Where in the HELL is that dumb som'-bitch? If that inbred thinks this shit is funny…

Daryl could hear the shuffling of long-dead feet coming from somewhere further down the alleyway…the way Merle had gone. 'That dumbass…' he hissed as he continued to work his way from shadow to shadow in the opposite direction. Nothing like a meth-head brother to make life interesting…if it weren't already interesting enough.

He came to a stop behind a dumpster near a 4-way intersection in the maze of old storage buildings near the docks. JEESUSSS this shit stinks…. If it weren't for the fact that just about everything else WAS dead, he'd have vomited then and there.

The sound of a can hitting the pavement broke him from his thoughts about life before this…any of this. Only thing was, he wasn't sure which life he honestly preferred.

Peering around the corner, movement in the soft shadows caught his eye. Too smooth to be a walker. Too stupid to be quiet. How the hell did somebody this noisy ever survive this long? Daryl had seen tough men; strong women fall to the stupidest of circumstances since the dead came back. Guess this prick is lucky and sometimes it's better to be lucky than good… He was tempted to just let the noisy scavenger go and eventually their luck would run out. One less dumbass to get me killed he almost muttered out loud.

He turned to go but stopped short. An overstuffed backpack sat just behind the moving figure. They were oblivious to him or anything else around them being bent over a pile of junk, old clothes and God-only-knew what that littered that particular corner of the dead-end alley.

'Time for some fun…' he whispered to himself. I won't kill him…just rough him up and remind him not to be so damn loud. Payment for that lesson: 1 overstuffed backpack. Slinging the crossbow over his shoulder and across his back while drawing the knife he kept at his belt he began stalking.

As he crept closer he noticed the signs, the tracks in the dirt and grime that covered the pavement. Small feet but mismatched shoes. Can't weight more than 100..110 pounds at the most. This is gonna be fun. A slight but sadistic smile crept across a dirty face and old boots made no sound as he stalked closer and closer to his prey. Truth be told, despite the terrible conditions and the constant threat of death, Daryl loved it. Every skill he possessed was honed to perfection living in the backwoods of the South. Perpetually underestimated before, now HE was the top predator in this jungle.

He was just a few steps away from the scavenger; a heavy hooded sweatshirt and baggy pants doing nothing to disguise the slight figure underneath. This prick...about to soil those baggy ass pants! Daryl rose up to his full height, drew the knife back behind his head to give the dumbass a good look at what was to come.

Reaching out quickly but quietly he grabbed a handflu of dirty blue hoodie and flung them backwards toward the wall while spinning them around to face him in one deft maneuver. Whatever he had planned to say died on his lips when he stared into a pair of the most intense set of eyes he had ever seen. All he managed was a "WWHAaaa…?" Pale blonde hair snaked in all directions out of the ragged hood that framed the most perfect and delicate face he had ever laid eyes upon. Platinum? He thought…he hadn't the slightest clue of how to accurate describe the scene before him. The color of hair…those eyes… he had never been struck speechless before now and could only open his eyes wider and force a crooked grin in the hopes of appearing harmless.

The blonde fell forward as if to fall into his embrace Yeah, baby he thought to himself…but that notion was also cut short when the slight figure's knee kept coming upward, past the knees and came to a halt against the family jewels.

"GUH-Haw! Da Fffffuckkkk man…" spurted from between clenched teeth as his knees buckled and stomach lurched. "Oh JEE-SUS!. You cold- hearted bit-" almost made it out before a second knee took him under the chin and stars replaced the girls heavenly visage. Falling to his side both hands clenching his ruined (he was certain of it) tenders he laid his now sweaty face on the cold ground and tried to stall for time. "Ugh…you must have a wide knee 'cause you got'em both." A few more deep breaths to try and ward away the dizzying waves of nausea and he might be able to get a shot at the girl. He rolled to his side working his knees and feet underneath him despite being unable to uncoil himself from the low blow she had delivered. Feet, knees and forehead still pressed to the ground he caught a glimpse of the girls shoes just an arms length away.

"THAT…was a pretty shitty move, Blondie. Only tryin' to scare a little sense into ya…" almost there. Damn! Skinny here packs a kick "Least you can do is apologize or somethin'."

Through messy hair he spied her mismatched shoes; one an old Chuck Taylor All-Star sneaker and the other a worn Nike basketball shoe both peeking out from underneath an old pair of camo fatigues. Nausea gone he knew it was time for a bit of payback for the nut-shot she delivered… You ready for this, Blondie? He took in a last deep breath, ready to pounce when he heard her voice.

"Wings?...they're... wings…" That voice… soft like a breeze. It had been a lifetime since he'd heard a voice without hate or malice in it. Shit…she sounds nice...bet she even smells nice. I'm almost gonna feel bad for doing this but…

A sharp intake of air signaled Daryl recovery and the leap to his feet but the girl was gone. How the hell she do that? She was right th… his eyes closed as he cocked his head to one side…a grin of both resignation and appreciation snaked it's way across his lips. She had somehow gotten behind him and he heard the rustle of the ragged blue hoodie.

"Now just want are you…" Stars exploded in Daryl's eyes and the ringing in his ears blotted out the sound of him and his gear hitting the pavement. Twice within the span of 5 minutes did someone no bigger than his 14-year old cousin put him to the ground.

The world swam before him, pain and nausea again his companion. Through bleary eyes he saw the face of an angel, a face twisted not with rage but with determination. Determination to connect the baseball bat she held in her hands with the top of Daryl's head.

He managed one more smile before stars exploded and bells rang for the 2nd time in as many moments, then Daryl Dixon knew no more...