I went back over the story to nab the little character details and realised I have 2 Tammys in this story. lol Down below the chapter is what little information is given away in the story so far on some of the characters. I warn you I did change some things, mostly just the ages, because remember when I first started this story it was ment to be a one to two shot max so the details at the time were exagurated as it wasn't suppose to get this far.
~Loner
"Would you like to stand under my umbrella?" A little girl asked the boy on the ground in front of her.
The boy raised his rotting face upwards, dead brown eyes staring at the teen a meter away from him. The boy let out a hungry moan, his weirdly bent arm reaching up for the girls dirty pink skirt.
The girl under the umbrella hummed as she watched the boy's movements with a hint of pitty in her green eyes. So young. "What a pity," the girl sighed with emotion. She had always been an emotional person. It was such a waste of life. "You must have been trampled in the crowd due to the panic in the masses." The girl used one hand to smooth out the knee length skirt on her back side as she squatted down to be face to face with the boy that looked to be 4 or 5 years her younger. He reminded her of her little brother, just with brown eyes instead of blue. As she watched the boy struggle to crawl across the cement of the huge parking lot they were in, the girl briefly wondered how her brother was doing.
When the break out in their city had begun, they were still in school. She remembered that day, her brother had a huge fight with their parents about it. He didn't want to go outside until the mysterious disease was declared over with. Her poor younger brother was smart, but he was deadly afraid of having his health issues aggravated. Of course, their parents refused and coasted him, and to an extent her, into the car. Her mother drove halfway across the city and kicked him out of the car. Then, she watched as he walked into the school. Afterwards, she drove away and repeated the process all over again with her.
Only, she was smart too, just in a different way than her brother. While her little brother would obediently follow through going to classes now that he was there, she did not. This girl was the black sheep of the family. Her family was on the lower end of the middle class, white, and traditional. As a white, traditional family, this meant they had standards and, while not strict because of the lower income, rules to be followed. Her brothers and her were raised with the golden rule of 'hard work, better future' (means work hard for a good life). She, however, was lazy and school was so easy it boring. She didn't have the drive to learn, let alone sit in school and let them teach her what she considered useless things.
So, when she was dropped off and walked into the school like she had every intention of staying, she did not. She had walked in as if heading to class, but, at the last second, did a swift 90 degree turn into the girls bathroom station at the entrance. She had waited a long time, glancing at the time on her flip phone ever now and then as she waited for the first bell to ring. When it finally did, she walked out of the bathroom and slipped back out the school doors.
She remembered thinking at the time, as she felt the crisp morning air flowing around her in a gentle breeze and the warm sunlight on her skin: Ah. Freedom.
She was a free spirit and this mad her a rebel. School was a prison for her. 8 hours of hell? No, thank you. I'm out. Bye.
"If I had known," the girl said to the boy, who, despite his struggle, was still in the same place she found him in, "I would have gone to pick him up immediately." She didn't seem to care if the kid was listening to her or not.
From a distance, the scene looked pretty normal, if dangerous due to the boys broken and rotted body. A little girl in pink and white almost kneeling in front of the fallen boy as if to give him a helping hand up,
a black normal looking umbrella sitting open on her shoulder, protecting her fair skin from the sun's rays. However, underneath the umbrella, the bones were made of thick steel, as if the usually thin frame of the umbrella was remade and replaced. The rod looked bulky in her delicate hands.
"Did you have an older sister, too?" she asked the moaning boy, still thinking about her brother. "Did she abandon you, too?" Because, isn't that what she had unknowingly done that day? She abandoned her poor panic stricken brother at his school. Did it matter if she immediately went to look for him? No, she didn't think so. "Maybe, she is looking for you, too?" she doubted it, though.
Suddenly, the girl's warm eyes turned cold and distant, perhaps because she was bored of talking to the boy and only getting groans in response to her serious conversation. "That's too bad." In a practiced fluid motion, the girl pressed a button on her umbrella handle. With a click, a piece of the handle detached with a pop from the rest. With a well-practiced move, born out of weeks of making the same movements more times than the girl could count, she gripped the handle of the umbrella firmly and pulled downwards revealing a thin, foot long make-shift blade attached to the handle, sliding from the thick pole of the umbrella. Moment later, the girl plunged the sharp point into the zombified boy's forehead.
For a few minutes, the little girl started at the boy's body, emotions flickering crossed her eyes. If only, she thought sadly. If only the apocalypse hadn't have happened…
Aiden really hated Hitman. The man was the very definition of the boy who cried wolf. An hour of searching the medical bay for this so called 'early team,' Aiden was stepping out of the med bay zone with nothing to show for it. Max following him, a thick folder full of paperwork in his hands. Sometimes, it seemed like Hitman's sole job was to give Aiden more work. That team had already checked in before making its way back to the base. However, because Hitman had mentioned the team as early returnees, he, now, had to check with the communications building and couldn't release the team until he saw the proof. God damnit, Aiden really hated Hitman.
"Think I can just tell Team Bee it was Hitman's fault," Aiden asked the quiet man beside him.
Max shrugged, a clear sign of uncaring.
They probably missed breakfast, Aiden thought angrily as he stalked down the path towards the building housing the communications team in the center of the base. By the time they got this situation sorted out, it would be mid-morning. Aiden sighed heavily, stomach bubbling loudly in agreement with the sigh. When was the last time he sat down to eat something? Aiden couldn't remember.
Aiden held out his hand to take the folder from Max. "Give me the paperwork," he said with a worn look in his eyes, "You go eat. One of us needs to be operational today or this whole place will burn down."
Max hesitated before passing Aiden the folder with a nod. What Aiden said made sense to some degree. Besides, there was nothing stopping Max from bringing something back from the kitchen for Aiden.
Aiden watched the red head walk off in jealousy, the folder in clenched tightly in his hand. Welp, he thought as he forced himself to continue towards the communications building, let's get this over with. Sometimes, he missed golf carts and cars. Everything would be so much smoother with wheels and engines.
Life in the Apocalypse sucked. What Aiden wouldn't give to go back to back ally deals and highway speed races.
Ringing from the satellite phone cut the tense air around Aiden, pulling him from his thoughts. And, normal flip phones that gave you the satisfaction of hanging up violently on people, Aiden thought as he hit the answer button. "What now?" Aiden growled into the mic.
"Damn, man," Terry's irritatingly cheerful voice came through the speaker, grading his ear drum, "eat a Snickers. You sound hangry."
"Shut up," Aiden growled out, "I always sound hangry."
"True." Aiden could practically see Terry stroking his strong jawline exaggerating in mocking thought. "Anyway," the man continued, "long story short. Merle says, once you are in the building and on the right floor, the safe zone is pretty obvious. Got to say, he is right. Whomever was assigned to put this area together forgot a lot of the small details and inverted the wood over the office door window." Terry paused for some reason. Probably to listen to what the others with him were saying.
Aiden could faintly hear Jefferson in the background, "It's almost like the idiots sent lost the instructions on how to set the area up."
"One of the biggest issues was," Terry continued, ignoring Jefferson in the background as he pointed out everything wrong in the zone, "the last visiting team left the radio going for some reason. No way of telling why, but the battery was still good when Merle came along. So, we are assuming it was a recent. Outside what we and Merle took from the storage area, only a few supplies are unaccounted for. Pretty good bet the last ones in the area were out guys."
"Alright." Aiden added a note to his long list of things to look into when he reached the office. "No way of knowing who did the set up of that area. Our records won't go back that far." The safe zones we're set up at the beginning of the Zombie war. Keeping records of what safe zone housed what team and when was a relatively recent thing, only a few months old, born out of worry for missing teams. Before those records, Ace Company had trouble remembering the last known location of their team members, mostly due to the shift changes in the communications department. When every day was lived in survival mode, it turned out, unless the person has a photographic memory, details were lost, especially when there was a lot of information coming across. Most of the communication department worked in groups of two, now, working together to receive and record, by hand, sadly, any information coming across the radio. Fortunately, this was a city, meaning paper and writing utensils were available in spades. "I'm heading to the communications building now, so I should have an answer on who was the last one in the safe zone by the time you get back." He hoped.
"What? Why?" Terry sounded surprised. It wasn't part of Aiden's routine checkup area. Usually, the short man would go straight to the research and development area for a few hours, then to his makeshift office in the rec building to look over paperwork.
"Fucking Hitman," Aiden growled out in frustration as he ran a hand through his greasy hair. He really needed a shower.
"Ignore him, Aid. You know he just likes to fuck with you." Even Terry suspected the tech just got some sort of sick joy out of messing with Aiden. Not that Terry blamed the man. Aiden was harder on the
research and development members than any other group. Hitman, in particular, bore the blunt of Aiden's attitude due to the man's experience in technology. "He probably didn't finish the project and is trying to buy time."
"He claimed a team returned early," Aiden tried to argue, but Terry cut him off.
"See. How would Hitman even know if a team returned or not, let alone returning early. Aid, you need more sleep if you're listening to Hitman of all people."
Aiden sighed. He already knew it was a wild goose chase. "Regardless." That was what he was doing. He'd rather be safe than sorry later. "Just get your ass here already, so I can go back to bed."
"Ey, ey, Captain," Terry sang mockingly and ended the call. The blonde man placed the phone on the counter top. "Hey, Jeffy," Terry ignored the resounding 'not my name,' "you got any paper?" he asked, already patting himself down in his search for a pen.
"I don't know. Do you got a brain?" Jefferson snapped back, even as he moved to dig through his backpack.
"You're just jealous of my good looks. Ah~ There it is." Terry pulled out a blue ballpoint pen, clicking it a few times.
Jefferson pulled out a small notepad of sticky notes. "I got this," he waved old pad in front of him.
Terry looked back at it, still clicking the pen out of habit. The repetitive motion was strangely soothing. "That works. I'll just make it short."
Jefferson tossed the pad towards Terry, who caught it and turned to write. Then, the dark haired man turned his attention to Merle. "Dude, you look like crap."
Merle scowled, arms crossed over his chest, cuff links from the handcuffs making him unconsciously uncomfortable now that most of the fatigue had been slept off. "I feel like shit."
"And, done." Terry tore the top page of the sticky note off the pad and stuck it dramatically down onto the field phone. Turning a huge grin towards the other occupants in the room, Terry said, "We should go, now. Aiden didn't sound too happy."
Jefferson stood up and stretched. "He's always angry."
"Who the fuck is Aiden?" Merle asked as he followed the two men out the door to the safe zone.
Terry and Jefferson looked at each other, then back towards Merle.
"You know, come to think of it," Terry said thoughtfully, "you only know him as Ace."
Merle gave the two men a deadpan look.
Jefferson laughed quietly, reaching out to nudge the door to the stairwell open enough to poke his head through. Groans of the dead echoed up towards them from the small confined space, but, so far, the team of three were in the clear. Jefferson pulled his head back and quietly shut the door. "Dead walking down stairs. Clear on landing."
Terry reached down, pulling a few throwing knifes from his belt. "Well, then, I suppose we ought to take out a few."
Jefferson nodded, looking over towards Merle. Seeing the old man hadn't made any moves for his weapons, Jefferson blinked in mild surprise. "Where's your weapon?"
Merle just shrugged. "Don' have un'."
"What do you mean you don't have one?" Terry asked, "How did you get here?"
Merle shrugged. "Survival instinct."
Jefferson sighed. "That's one hell of an instinct." Turning his back towards Merle, Jefferson said, "There should be a hunting knife in the backpack. It's just a backup weapon, but it will due until we can get to the jeep down stairs."
Merle unzipped the bag on Jefferson back and immediately it fell open from the weight of the notebooks and folders inside. "Why are ya carrying all this useless stuff?" Merle asked idly as he reached a searching hand into the bag.
"Mission papers," was his answer.
"We are a mission oriented Team only," Terry further explained when Merle rolled his eyes. "Never too far from base usually, travel light when we need to go out." The man shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. Really, it wasn't. Jefferson and Terry were more then use to having to skip meals and every vehicle they had ever gotten into at the base had some sort of water or snack in the glove compartment.
"It's really easy to survive an apocalypse when you already lived this way in your everyday life," Jefferson explained as Merle zipped the backpack back up. "Though," the darker haired man started, unstrapping a buckle of thick leather from his left thigh, "the length of duration between meals is a bit hard on the body these days." Jefferson continued to fiddle with the oddly shape leather piece, undoing seemingly useless ties that looked more like decorations then actual ties holding the two wide cut leather patches together.
"I 'magine so." Merle could understand the hidden meaning behind the statement was. Merle had relied on his own childhood trauma in the military and again now that there wasn't much of a choice. No, Merle wasn't proud of the shit he went through, even less of the shit his brother went through without him there to protect the kid, but Merle was finding himself grateful for it every time he had to fall asleep with an empty stomach. Wasn't that in itself just fucked up? "What are ya doin'?"
Finally, Jefferson pulled the two leather pieces apart. "Arm bands," Jefferson said, holding up one of the oddly shaped leather pieces. "Want one?" Terry immediately threw out his left arm and Jefferson placed the cut leather over the outer part of his arm. As the man began to wrap the string around Terry's thick arm, Jefferson went into further detail, "It isn't fool proof, but it offers a nice shield against the dead's teeth. Considering that the teeth are mostly human and not the sharp teeth of a shark, the thickness of the leather allows the one wearing it to shove the forearm into the on coming mouth to provide a few seconds of breathing room and the opportunity to brain the dead." Jefferson tied the arm band off tightly. "Weakness of it being, it provides no protection to any other part of the body."
"So," Terry continued as he allowed his arm to drop to his side, "think strategically and avoid the mits."
"The hands," Jefferson corrected just in case Merle didn't understand.
Merle shook his head, no, at the offer. "Nah, think I'll just take the knife." He did make a mental note to observe their theory in action though. If it seemed useful, Merle would think about investing in an arm band.
"Suit yourself. Terry." Jefferson gave his companion the other piece and held out his right arm. He was left handed, unfortunately.
When the team of three were ready, Jefferson pulled open the door to the stairwell, swinging it wide. Terry's steel toed boots were the first to cross the threshold into the stairwell. Jefferson paused before following. "Oh, and," he turned briefly to Merle, "Terry is a bad shot," he warned the older man before following Terry, his own duel blades held in a tight reverse grip.
"Oi," Terry's whispered yell floated over Merle's stunned ears, "I take offence."
At the top of the stairs, Daryl glared at the open door to the roof, then at T-dog.
"Well," the thick man stumbled to explain, "it was chained shut when we left."
The door to the roof of the building was just opened enough to allow a small strip of light from the outside into the dim stairwell. The chain, T-dog was talking about, hung twisted around the long push handle's pole, broken. The lock swayed lightly, tapping the wall quietly, held onto the railing of the stairwell by a few wrapped links of chain.
"Where did you get this chain?" Rick asked absently as he observed the scene before then, "The junk yard?" This was the first time Rick was seeing the situation. The chain T-dog kept bringing up was old and rusted. Logically, the poor chain should have been thrown out before the dead started to rise up to end mankind.
T-dog let out a small awkward chuckle, rubbing at some stressed muscles in his neck. "Well," he began to explain hesitantly, "I, sort of," he paused as if debating with himself, "stole it on my way here." The black man deliberately chose not to disclose the fact that the chain did come from a near by dumpster in the ally way. At the time, he had been weaponless and surrounded by Walkers. He panicked, okay, and the chain was just hanging there over the edge of the dumpster when he needed it. Then, again, when he panicked on the way out with the others, the chain had just been laying there on the ground when he needed a solution. It was fate's fault for not providing a better quality chain, not his.
"Whatever," Daryl growled, "He better be alive." Angrily, Daryl pushed the door open with enough force to throw it back against the wall with a bang. Glen, Rick, and T-dog followed behind him.
The roof top was barren. At first glance from the door way, all that could be seen was the bag of tools Dale wanted back and a few dead bodies littered across the roof top leading away from the door to the emergency stairs. If one ignored the rotting smell in the air and bodies on the ground, the buildings roof top would have been eerily normal.
The group fanned out across the roof. Daryl looking for signs of his brother, Merle. Glenn, with Rick and T-dog following behind him, going over to grab the bag of tools.
"That's the drain pipe I dropped the key in," T-dog absentmindedly pointed out as they passed the pipe opening.
Glenn picked up the black bag, throwing the straps on his left shoulder. "That's not a drain pipe," he corrected, "it's a vent pipe that probably leads to the stove in the employee break room or something."
"Who cares what it is?" Daryl snapped at Glenn, "He still left my brother cuffed to the damn pipe!" Daryl clenched his fists in frustration. The details didn't matter. It was the principal of it all. Merle tried to warn him and Daryl, too worried about the children in the group, didn't listen. Now look what had happened! Merle, the last of his family, was gone. Daryl caught to push the tears of despair back, eyes reddening. Ever since this apocalypse started, Daryl seemed to be losing more and more of his loved ones. Suddenly, he was alone. Daryl stared down at his feet. Not even his shadow wanted to keep him company it seemed.
"Well," Glenn sighed as he stood up from his crouch, "may as well start looking for Merle. He couldn't have gotten far."
Daryl snorted. "Ya don't know my brother then." Merle was incredibly resourceful.
Rick analyzed the scene, pulling on skills he learned from the police force. "Going over the scene," Rick started, "I cuffed him there," the ex-cop pointed to the thin pipe line leading out of the roof top a few feet from the tool bags original position. "The door is there," pointing over towards the wide open door way, "Now, assuming that these guys," Rick swept his finger over to point at the trail of Walkers, "were banging on the door to get to him. Merle would have panicked." Rick didn't mean it as an insult. It was just a statement; something he learned from his years of investigation. The man turned to Daryl. "You know Merle the best. How would he have reacted?"
Daryl was surprised by the sudden question. Usually, in his experience, cops liked to keep him out of anything they did. They never asked him questions, only assumed based off what they thought they knew. "Er," this was a first for Daryl, so his starting statement wasn't as strong as he liked, "he'd pro'a'ly break the cuffs."
It was T-dogs turn to be surprised. "You can do that?"
Daryl snorted. "O' course, ya can." At the groups blank stare, Daryl reluctantly explained, "It's a Black Op skill."
"Merle was in the Black Ops?" Glenn sounded surprised. He would have never have guessed Merle of all people would have had it in him. Merle come off like the type to argue with authorities, not join them.
"No," Daryl corrected, "but, he dated one back in when he was in the military."
"Merle was in the military?" it was Rick's turn to be surprised. Nothing about what he saw that day suggested Merle was in the military.
"Yes, for a bit." Daryl didn't elaborate any further, choosing to let the others think what they wanted about the information.
Glenn scratched his head, trying to wrap his mind around the new information. That actually explained a lot for him. He had noted that Merle had been trained, but he couldn't quite figure out from where. At
some point, Glenn had just figured that Merle had taken classes or something along those lines. But, the military? It had never crossed Glenn's mind. Merle's personally was too rugged in his opinion to be in the military. "What happened?" Glenn asked, curiosity coloring his voice.
Daryl paused mid step, just over the first Walker's body when he heard the question. The kid debated it over in his head. How did one explain the reason Merle was kicked out of the military? It was a logical outcome given Merle's personally, but the reason for the discharge wasn't what people, outside of a select few, would expect. On the other hand, could Daryl not say anything at all about it? This group didn't trust them. That much was obvious, else they wouldn't be in this situation, and saying nothing could make matters worse.
Rick, perhaps sensing Daryl's discomfort, broke the silence. "What does it matter?" he asked. "the fact is: Merle broke the cuffs in time to make a get away, but not soon enough to avoid a fight." Clearly, he thought as he walked over to the first Walker's body, using his foot to push the body over onto it's back. It was a thin thing, probably the fastest due to its small size. "This girl goes down first with a quick knife blow to the side of the head. She probably caught Merle by surprise."
"Girl? She? Really? It's a Walker," Daryl sneered, following after Rick as the man made his way to the second body.
"Force of habit," the ex-cop absently explain as he observed the second body. This guy was big in muscle weight, but the body itself was still in relatively good shape for a Walker. Probably, a recently turned Walker, meaning its movements were more than likely disoriented enough to be slower than the first one, but faster than the others due to its newer body. "This guy's position suggests he was reaching out to nab your brother when he was hit. It was a close call, if he thought he was close enough to reach out and grab Merle."
"Again, Walker," Daryl corrected but respected Rick's observations. "No gender."
"You never know," Glenn argued, "maybe Walker's reproduce too." But, conceded with a number of, "Not sure how that would work, though."
T-dog scrunched up his eyebrows in discussed. "I don't even want to think about it."
Daryl rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore the two imbeciles behind him. Everyone had an option that needed to be known, he thought.
"Just saying," Glenn continued, following after Rick and Daryl, "Logically, everything reproduces according to science. We don't know enough about Walkers to be able to say the only way they reproduce is by eating the living."
"Point taken," T-dog agreed. There was a few quiet moments between the four as they made it to the emergency ladder on the side of the building. "But," T-dog started in again, "are Walker's even smart enough to even think about reproducing?" he wondered out loud.
Daryl felt something in his soul snap. "Jesus Christ, shut up!"
Unfortunately for everyone, T-dog, despite being terrified of Daryl, was a good God fearing Christian, and that fear of God was greater then any other fear he may have had. He had grown up hearing one particular phrase. This phrase was said so often by the people around him for as long as he could
remember. This phrase, despite T-dog's conscious struggle not to let it spill over his lips, at this very moment, slipped from the man's lips as if it were the very air he breathed out, "Thou shalt not use the lord's name in vain." Immediately, T-dog slapped a hand over his own mouth, almost in shock over the slip.
There was a moment where everything seemed to slow down for T-dog. His eyes processed the slow movement of Daryl's hand as the kid gripped the crossbow at the boy's side, already locked and loaded. Glenn's shell shocked face in the corner of his vision as the Korean slowly covered his gasp. Over Daryl's shoulder, Rick looked exasperated as the drama played out in front of the man's eyes.
Then, suddenly, a bolt was whizzing past T-dog's face and the click of a gun's hammer was pulled back. Daryl and Rick stood in a standoff. Daryl's crossbow pointed at T-dog, already loaded with another arrow. Rick stood a few steps to the right, near the ladder, behind Daryl, gun clocked, aimed for Daryl's head, and waiting for the pull the trigger. Both men tense and ready to pull the trigger at any moment.
Poor Glenn, who was just a by stander in all of this, couldn't help but think, we're never going to find Merle… or the guns.
Back at Arc Company, Tammy was on lunch duty in the rec building, which basically meant she was playing the part of glorified waitress. Her primary job was just to serve the food behind the counter, but Tammy was ADHD without her meds. This often meant despite the job assignment and the clear breakdown of the rules, the woman was often wondering away from the serving area at the slightest hint of something more interesting then spooning food onto a plate.
Thus, when Aiden's co-conspirators threw open the rec door to the left of her serving area, Terry in the lead and a new face floating above Jefferson's head, Tammy instantly zoned in on them. "What's this?" the woman wondered aloud, serving spoon still journeying towards the plate held out to her but no eyes guided it. The end result was the spoon tipping too far to the right of the plate as Tammy watched the trio stride in.
"Aiden~" Terry yelled out in his typical sing-song voice from the bottom of the stairs, already taking them two at a time, "We're back~"
Jefferson followed after the blonde at a more sedated pace, shaking his head at the childish display like usual.
"Damn it, Tammy!"
The person in front of her snapped her attention back on the job before Tammy could get a good look at the third man in the group. Seeing the mess she made, Tammy laughed, awkwardly scratching her ear lobe, pretending to be pushing a stray lock of hair behind it. "Oops. Sorry, Mr. Coleman."
Coleman snorted at her innocent display. "Forget it." He waved Tammy off when the woman offered him some napkins to wipe off the corn that clung to the man's off-white jacket. "I have to throw it in the pile to be washed anyways."
By the time Tammy looked back towards the trio, they were already closing the door to the big boss' office. Tammy sighed in disappointment.
Tiny Thing Characters
The Doctor : Jenny
- Brown eyes
- Childish
- Bad poker player (ch. 8)
The Cook : Tammy
- ADHD
- Trained in nursing
The Gunsman : Loran
- Anime geek
- Loud personality
- Optimistic
- Protective
The Teacher : Lu-Lu
- Well read (loves to read. Mostly teen novels due to her job)
- Asian with an accent
- Small woman (5 ft 2)
Assistants : The Twins
- Timothy: Boy; transgender; likes to work out
- Jill: Girl; Normal, strict
Main MC (The Boss) : Aiden (Ace) Black
- Black hair
- Green eyes
- Angry/dark
- Extremely pessimistic
- Pet: Rick
- Baby Girl: Daryl
Co conspirator :
1. Max
- Red head
- Green/blue eyes
- white skinned Hispanic
- quiet
- spiritual
-Ace's salvation
2. Terence (Terry) Owen Blake
- blonde
- blue eyes
- built
- born into money
- Childish
- Picks on Jefferson when bored
3. Jefferson
- brown hair
- brown eyes
- thin/lanky
- abnormally strong for his size
- poor background
- relaxed/calm
- goes along with Terry
Love interests :
Ace/Daryl/Rick
Terry/Jenny
Merle/Tammy (possible)
Chapter 1:
Daryl: 18
Merle: 28
Ace: 28
Chapter 2:
Daryl: 19
Merle: 29
Ace: 29
Chapter 5:
Daryl: 22
Merle: 32
Ace: 32
Apocalypse:
Daryl: 23
Merle: 33
Rick: 30
Ace: 33
I did the math on this once, I swear. Maybe Merle was supposed to be 15 years older then Daryl (I dont remember so I went with 10 years)… Mrs. Dixon had Merle at 18 (immature parents would account for bad up bring and Merle's personally), that would make her 28 when she had Daryl…. On account of the drug usage, make it a bad pregnancy causing her to get addicted to pain medicine which ultimately led to death. Mr. Dixon indulging in alcohol, then later Mrs. Dixon's medicine, mysteriously disappearing (Like they all do when your too lazy to write in the extra storyline) when Daryl turned 17 (bearly an adult but still able to support himself legally with Merle's help with legal matters if need to be), while Merle was away in the military.