Aww, I'm so lazy xD I still get there in the end.

A straggling line had formed outside the door of the lab, consisting of the curious, the bored, and the enterprising. Every fifteen minutes or so someone would emerge from the building, uncertain yet hopeful, and the next person in line would go in and try their luck.

Milton leaned over the sheet of paper on his desk, looking over the rims of his glasses at the woman sitting across from him. She was plump and middle-aged, with her blonde hair cut in a limp bob, and she had the strained manner of someone who was trying to seem upbeat and positive in the face of overwhelming anxiety. Milton had no choice but to continue his line of questioning. "And what is your employment history? Do you have a working knowledge of combustibles? Familiarity with weapons? Military background, martial arts, that sort of thing?"

"I ran a daycare center," the woman answered.

Milton checked the box next to 'Firsthand Combat Experience' on his interview sheet. "Yes, good. And why did you leave your last job?"

"The children were all eaten."

"I see."

"Is that going effect my chances?"

"I'm not going to lie to you- failing to save children, animals, the weak, elderly or innocent could put a black mark on your resume." Seeing the crestfallen look on the woman's face, Milton quickly added, "But I'm sure if you avenge their deaths, that'd put you back in pretty good standing. Um, I think that's all the questions I have for you today, Mrs. Knapp. If you get the job I'll let you know, and thank you for your interest." He shook her hand and smiled nicely until she left. Then he huffed a sigh and rifled through the applications he had so far. Being a vigilante had seemed like hard work, but that was before he tried his hand at finding vigilante replacements.

Having decided that he was about as suited to heroing as a blind man was to operating a front loading tractor, Milton thought it best that he should resign. At the same time, he couldn't leave Woodbury even more defenceless in the hands of the Governor. The only option was to find someone to take his place, leaving him free to bow out with a clear conscience.

This was easier said than done. The job was a thankless one, the benefits sparse and the risks legion, including but not limited to embarrassment, bodily harm, death, undeath, and hideous crushing defeat. None of the applicants seemed to fit his criteria; not one of them was courageous, agile, tough, mysterious, charismatic, tall, muscular or sexy enough. Buddy was at least muscular, tall and tough, but lacked the brains God gave a nematode. Shannon Riker was bold and wily and eight years old. Mr. Samuels was a war vet, but he was well past his prime and he referred to Milton as 'Lucille' or 'sweetheart' throughout the entire interview.

In short, most people in Woodbury were better off planting cucumbers and counting how many boxes of Bisquik they had left than running around on rooftops battling the forces of evil. It almost made Milton feel better about his own performance. Almost.

The cold-footed crusader readied himself for the next hopeless case and was about to call out 'Next!' when the door burst open, and the Governor strode in to throw a crumpled piece of paper down in front of him. "What is the meaning of this?" He demanded. "I come back and I find these things all over town. 'Help Wanted, Vigilante Needed to Overthrow Cyclopsian Menace, Please See Milton Mamet for Further Information'?"

"Oh, you've seen my ad?" Milton's pen hovered over a fresh application sheet. "Full name, please."

The Governor planted his hands on either side of the desk and leaned down, his voice low and dangerous as he said, "Philip I'm-Gonna-Pull-Your-Arms-Off-And-Beat-You-With-The-Wet-Ends-If-You-Don't-Cut-This-Out Blake!"

Milton wrote down Blake, Philip IGPYAOABYWTWEIYDCTO. "That's a little long, do you mind if I refer to you as Phil?"

"You know I hate being called Phil, it makes me sound like a used car salesman."

"You're right, the moral similarities become all too obvious," Milton said. "You can always use an alias. 'The Governor' should do just fine. Now," he fished out a plastic cup from one of the desk drawers. "Could you just take a moment to visit the restroom and fill this up for me, so I can get your substance abuse tests under way?"

The Governor smacked the cup from his hand. "Enough of this. Do you know what went down at the pits last night?"

"Pits? What pits?"

"The pits, Milton."

"Oh, the pits. There is a rumor going around." A pointed silence ensued in which Milton was clearly expected to elaborate. "Actually I, ah, have a list of suspects for you," he said, pushing across his pile of papers. "I thought if someone went through the trouble to make so much trouble, he- or she, you know, whatever- might want to go through the legal channels and be officially registered as town heroooo...ne'er-do-well."

Philip just looked at him in that way that made him feel like his nose had just grown three inches, Pinoccio fashion. Milton changed the subject. "What happened with you last night? You look..." He wasn't sure how to frame it politely. The Governor looked like he'd just been wrestling with a trio of angry wolverines while passing a kidney stone, baking a souffle', and going over Niagra Falls in a barrel at the same time. "You look a little beat."

A wry smile appeared on the Governor's face. "Well, I'd rather poke my last eye out with a spoon than listen to The Entertainer one more time."

"And Andrea?"

The smile went stale. "I don't think you need to worry about her anymore. I just came by to make sure you stay safe from whoever's runnin' around out there hittin' people on the head and lightin' things on fire, hm?"

Milton gulped. "Yes, of course, I will." The Governor stared him down for a moment more, then, seeming satisfied that his underling was sufficiently nervous, left the lab.

Milton wasn't sure which fact was the most unsettling; that the Governor was on to his secret identity, or that out of all the people who'd walked through the door that day, he was the best qualified for the job. Worse still, he probably had Andrea in his nefarious clutches. Andrea, who was far more courageous than Milton could ever hope to be. Andrea, who would make a far better hero than he.

Of course, someone would have to go and save her first, and that someone would, unfortunately, have to be him.

Andrea couldn't tell how long it had been since Philip had dragged her into that room and left her there. Despite the chill temperature, uncomfortable seating and gloomy decor, she'd managed to nod off to sleep every few hours or so. Something had woken her up just now, a sound from outside. A shiver of fear went through her- was it the Governor, come back to use his instruments of torture on her?

The doorknob began jiggling, slowly at first, then increasing to a rattle. "Great, it's locked," a voice said. After a pause, Andrea heard some low clinking and scraping sounds coming from the door. Every few moments these would stop, and there came the susseration of book pages being turned, after which the clinking would resume.

"Who's there?" Andrea called.

"Hold on, I'm trying to concentrate," returned the voice.

"What are you trying to do?"

"Pick the lock." More pages being flipped, and the voice said quietly, as if to itself, "Maybe I should have practiced some of these techniques in advance..."

The voice sounded familiar. "Milton, is that you?"

"No, it's not," said Milton's voice. Metal rang on concrete, and a pick rolled under the door. "Oops." There were a few footsteps. "Okay, stand back!"

Andrea looked down at her arms. "Thanks for the advice, but I'm cuffed to a chair." She flinched as something banged loudly against the door. She heard more footsteps, followed by another, louder BANG! This time there were definite groaning noises coming from outside. "Milton, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. And I'm not Milton, I'm the Duct Tape- oh, that really hurts- Desperado." After a moment's consideration, he spoke again. "I think I'm going to need something more heavy duty. I'll be right back."

Andrea shifted restlessly in her chair, and spent the next several minutes trying to decide what to make of these rescue attempts. She hoped that Milton, or the Desperado, or whoever he was, would hurry up. She had an itch on her knee that was driving her up a wall.

Presently there came a scraping sound, as of something heavy being dragging across the floor. The noise stopped with a thump, which was followed by a lot of clattering. "This should do it." After a bit of clinking and clicking, the voice asked, "Andrea, do you know how to work a blowtorch?"

Her eyebrows went up. "A what? I don't think that's a good idea, Milton, maybe you should try something else first."

"No, I've got it now, don't worry," the voice assured.

FFFWSSSSSHHHHHH!

The crack under the door beamed with white light for a second or two before it eased into a slightly less rampant orange glow. "Um, on second thought, maybe I should try something else first," the voice said, sounding a bit on the shaky side, and the torch clicked off.

Andrea started breathing again and began prying her nails out of the armrest padding.

After some further clanking and bumping, the sound of a running drill buzzed to life. "Much better," said the voice, and one by one the screws holding the door hinges in place popped out and pinged onto the floor. With the hinges free, the door tilted inward at an angle, the lock holding it in place before it was torn out of the wall with the hellish screech of rending metal.

Andrea's rescuer stood in the doorway, drill in hand, although it took her a moment to realize what was wrong with his face. Milton had surmised that the reason the Governor was on to him was because on his first mission, he'd forgotten the most fundamental piece of vigilante wardrobe: a mask. Accordingly, he'd given himself one, a length of duct tape stuck across his face with two holes cut out for his eyes. It might have looked better if he'd remembered to take his glasses off before putting the tape on.

"Andrea," he said as he came to her, "I've got something very important to ask you. The future of Woodbury-"

"Look, just get me out of here quick, somebody probably heard that," she cut him off, jiggling in her seat with impatience.

Milton searched through the pan of torture instruments on the table for a suitable handcuff busting device, realizing that he'd forgotten a key element in this little operation of his: a key. He frowned as he rifled through the objects. Knives, scalpels, forceps, shears, a Bunsen burner; it was absolutely barbaric! So this was where all his science equipment had gone missing to, not to mention most of his silverware.

He used a pair of pliers to break off the handcuffs and helped Andrea to her feet. He took a deep breath. "Your hour of destiny is at hand. I want you to take up the mantle of-"

She brushed by him and out the door, leaving his carefully crafted speech behind. In the hall was a box full of tools, with a welding torch and an electric screwdriver lying on the floor nearby a Lockpicking for Dummies book, which Milton discreetly nudged aside with his foot. A sound from somewhere in the building caused them both to freeze. "Someone's here," Andrea whispered, and armed herself with a hand mallet from the box of tools before leading her rescuer into the shadows.

"Who's in here?" The voice of their pursuer called as they made their way through halls of corrugated steel and rooms full of spare supplies. After running into what seemed like a dead-end somewhere at the rear of the building, Andrea pried the wood off a boarded up window for them to make their escape. The pair squeezed through, finding themselves standing outside of Woodbury, with dusk approaching.

Milton tried again to inform Andrea of her new calling in life when she swung her mallet in his direction. He cringed away as the mallet crunched into the skull of a walker that was coming up behind him. "Let's go," she said, and took off in a crouched run along the outside of the wall. Raised voices began coming from within the town, most likely the Governor's men looking for them. Presently, the pair came upon the holding cages, which were currently empty due to the activities of the Desperado. Andrea tugged Milton inside along with her, and they fell into the shadows at the back of the rusted pen as a pair of men came out from Woodbury. Guns at the ready, the two proceeded into the woods, doubtless believing that the fugitives would have attempted to put as much distance between themselves and the town as possible.

Andrea sat with her back to the wall, fingering her mallet. "We should wait here until nightfall, then we can slip out under cover of darkness and make a run for the prison."

Milton picked at the duct tape on his face and tried to catch his breath. Here she was, a woman who'd been run down, thrown in chains, and threatened with torture by a madman, but still fighting. It was clear which of the two of them the job of hero rightly belonged to. "Look, I have something...very important I've been trying to ask you."

Andrea put her hand on his arm and smiled apologetically. "Oh, that's very sweet, but I'm not really ready to be in another relationship right now."

"What? No! No, that's not what I- I mean, not that you're not- that's not what I meant." Uncomfortable as the mask was, at least it hid any color changes that his face might deem necessary to undergo. "It's just, I've really been concerned about Woodbury, and the way Phillip's been acting. I thought, the people here need someone to step up and try to protect them, to stop the Governor if need be."

Andrea did a double take. "And you're that person?"

No, you are, Milton was about to reply, but froze instead. The two guards, having lost their quarry and not savoring the idea of being out after dark, were returning to Woodbury. The fugitives held their breath and remained crouched inside the cage as the men walked past them back to the gates.

Several moments went by before they dared speak again. "I'm really proud of you, Milton," Andrea said. "I had no idea you had it in you to stand up to Philip. And I don't think you should have to do this alone." She peered out into the dusk and hefted her mallet. "As Woodbury's protector, it's your duty to stand by it. I'll go back to the prison and bring reinforcements. We'll meet you at the feed store tomorrow."

"But-" Milton spluttered. He was trying to rid himself of responsibility, and now he was being saddled with an army.

"Don't worry, I believe in you," Andrea reassured him before she slipped out.

With all his hopes of passing on the torch dashed, the Desperado could only hide in the darkness and mutter to himself, "Well, I sure don't."

One more chapter left. Some time... :)