Daryl's hunts for food were a mixed blessing. It allowed him to not have to be strong all the time as Rick's right-hand man for the sake of the group. The problem was that he was forced to deal with what was eating him up inside.

Merle…

The way he went, what Daryl had to do, and living with it every day since was more brutal than anything else in his life. He wondered sometimes if the Walkers had it easier: no pain or remorse to bother them. These were the kinds of thoughts that were only safe outside the Prison, when he was alone. Hunting at least kept his mind alert enough to not let depression swallow him whole. It was good to keep busy when everything else in you wanted to die.

When the blinding light arrived, it seemed to come from everywhere, like God himself had finally decided it was Daryl's time. He went down on one knee, his ringing from the disorienting rays, but his hands never let go of the crossbow for an instant. At last the light vanished as quickly as it came.

When his ears had stopped ringing from the light banging about in mind, Daryl heard voices nearby.

"And now it's Summer," a man's voice said. "I have to hand it to those two suits, I've never experienced a hallucinogen so potent."

"How long are we going to put with you deciding this is all an illusion?" A woman said.

"Are you planning on shutting up anytime soon, Clara?"

"No." The woman, apparently Clara, said irritably.

"Then assume I'll be a skeptic so long as you remain annoying. That should mean we'll stop around the time Hell freezes over. That's got to be nice for you, Castiel, being an angel and all."

"Hardly," a gruff voice, Castiel said. "There needs to be a balance. I've come to understand that, Sherlock, but there seems to be something more important for you to notice."

Daryl slowly crept towards the three people, staying low to the ground while he assessed the situation. Strangers this close to the Prison might belong to the Governor, but they didn't sound like it. He stood behind a bank of trees that gave him a good look at the three. He saw a man in a black trench coat moving about the place mumbling out characteristics. The sound of his voice made it clear that this was Sherlock (like the detective from those books), which made the girl glaring at Sherlock Clara and the man standing like a mannequin in a light trench coat Castiel. Daryl had just identified them when Sherlock stood tall.

"Gary and Mary are gone." Sherlock said.

"Took you five whole minutes to come to that conclusion?" Clara said.

"I have more than that," Sherlock snapped. "Judging from the grass, the trees, and the angle of the sun we're no longer in England. In fact we're i-"

"In Atlanta," Castiel blurted out. "Three miles south of a prison complex still in use. Strange, there don't seem to be that many people in this world."

Sherlock glared at Castiel, who was unfazed by the rage.

"Sorry," Castiel said. "You were taking too long."

Sherlock hunched his shoulders, clearly wishing to have the last word. Daryl didn't like the way Sherlock turned his head towards the direction Daryl was hiding. How could he know he was there?

"Are you just going to keep gawking at us?" Sherlock said.

Daryl aimed the crossbow at Sherlock, not wanting to take any chances.

"I'd drop the weapon if I were you."

Daryl turned his head to see that Castiel had managed to stand next him, he looked back at the field to realize that Castiel had managed to move several hundred feet in seconds. He had two fingers pointed at his head as though they were the deadliest things in the world. The look in Castiel's eyes convinced him that losing the bow might be a good idea.

Daryl was walked into the open area of the forest where the other stood, Castiel walking right behind him, holding his crossbow.

"Alright," Daryl said with shrug. "You caught me. Mind if I ask what y'all are doing out here and how the Hell you look so clean?"

It was true, there was not a speck of grim or dirt that stained even the cleanest person during all this madness. In fact, they didn't even look they were fazed by any of the madness. It was like they had just popped onto Earth at the wrong time.

"I believe I have the answer," Sherlock said while Clara rolled her eyes. "Castiel, you said no one else is around here besides our huntsman, correct?"

"Yes." Castiel said.

"Well then it's obvious," Sherlock said, "Apparently he's our fourth man."

"Excuse me," Daryl said. "But I don't really know any of you and I sure as Hell don't feel like joining any group that takes me hostage."

"But the look in your eyes says that being at gunpoint is not unfamiliar to you."

Daryl narrowed his eyes.

Sherlock was more than willing to explain.

"Judging from the amount of accumulated grime on your body, you've been without proper cleaning supplies in about a little over a year. You've worn the same clothes in that time, probably one of the few you actually still own otherwise you would have at least changed shirts. And your hands, your wonderfully scarred hands, they show you as being quite handy with that crossbow. The marks on your still healing fingers shows that you were desperate to reload arrows, meaning that whatever you've been firing at scares you more than you scare it. What would frighten a veteran survivalist like yourself?"

"Are you for real?" Daryl asked while looking at all three of the strangers. "You really have no clue what's going on?"

"No," Clara asked. "What's going on?"

Daryl shook his, he had really wrap his mind around this.

"Well, most people throw around the idea of this bein' the end of the world. All of us just waiting to be Walkers."

"Walkers," Clara asked. "What's a 'Walker'?"

Daryl really wondered what the Hell was going on. He was about to go into a giant rant when, disturbingly, the answer came.

They must have heard all the complaining. Even though the sun was out, they hiding in the shadows, nothing but blurred shadows until it was too late. Then they came into the clearing.

Clara was the second person to notice them, causing her to scream. This excited them, and brought who knows how many more to this spot. Walkers, twenty of them, all rotted and gaunt from disease and decay, they shambled towards them with vicious tenacity.

"I'm going to need my crossbow back." Daryl said.

Castiel complied surprisingly quickly, however he didn't make an effort to prepare to run or fight. The smart move would be to run, but the Walkers had them surrounded. It was going to be a fight. Sherlock rushed over to a tree and picked up a sturdy branch from the ground while backing away from the gnashing teeth of the Walkers. Clara seemed to stand her ground as best as she could, but she was still unarmed. Daryl handed her his knife which she reluctantly accepted.

"Zombies," Sherlock said with a grin. "This delusion just got more interesting."

The zombies came in one slow wave. Daryl fired arrow after arrow into the heads of the Walkers. He cursed out loud when he had to reload. Sherlock stepped in and swung the branch to keep them at bay. He smashed two in the face and they fell to the ground.

"Aim for the head," Sherlock commented as he pushed the Walkers back. "At least this world follows some of those insipid rules of Horror movies."

Daryl looked up at Sherlock, what the Hell did he mean? He was almost too distracted to notice the two Walker's rushing Sherlock from the sides, Daryl managed to hit one but the other was too close to Sherlock.

Clara charged at the Walker, stabbing it in the side. She was terrified by what she'd done and by the fact that the Walker was unfazed as it reached for her. She pulled the knife out and stuck it into the creature's head, screaming as she did this. The Walker fell to the ground dead and Clara trembled, seeing the black blood on the knife. She wasn't unused to combat, but it was clearly difficult to face something so human and inhuman at the same time. Daryl finally noticed Castiel, still standing around.

"Help us!" Daryl shouted.

Castiel looked at Daryl then at the remaining Walkers that were slowly closing in on them. A light radiated from Castiel's body, different from the blinding light Daryl saw before. Castiel raised his right hand, the light concentrating in his palm, before being unleashed in a blast of white light.

When Daryl managed to see again, all the Walkers were on the ground, dead. He had to look at it all for five minutes to really appreciate what he'd seen. Sherlock inspected them more closely, making sure not to touch the nails or teeth. Clara was shaking, Daryl helped her up and did his best to calm her down. It wasn't easy having to fight these kinds of things, especially when your own experience was your own personal nightmare.

"Why didn't you do that light thing when they first arrived?" Daryl asked Castiel.

"We were being tested," Castiel said. "It seemed fair to see how we worked together."

"How right you are, Castiel."

Daryl turned his head with the rest of the group as a man and woman both in all black suits appeared from behind two trees. While the rest of the group gawked at the strangers, Daryl aimed his crossbow.

"You're the freaks that set the Walkers on us?" Daryl snarled.

"It was perfectly reasonable to do so, Daryl Dixon," the man said. "How else were we supposed to find out if we made the right selections?"

Daryl, who didn't like the idea of being anyone's pawn, fired.

The man grabbed the arrow before Daryl could blink.

"That was rude, Gary." the woman said.

"You're right, Mary," Gary said as tossed the arrow aside. "It was just a reflex. Please, try again."

Daryl didn't hesitate as he fired another arrow that shattered off of Gary's head.

"Impressive," Gary commented as he poked the spot where the arrow had hit. "I almost felt something tickle. It's a shame you lack the weaponry to deal with us."

"What exactly are you?" Daryl asked as he held up the ineffective bow.

"Your new employers," Mary said. "We'd like you to help these three people with you save all the worlds in existence. You are after all an expert in survival of all kinds."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"If you don't believe us, believe what you saw," Gary said. "You fought alongside a time traveler, Sherlock Holmes, and an angel who you owe a debt of gratitude to."

Daryl looked at the three people beside him. He wasn't religious, but Castiel definitely had some kind of godlike power. The idea of Clara being a time traveler seemed odd because he couldn't imagine a past or future in this world. And then there was Sherlock…

"Let me guess," Sherlock muttered. "I'm fictional in your world as well? Wonderful, absolutely wonderful."

"You're really Sherlock Holmes?"

"The one and only." Sherlock said with a bow.

"Okay," Daryl said as he faced Gary and Mary. "Say I believe you. Why would I bother to come along on this 'quest to save the world'?"

"And here we go." Sherlock groaned.

"What Mr. Holmes means is that we've offered something to each of your companions for their services." Mary said.

"And we have an offer just for you," Gary said. "We have the means to end this Walker nightmare, we know of a cure."

"There's no cure," Daryl said. "A guy in a lab blew up proving that to us."

"There is a cure," Gary said. "Wouldn't the chance to spare Carol, Carl, Rick, Glen, Maggie, Beth, Michonne, Hershel, and all the hapless people of Woodbury from suffering your brother's fate be enough of a motivator?'

"Don't you dare talk about my brother!" Daryl snapped as he aimed the crossbow.

Gary sighed and said, "I'll tell you one thing. Unlike you, your brother wasn't afraid to risk his life for those he cared about."

Gary's words were almost too much for Daryl to handle. But the worst part was Gary was telling the truth. What good was scavenging for scraps going to do? They needed a better solution if they expected to survive. After seeing Castiel, Daryl was willing to believe in a chance for things to get better."

"I'm in," Daryl said. "But you better pray I don't find the means to fight you."

Gary and Mary grinned at this, as though it were a joke. The light returned and swallowed them whole. The group was assembled and the quest was about to begin.