#twdstart

Armand heard talks of some sickness going around, that made people violent and hard to kill. He remembered years ago, something was in drugs that did something similar. A bad batch was no joke. But it didn’t stop him. He was just more careful about where he got it, and he sure as hell didn’t share needles with anyone.

People seemed so sure it wouldn’t hit his city, but he wasn’t convinced. He kept his eyes peeled for any sort of weird behavior. He was always careful when it came to those things. But it was a city, and lots of people were weird.

His boss had sent him on one of his usual deals, but it had gone wrong. It started with a shoothout, and ended in a bloodbath. He’d found a place to shield himself from the hailing bullets, until everything went silent, and then some. He crept out of his hiding spot to see corpses strewn everywhere, bloodied. It made him sick to his stomach. 

As he made his way to the doors of the abandoned warehouse where the deal and atrocity went down, he saw someone hovering over a body. Maybe some survivors? He’d hoped.

“He okay?” he asked. The hovering person turned his head, revealing white, lifeless eyes, and a bloodied maw, intestines between his teeth. His blood ran cold, and he shot the guy in the chest, but that didn’t stop him. He just targeted the Frenchman, hungrily locked on him, and making an inhuman growl.

“Oh Merde,” he breathed, realizing in that moment, the illness was here. Right in this very warehouse. He fired another shot, this time to the guy’s head, and that did stop him. Thank God! But the other corpses strewn about had started to twitch and sit up, all fixed on him. He didn’t have enough bullets for that, so he bolted for the door.

“Help! Oh God, someone help!” he cried, as the dead gave chase for their meal.

Before the world went to hell, Armand was homeless, and living on the streets. He did anything he could to survive, and he wasn’t proud to say he had a body count. He kept it to himself, along with many other things. Not that it mattered, since he was alone anyway. 

When the dead started walking, all that changed was the count. He became more brutal. It was a tougher world, and even harder to survive. But at least, now his count mostly consisted of the undead, rather than the living. There had been a few who had tried to harm him, and they found out just what he was capable of. Money wasn’t necessary anymore, however, which meant the things he had to do were different. Now, instead of picking pockets and mugging, he scavenged through apartments and houses, taking food, or crashing in the place. 

There were a few people who fought him about it, when they returned to see him rifling through their medicine cabinet. The withdrawals were the hardest. They didn’t meet a very nice end.

Over the next few months, there were less and less people, and more and more walking corpses. He carried on this way, until he settled into a decent shelter, all on his own, and only going on runs when he had to. A big city was dangerous. It always had been, but now instead of worried about being shot or stabbed, he was worried about being eaten alive.

It was a year in when he finally ran out of his stash and had to quit his habit cold turkey. He was sure the withdrawals were going to kill him. And it was at Death’s Door that a stranger saved his life. He was from a group called the Saviors, and Armand found it awfully fitting. The man ran the show, got him clean, and he promised to forever be loyal.

Negan trusted Armand with his life, and Armand trusted Negan with his, even if Armand wasn’t Negan’s right hand man. Hell, he wasn’t even second in command. But Negan did assign him an outpost, once he proved himself. Years went by, and even though he didn’t climb up the ladder, he was close with the man with a plan. While others feared Negan, he didn’t. Though he knew how often he messed things up before the fall, he was loyal to Negan, and was sure enough of himself that he’d never mess up so bad that it would piss Negan off.

He went on runs for goods, and kept watch to keep The Sanctuary safe. Sometimes, he recruited, and sometimes, Negan sent him to keep another community in line. Today, he was out on a run.

Armand was used to moving from place to place. He hated that his family hadn’t settled down in any one place for too long once they had left Paris. But he supposed that was his fault anyway. He was always getting into trouble, and that didn’t change. It likely was never going to. The last thing his father had threatened him with was military school, and after he died, his mother kicked him to the curb. Even in foster care, he didn’t get a chance to settle down. He wasn’t wanted by any family, and he didn’t want them either. Too many of them treated him terribly.

He’d spent about two years on the run from the law before the world went to hell. He still couldn’t remember if he was guilty, and he refused to pay a price for something he had trouble believing he’d actually done. He knew he was violent, but murder? No way. He didn’t have it in him. He couldn’t have! He got himself mixed up with a gang, and ended up an addict. When it first started happening, he thought for sure that someone was just out there selling some bad drugs that made people do some fucked up shit. But when he shot a guy in self defense, and that guy came back, he knew it was something else. And when he saw people literally eating each other, he did whatever he had to do to survive. Thankfully, for a time, it was nothing he’d live to regret. 

He found shelter, and he scavenged, and he survived. Sometimes he stayed with others, and when that got weird, he went off on his own again. Despite his desire for some sort of stability, he never stayed in one place for too long. Something bad always seemed to happen. The good news was that his father had prepared him for this. Likely without meaning to. He was a damn good hunter, and he knew survival techniques. It was military training without the military.

The years went by, and he lost count. He had no idea how long it had been since the dead started to walk. He didn’t even know the last time he’d been around another person. It had to be over a year since the last time he’d seen anyone else alive. He was doing just fine, mostly. He found an abandoned house in the woods that was in pretty damn good condition. He’d fixed it up, and fortified a perimiter with traps, noise, and a spiked fence. It took a lot of work, but it was the safest place he’d been in years.

There was a river nearby, and animals strolled through, too, sometimes. He had a decently thriving garden in the back yard. It was the best he was going to get, and hell, it still gave him access to home cooked meals. Better yet, he never had to worry about the threat of prison again.

He’d already tended the garden yesterday, and had some great produce. Now, he had to secure some meat. If he couldn’t, he’d have to fish. So he made sure to hit the woods early enough to give himself time for both. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he spotted a deer. It had been a while since he’d seen one. He’d be eating good for a month! He kept himself hidden, waiting for the right moment to shoot. And once he had his shot, he took it. The deer fell to the ground, and he rushed to his fresh kill. 

I'm not even certain where exactly I crashed, but I feel completely well rested with the fluffy blanket I was allotted. Thank goodness for the kindness and generosity that has been extended to us strangers, namely me. I'd go in search for some sustenance, but this bed is just so nice. I might even indulge myself with another shower if I'm allowed. Everything is just so calm and peaceful, ad even though a couple of you seem a little on edge, I think a little bit of time here will do us some good. It seems to relax the few of us that are more tense than others, but that's a good thing, I think. I'm even back to normal with my rambles, isn't that great?

With a cute little car! Good job, Cooper!