The Governor was quick, catapulting a tight fist into the Redneck Saint's gut. Daryl coiled over in pain, feeling the breath immediately exit his weak body as the taste of blood flooded his mouth and sputtered all over the cement floor. His head fell forward as he started to black out again. He had taken one hell of a beating from the Governor and it seemed like he faded in and out of consciousness between every other blow. Almost all of Daryl's face was swollen as if he had stuck his whole head inside of a hornet's nest. His right eye was puffy as hell and impossible to even open. His lips had been split open in multiple places and Daryl was almost certain that his left cheekbone had been fractured. There was no telling how long he had actually been here. This interrogation session felt like centuries to Daryl.
Many questions had been asked about his group of survivors and of the prison. All questions that had been asked were left unanswered. Daryl was stubborn, not to mention incredibly tough. He did not crack or crumble under the Governor's twisted and cruel methods. Daryl had boldly stated he wasn't afraid to die and god dammit he had meant it! Which the Governor could see this. He could tell that he had meant those words, the only real words he had spoken to him practically since this session began, and it just made him want to try even harder to inflict serious pain upon the Redneck.
The Governor was hardly after the information now. On the contrary, he would find another informant to beat answers out of. But for now, considering the Redneck's ability to withhold, it only made laying fist-to-cuff all the more fun. Gov was a sadist, nothing more, nothing less. There was something about inflicting pain upon men like this that brought him a sense of solace that he was unable to obtain anywhere else.
As such, his beatings continued, his questions pressed and the less answers he obtained, the harsher Daryl Dixon's beatings would be. He would keep going until he granted the Redneck his deathwish.
Merle had been forced to crack his way into Woodbury the second he arrived. Needless to say, it was a lot easier than expected, considering every able-body was out guarding both walls from walkers. His deformed arm ached from the forced effort of hoisting himself over one of the greater side walls and getting himself inside, but he had managed. He kept his knife-extension at the ready and a pistol in the other hand in case things went more sour than they already were.
Creeping in between two buildings, he watched the people running around in panic. Merle waited until the fearful crowd rushed back into their houses, soon emerging into the streets only to sneak to an alley between two other buildings.
But he wasn't alone here. Something rustled from behind him and just as swiftly as he had gone to attack, he stopped when one of his own men fell against him.
"Woah! Woah, hold on now, buddy." He muttered in a mocking, soothing tone as he rested his comrade up against the brick wall, eyeing his wounds. "What's got you all beat up? You bit?"
"No! No, it was... it was the girl. The one the Governor buried!" He managed, fright never leaving his eyes. "She's alive, Merle! The bitch is fucking alive!"
"Shh." He raised a finger to his lips. "She's back, why'd she let you go?"
"Sh-she didn't. I escaped. But I know who she's here for..." He sputtered out, coughing up a bit of blood. Merle's eyebrows raised, urging him forth with a slight shake. "She said something about a Daryl. Part of her group. I-I think it's that sonovabitch with a crossbow that we captured not long after you left!"
Merle's expression never changed, but he had quickly gone silent as death the moment his brother's name came into play. Daryl was here. Here in Woodbury. Despite his excitement, he could only imagine what hell his baby brother had gone through on behalf of Nora's rebellious nature. Did the Governor even know she was alive? Merle sure as hell didn't. All he knew was that Andrea and the negro had escaped, stole one of their vehicles and fled Woodbury first chance they got. Either way, that Irish bitch was pissed.
"Don't you worry. I'll take care of everythin'." Merle said finally, easing his knife up to the man's throat. "Shh..." he muttered before sticking the blade through his chin and into his brain.
With the comrade dead in seconds, he fled the alleyway, making for the Governor's 'information' session.
"Sir!" One of the Governor's men shouted as he burst through the door. His knuckles were bloodied to the point where he couldn't tell which was his and which was Dixon's. His chest heaved from the power he put into every hit. His hair was sweat slicked and sticking to his forehead.
In short, he was a fucking mess.
"What!" The Governor snapped.
"It's Merle, sir. He's back from his trip. Just wanted to check in."
"I'll be out in a minute."
By the time he'd cleaned up, Merle was standing patiently in wait outside the door.
"Merle. Good to see ya made it." The Governor stole a glance to Merle's blade, which still had blood on it. "Trouble getting in?"
"Looks like you got yourself a problem at the gates," The Redneck's brother informed him, sounding breathless as well. "Walkers on each side. They're breakin' our ranks, too. Way too many of 'em."
"Let's get up there'n help." The Gov stated, brushing past him.
"Who's in there?" He motioned to the door.
"Just an old friend turned enemy. He can wait. Let's go."
"Right behind yah." He replied, beginning to walk behind him. Merle took the guards following behind to his advantage, letting them bustle in front of him. He followed them to the exit into the street, but not beyond that. Instead, he turned and went right back to the door between him and his brother.
He didn't tell the Governor about Nora. Considering the lies the man had fed Merle about his brother, he wasn't about to inform him of the one threat that proved most promising to his cause. Nora wanted Daryl out and Merle wanted Daryl out. For now, she was a partner-in-crime until proven otherwise.