touching your back. "Time to play some motherfucking Blue's Clues," he chuckled, humorlessly.
You scuffed to the open cage. Treading on something metallic, you looked beneath your foot. It was a padlock; the semicircular hook on top had been twisted, somehow. Picking up the bent lock, you inspected the pivoting piece of metal. Negan loomed over your shoulder. "His hands wouldn't have been strong enough to bend this thing. But I don't think he kicked it free. Someone would've heard him," you speculated.
"Well how do you suppose he fucking did it, Detective?" he asked, studying the lock. He paced toward the bench and budged the cigarette butts with his boot. He hummed in thought. "Where there are cigs, there must be a lighter."
When he stated this, you turned out your pockets. The lighter was missing. Opening the cell further, you walked inside and combed the ground. There it was...right by the door. "Fuck. He must've used it to heat the lock 'til it was flexible. At that point, he could've used anything to pry it open...or pull it open. A length of string, cloth, something like that."
"A shirt?" Negan held up Gio's tattered T-shirt. A piece of it was missing at the bottom hemline. "That sly fuck-wad..."
No wonder Gio was shirtless, you mused.
"And what about that fucking axe?" he inquired.
"Maybe he stole it off one of the Saviors when he escaped. Maybe Dwight threw it aside in plain sight, thinking that the prisoner would stay locked up," you replied, uncertain.
"Ja--I mean--Nameless...didn't I fucking put you in charge of prison duty?" Negan jeered. "Good fucking job. You get a goddamn gold star."
You faced him and stamped your foot. "Hey, you were the one who called me away from my job."
"But you neglected your fucking post," he argued, smiling at your short fuse.
"I was getting him a glass of water. It would've only taken a few seconds, and I would've been back to the cell. But noooo! You summoned me to your office to charge me with a crime I never committed and humiliated Nicole in front of me! Like you were putting on some exhibitionist shit to see if I was with her or doing her! Ughhh! Honestly!" Your brows hooded your eyes, and your breaths hissed between your clenched teeth.
Negan's smile grew more toothy, and he leaned in. "Then why in the name of Jesus H. Fuck was her lipstick on your fucking mouth?"
Your cheeks radiated in embarrassment. Looking right into Negan's eyes, you told the truth. "She wanted to thank me for the supplies I brought her. So, she gave me a peck on the lips. I thought she'd kiss my cheek, but..."
The frost in his amber eyes melted away. He read your earnest disposition. Acknowledging your honesty, he scratched the back of his neck. "Hmm...I see..." he started. He let out a long-winded sigh, and averted his gaze. "So, you're fucking suggesting that this is all my fault?"
Calming down, you shook your head. "No. I mean, I shouldn't have--"
He lifted his finger to your mouth and quieted you. Your lips tingled under his contact. "Look. I believe I fucking owe you..." He paused and adjusted his crimson scarf. Clearing his throat, he continued, reluctantly. "I think I owe you an..."
Your eyes widened in anticipation. Man, he really isn't used to admitting that he fucked up.
He struggled with his humility as he choked out the words, "Christ! I fucking apologize, alright? I'm sorry."
You folded your arms and cocked your head. Wanting to relish this moment, you asked, "Sorry for what?"
Running his large hand through his slicked-back hair, he had difficulty forming the words. "I'm sorry for...fucking things up by plucking you from your post."
Tapping you foot, you pried further. "And?"
His eyes were darting everywhere, but they never fell on your smug smile. You knew what was coming next. "And...I'm sorry for..." He gulped and shifted his stance. "...sorry for calling you a pussy-licker."
"Why are you sorry for saying that?" You were really enjoying this.
He inhaled slowly, and blew out a harsh breath. Finally looking into your eyes, his handsome grin returned to his cheeks. His gorgeous dimples creased. "Because I was wrong."
At last! Thank you for owning up to this shit! Smiling warmly, you uttered, "Apology accepted, Negan."
Grasping your hand, he drew closer to you. Your body electrified, once more. His stare burned with seriousness. "But understand this..." You listened intently as he resumed. "I had a feeling you didn't do it. I know you don't fuck around." He ran his tongue along his lips and contemplated his justification. "But fucking seeing you with D and Nickie...I mean...it's just..."
Before he could finish, you detected something in your peripheral vision. "Wait," you murmured, letting go of his hand. Taking the flashlight from his grasp, you shown it on the cell wall. Big, white letters covered the brick in what looked like paint. A liquid-chalk marker laid on the ground under the eerie graffiti. You both turned your attention to the message.
"What the in the fucking-raw-ass-fuck..." Negan scrutinized the writing on the wall. "What's that supposed to fucking mean?"
You walked to the painted letters and dissected the script. Remembering a time when you and Gio were "hard-asses," you recalled his vandalization phase. He'd spray paint storefronts, billboards, bridges, even the school. Every time, he wrote the same thing: Mountain Men. That was the name of the county gang he was involved in, years ago. But in THIS instance, he introduced another band of thugs. It must've been the title of the tribal group he mentioned. "That is the name of your new rivals, Negan." You pressed your index into the slightly damp paint and rubbed it between your fingers. "Which might explain why he stole Lucille."
His lips pursed, mulling over the display. He nodded with his hands on his hips. "A trophy," he pondered. "I fucking like the way your mind works, doll. Kinda turns me on." Oh, his voice was like the softest, darkest velvet. It made you shiver in pleasure.
You backed away from the wall and planted yourself beside Negan. A fond smile lifted the apples of your cheeks. Reading the text, you quipped, "Whisper, he wrote."
He tousled your hair in endearment. "The motherfucking game's afoot, my dear Jackie," Negan chuckled in a threatening tone.
This doesn't sound like a whodunnit, you thought. This sounds like a declaration of war.