#no.23

The night air around Woodbury reeked of smoke and fear. The town that once looked like safety now pulsed with the cruel laughter of men who thought they were gods behind their walls.

You crouched in the shadows just outside the Governor’s compound, heart hammering so loud you were sure someone would hear it. Rick was ahead of you, rifle steady. Michonne flanked the other side, her katana glinting faintly in the dim streetlight.

Somewhere in there was Daryl.

You hadn’t seen him since the ambush. He’d been dragged away by Woodbury’s guards, blood streaked across his temple and wrists zip-tied. You’d begged Rick not to go in blind, but the truth was, you wouldn’t have stayed behind even if he’d ordered you to.

A rough shout cut through the quiet. Then another—pained, strangled.

Your breath hitched.

“Daryl.” You whispered.

Rick’s eyes flicked to you. “We move now.” He said.

You crept forward together, slipping between buildings until the voices grew louder, mocking, and vicious. You pressed against the corner of a cinderblock wall and peered around it.

Your blood froze.

Two guards had Daryl pinned to the ground in the middle of a crude courtyard. His hands were bound behind his back, face smashed into the dirt. One guard straddled his back, a thick arm locked around Daryl’s throat. The other shouted something you couldn’t even hear over the sound of Daryl’s choking—harsh, wet gasps that didn’t sound human.

His boots kicked uselessly against the ground, his face purpling, veins standing out at his temples. He clawed for air that wouldn’t come.

Your feet just moved before your brain could even catch up.

“Wait!” Rick hissed but you were already out from cover, gun raised.

“Get off him!” You shouted, voice breaking.

The guards turned, but they were too slow. Michonne’s blade flashed once, clean and silent. One man fell. The other dropped beside him when Rick’s gun barked.

You were already on your knees beside Daryl, grabbing for him as he rolled weakly onto his side. His bound hands twitched against the dirt, body jerking as he fought for air that refused to come.

“Hey, hey—” You said shakily. You reached for his face, brushing the grit and blood away. His skin was cold, his lips tinged blue. “Come on, Daryl. Breathe.”

He gagged, coughed violently, and then sucked in a rasping gasp that made you feel weak. He coughed again, chest heaving, eyes rolling open—unfocused at first, then locking onto you.

“Thought—” His voice was raw. “Thought I was done.”

You swallowed hard, cutting the ties around his wrists. “Not while I’m still breathing, you’re not.”

He tried to smirk, but it came out more like a wince. He reached for you, shaky and half-delirious. His pulse thudded erratically beneath your fingers, but it was there. And that's what mattered.

Rick scanned the courtyard, voice low. “We need to move. Now. Alarms’ll be up any second.”

Michonne slung her blade sideways in an arc of scarlet, already scanning for the next threat. “I’ll clear ahead.”

You looped your arm around Daryl’s waist as he leaned against you, legs unsteady and breath still ragged. He smelled like dirt, blood, and survival.

As you slipped into the maze of alleys, gunfire started somewhere behind you—the sound of the town becoming aware. Rick took point, Michonne disappeared into the dark, and you kept your hand on Daryl’s chest just to feel the faint, stubborn rhythm beneath your palm.

“Shouldn’a come here.” He rasped after a while, voice still hoarse. “Should’a left me.”

“You know better than that.” You said, tightening your grip as you ran.

With death snapping at your heels and his voice shredded from the chokehold, Daryl managed a whisper of a laugh.

“Reckon I owe ya one.”

“Damn right you do.” You breathed. 

You didn’t let go until the walls of Woodbury vanished behind you.

The beeping pulled Hero out of the lake. Their eyes flew open and they jerked upright.

They tried to, anyway. Something viscous was keeping them down. They glanced down and saw that they were on a bed of gel, covered in a blanket of ooze. The beeping was coming from a series of holograms over their head, showing their vitals and brain activity.

A figure approached them. They appeared human, but there was something… off… about them.

“You are awake,” they stated, “welcome.”

“Who are- what the- how’d I get to this place?” Hero asked.

“Shhh,” the figure said, “you are worthy of our attention. Your planet has been marked for conservation. We have seen your efforts, and the council has deemed you worthy to spend the rest of your days in our direct care.”

“What?” Hero blurted.

“Aliens are taking over our planet and keeping us as pets,” a familiar voice deadpanned.

Hero turned their head. Villain lay in a gelatinous bed nearly identical to theirs. Only their gel was red rather than green.

“Villain!?” Hero shouted.

“Are you gonna get us out of here yet?” Villain asked, “because I’ve tried, and well…”

The alien glided over to Villain and pressed a button on their bed. The gel seemed to almost crush Villain under its weight.

“They don’t like me as much as you,” Villain wheezed.

“What are you doing to them!?”

“They are not worthy of our direct care,” the alien said with disgust, “they hinder your efforts to save your race. The council has determined they will spend the rest of their days as your… what’s the earth word? Plaything?”

Villain chuckled weakly, winking at Hero. Red crept into Hero’s cheeks.

“You seem satisfied with this arrangement.” the alien smiled, “wonderful! We will proceed with our conservation plan.”

“Woah woah woah,” Hero said quickly, “I am not satisfied! Villain is a person, not a punching bag, or… whatever you think a plaything is… let us go! Earth will be fine!”

The alien looked at them sadly. They pulled up a few holograms, showing a live feed of the last few decades on earth.

“Pollution, greenhouse gases, wildfires, overconsumption, greed, overproduction, wars, death of the innocent, oil spills, waste in your oceans, deforestation, nuclear tensions, more greed, political division, violence, prejudice against members of your own race-”

“Okay, I get it, we haven’t been doing a very good job,” Hero conceded, “but uh… what does your ‘conservation plan’ look like?”

The alien beamed.

“I am pleased by your curiosity!” they said, “allow me to show you.”

They pulled up another video, from that very morning as a matter of fact. People were screaming, running from a mothership, from which several aliens came down. Everyone, regardless of class or profession, was rounded up into a large pen. A blast of light hit them, and the screaming stopped. They stood stock-still, slack-jawed, and empty.

“We will return their free will when they have learned to behave,” the alien explained, “they should follow your example, Hero. You’re not perfect, but you’re trying.”

“So are tons of other people!” Hero shouted.

The alien chuckled, patting Hero’s head.

“The masses are swayed by deception too easily. Your powers give you the advantage of being an outsider.”

“Ice powers don’t really… they’re not…”

“You are not aware you are half-Plutonian?” the alien asked, tilting their head.

“What are you saying?” Villain asked, “Are you saying they’re Superman? Like, can I use kryptonite on them now?”

Hero wasn’t listening.

“I’m sorry?” they asked quietly.

“Your alien DNA makes you resistant to violent tendencies and receptive to enlightenment. We thought you knew…”

Hero didn’t speak. Their mind reeled.

“I have distressed you. I am sorry,” the alien said, “I will let you rest and process this new information.”

They pressed a button, and Hero was sucked back down into the starry lake, not even having a second to react. They panicked for a total of two seconds before their mind emptied, and all was quiet once more.

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