Curative

By Kaimaler

Same as before. Review replies are posted at the bottom!

We're going to have a bit o' fun this chapter. I feel like describing abject torture for another chapter might bore some people. It is enjoyable to read of course, there's a lot of introspective evolution that takes place.
Not that reading or writing torture, death, and terrible stuff like that is fun. It is fun to fuck with my characters, give them the worst of the worst and see what they'll do to handle their worst nightmares.

It helps build a new version of a character so to speak. It can make a strong person weak, a weak person strong, a logical thinker be emotional or an emotional person logical. The adaption that happens when a person faces their worst fears and are forced to cope is some of my favourite things to write about. Because it's not easy to turn a soft meat person into teeth shattering jerky.
I like to create these situations and find out what kind of person this character would turn into.

So we're going to do something in this chapter to catch interest, create questions, and answer them. A lot is happening and we will skip some time ahead. Everyone has an idea what's happening in Woodbury and we've all seen the season(s) focusing on Woodbury and the Governor.

This is a partial "Transition" chapter. We're moving from Point B to C now and C will be more character heavy with more dialogue and progression TWD show-wise.

Let's get right to it...

Laura stared at the mangled corpse at her feet that was muddled in the water. The streets here had flooded when a lake with a dam had broken, but it was not so bad that it was uninhabitable. Just stay off ground floor and everything would be alright really. An issues with exposure to water for a long period of time would require that person to be submerged in said water for over three days at least.

If there were survivors out here they would likely stay on second floors, stairs, balconies, or rooftops. Anything else would be bad, especially since they could not be sure the water around them was not contaminated by a diseased corpse like this one. The water rushing around it had long since drained the body of blood and other liquids. Now it just rotted in the water.

She hated standing guard outside another convenience store in another abandoned town already picked clean. No one came here, no one stayed here, and most certainly no one left anything here. Either their people cleared the town or other survivors ransacked the place. No matter who did it and made off with the supplies, the result remained the same. There was nothing here and there never would be.

These buildings were not made to withstand flooding for this long. Water damage had seeped into the cracks and warped the wood, these structures were unstable. If they were not careful they could potentially come down on them while they were inside. Walkers might not bother her too much, but building do not care living or dead; if you're inside when it falls you're out of luck.

Laura adjusted the rifle in her hands. This place was a waste of their time, a waste of a clear day, and they would have to go back empty handed because her partner decided to revisit this waste of space. None of this matter either as he never listened to her and they did not care what she thought anyways. Speaking up had a habit of coming around to bite her.

She felt a shiver up her spine. Staring at the corpse at her feet she related it to the walker they brought into the lab. His experiments never ceased when he felt like he made any inch of progress.

A snap in her mind caused her to stand straight and keep her eyes focused on the flooded street in front of her. Laura kept herself tight and orderly, any slip ups and she knew the price for her mistakes. The burn on her back had finally began to scar over, but with it were new, fresher wounds that left long lacerations down her back. She never knew whipping hurt that bad.

The walker hissed and growled, reaching for the doctor and the Governor. They lead it into the room purposefully and the moment it was inside they released the control pole and closed the doors. It tried to search for them, go back the way it came to where the humans were.

An hour passed before it stopped trying to do much of anything, the only two people around were observing it through a one way mirror preserved in this old sheriff's office. The walker could not see them and to it, they did not exist. When it returned to shambling around the room waiting for food they took an interest in how it interacted with Laura who remained locked in the interrogation room.

She did not think much about it, they already knew walkers did not care for her, but she did not know why it required more testing to them. The walker looked at her or at least she think it did, it barely acknowledged she was there. It sniffed her, growled, and moved around the room ignoring her entirely and wandering into the walls and table.

Laura had no idea what they were doing, but it looked like she was stuck in here again just waiting for them to be done. This was her days, meeting fresh walkers and dealing with more tests. She always watched him like a hawk, glowering at him when he entered the room and as he worked on her. She had only been in this new locked room for a short time and they never seemed to get a reaction they wanted.

Walker after walker they were all stabbed in the head and dragged out of the room. The answer they received was always the same; no walker despite how starved ever wanted to attack another. In this case the 'other' walker was her which made her acutely aware they did not perceive her as a person anymore. Before, in the metal cell that held her, they thought her a scavenger who did try to kill them. Here in another cage she was considered an animal to be studied.

The guard took out the walker and removed it from the room. She no longer felt a desire to escape knowing there was no path out. Whatever fight in her had long since been beaten out of her. She flinched when they touched her suddenly and froze in place when they grabbed her. It was an instinctual reaction she could not stop anymore.

Laura was brought out of the interrogation room and back into the holding cell. The metal bar door locked in place with keys only the Governor and the doctor himself kept. They were using her as an experiment to test what made her so functional again, the ability to live beyond death. Laura never denied she was bitten and had died from the infection days later, but it was still a marvel that the reanimation process paved the way for a human brain to survive without the body.

If the world was still whole and the infection beaten, the doctor could see himself a living legend for bringing someone back from the dead. No matter how he wanted his experiment to be a perfect example of his ability, he knew Laura was not everything he wanted her to be.

Her body could heal itself still, but could not do so in a manageable time frame. The wounds inflicted on her during her prolonged torture had still not closed and it had been over five days since she was removed from that cell. She was clearly mentally unstable, but the trauma she suffered made it difficult to decipher what was caused by the infection and what was experienced during her torture.

He had no way to separate these two behaviors; it was simply how she is now. Though he could see her brain suffering from the trauma and head injuries, he knew he could not fix it.

Instead he came up with a new plan. If he could not return her to herself as Laura, his daughter, than he would turn her into a blank slate. Someone who had nothing and could do nothing. Effectively a dog that listened to its master, capable only of adhering to his commands and nothing else. To bring her to such a state would take a lot of time and training.

So he began what knowledge he had about classical conditioning. It would be a long hard road, but he felt the pay off could be exactly what the Governor and himself always wanted.

He told her what to do and how to do it. She listened and did what he wanted. Laura felt nothing inside herself after months of directed torture meant to break and train her. If she were asked her name she would tell it, but not because she remembered who she was anymore. She recited what they told her to say and when it became clear she had problem with that, they made it worse.

Stumbling from inside told her he was being careless again, probably half drunk off his ass in the flooded town. It was dangerous to not be completely aware out here. She would suffer for his actions, if he was injured or killed out here, they would punish her for her failings. She could not return without him and she could not face them if he was bitten or hurt.

He was nicked by a walker once, the scratches are not enough to kill a person, but he certainly made it sound like that. The walker had raked its claw like nails down his shoulder and left him bleeding through his already stained shirt. He yelled at her to kill it, blaming her for it being around to attack him in the first place. She put the walker down and paid the price for his negligence.

Upon returning to Woodbury he placed his injury in her hands and they took her to the lab for further conditioning. This too left its mark on her shattered psyche, though it was successful in conditioning her to work harder and keep her partner alive when they were out for runs. She failed, she was trained, and she learned for next time.

The conditioning went on long enough for her to be completely under their control. Months would have flown by if she had not so many lessons to learn for them. Whatever rebellious behavior she had left over from torture that she began to heal from was immediately crushed beneath the heels of the Governor and the doctor, her father.

She did not think about him as her blood anymore. Laura knew through everything she is the dead and they are the living; she is not one of them and they will never consider her as such. This kind of mantra in her head solidified her position with them, made her moldable. She is dead, not living. She is less than human.

Memories of her friends and family had faded into the recess of her mind she had pushed away. Laura took the Voice in her head, the incarnation of her dead side, and allowed it to do what she needed to survive. She did not anticipate her memories of Rick carrying her down the stairs when they first met, when T-Dog defended her against Merle and Shane, or when Daryl stood up for her when she could not.

She lost those and instead all that remained was her hiding at another table in the dark at the CDC, cowering away from the others fearing they would notice her. Knowing she was trapped underground with people who would likely kill her before she had a chance to explain her condition.
Memories of being shunned in camp, everyone avoiding her, Shane accusing her of eating Sophia and attempting to eat Daryl. When Micheal discovered she was not normal and Red took her to the lower floor to kill her.

These were kept, but the contentedness she felt in camp with Daryl or the laughs she shared with Rick and Glenn. They were repressed so some dark corner she could no longer access.

It made her hard and cold, but it kept her alive. Reminiscing those days would not help her pull through the conditioning or the torture, it would only serve to give her a sense of misplaced pride. Laura wanted nothing but to work anymore, she did not sleep, did not rest. She was up for the day and she was working in the field scavenging and clearing by the walls of Woodbury.

They did not trust her to go out at first, yet they give it a shot. They sent her out with their men and she bolted the first chance she got. The conditioning was not completed just yet.
So they leashed her, hooked a chain to a collar around her neck and handed it to another one of their men. When they went out she was trained not to touch the chain or pull the lead. Exactly as a dog and just like an animal helpless to resist its captors, she listened and learned. The collar and chain were no longer necessary, but served as a kind of reminder for her position. They knew she was a kind of undead cover that, when she was with another person, that person was invisible so long as he or she did not bring attention to themselves. A useful tool when working through large groups of the dead.

Laura eyed the lax chain at her side, the lead had been left on the ground in the water. He could not care less about it and knew without a doubt she was not going to run. He was right of course, she only saw what was in front of her and what she was told. Laura did not think as she used to or exercise her ability to move freely between places anymore.

She stood where he told her to stand and did what he told her to do. No questions, no arguments. If he had told her to sit in the murky flood water she would do so. There was no need to reinforce her place with them anymore. They wanted her to take commands like a trained pet and she gave it her all. When she had runs out with the group without incident they began to trust her more.

Some of the men, ones who had been subject to her biting knew she still bit when out. If they got too close to her she would take their presence as a personal affront and bite before she even thought about it. Her nails were longer, sharper, and tore into human flesh like a knife. Her teeth easily pierced their skin and left deep wounds that would scar over.

She would never say why she bit them, but she knew they starved her for a reason. They wanted to know if she would go feral on them when given the chance. Discussions in the next room about letting her go out with the men and women guards of Woodbury and seeing what would happen. More than a couple men came back with bite wounds from her.

Infection through her was never a concern anymore with the evidence these men displayed over days as the bite wounds healed. The conditioning proved useless against this need to feed and bite the only discernible food source nearby. Food was never in stores to be thrown away and they only gave her food when she returned with what she was sent out to retrieve.

The conditioning could not train the instincts to attack and bite out of her. They got creative.

She was strapped to a chair in the old cleared out PD this experimental lab had taken residence in. They had a chair with leather belts as straps that kept her in place, but she had no intention on fighting back.

When they used restraints during her conditioning it was less to protect them from her and more to keep her in place when they did something to her. It made her a bit nervous though she had been through worse than what they were planning for her. Up to this point she had been a model example of their tests to condition her, an aware walker.

Unsure why they were doing something to keep her down, thinking she had done what they wanted her to do, it came as a surprise to her when they brought her here. The usual punishments were denying food, comfort, or for when she crossed a further line the crop. In her attempts to avoid these punishments she had performed exactly as requested. She went out with the others, killed the walkers that approached, and scavenged for the supplies they needed.

It was not always easy, but she got it done. They were pleased with her progress and even attempted further experiments with other walkers, trying their ability to condition the dead. Of course the tests her father did on her had brought her back, he did not have enough of this 'cure' to make another one of her. Another one of the dead aware of themselves and others.

Not for a lack of trying, he did everything he could to replicate what he had made before only to come to the realization that he needed to recreate the steps leading to his success to find the cure again. Without another test subject to compare her progress to he had to take it one step at a time.

For the safety of their teams and to stop the rising instinctual behavior she displayed they came up with a somewhat makeshift solution. One that eliminated the need to train her natural behavior out of her which would result in taking months or even a year to come close. It was not a simple task reconditioning a person to resist their natural urges and instincts.

She was not aware of much anymore, only what they told her to be aware of. Too tired and scared of the beatings, but even worse the branding. To avoid being branded she would do anything they wanted her to do. It came about that they found her greatest weakness was extreme heat and electricity. For this they used branding or burning as a last resort to get her to follow commands. Tasers like the cattle prod they had on hand came in use to get her to move and fulfill commands.

Laura hated that cattle prod. It seared her nerves like millions of knives striking through her skin and bones. Just like with the branding she would do whatever they wanted her to do to stop it.

So the conditioning was successful. She was well trained and never hesitated when they told her what to do. She heard the command, she saw it through, and returned without question. A chain to keep her nearby was not a necessity anymore, though they did keep it around just in case.

Now to face this long standing issue with biting and clawing, they had made a solution. Just like they had done with Merle's missing hand, they used what they found scavenging to keep her in line without having to deconstruct her entire natural behavior.

A man, unfamiliar, entered the room with the doctor behind him. He carried something in his hands and approached her right side. The chair leaned back just enough so she was able to see the top of the door without moving her head, but not much else around her.

"It has come to our attention you like to bite when you feel offended." The doctor spoke, "And that just won't do. We can't have our brave men and women coming home with bite wounds. What will their families think? They'll wonder if they were infected while out scavenging and, for those less concerned with the undead, they might think their partner is seeing other people." He shrugged, leaning over her left side.

She eyed him suspiciously, not understanding his intent here. They had pulled out a molar once when torturing her but he clearly did not intend to do that without any tools for it. Relieved he was not going to continue that torture, she was not prepared for the idea they did have ready.

The unfamiliar man to her right lifted an item in his hand and held the straps out to the side. It was a basket muzzle that had been cut and restrung. It was cut down the side to open for the flat human face. She glanced to it and back to the doctor, the muzzle had what appeared to be needles sticking out from the inside of the mouth and jaw leathers.

Laura laid back as the muzzle was brought over her face. "We know you can remove it, so we've come up with a way to fix that and still retain your lethality when facing those people outside our walls." He removed a strap around her wrist and began with placing something over her hand. "I can't quite tell if you understand us. I don't know if you even have the capacity for language anymore."

He was unconcerned with her eyes flicking from the muzzle, to the stranger, to him, and her attempts to see what he was putting on her hand. It came all at once, the muzzle had thick angled needles over the bridge and slightly thicker ones in the bottom of the jaw. The man worked meticulously, placing the muzzle on straight before sinking the needles into the thin skin on her face.

It made her jump, but not resist. She knew if she resisted they might feel the need to make it worse. Inside the muzzle was a thick round leather strap that was fit into her mouth, her teeth clamping down on it. The taste was terrible and it was uncomfortable to move. Speaking, if she ever chose to again, would be impossible with the bit in her mouth.

The last part was the bottom of the muzzle which had three of those spikes on either side. They sunk into the bottom of her jaw between the mandible bone and the inside of her mouth. She felt them piece the sensitive flesh and fought the urge to try and remove them. She knew better, it was either this or something worse. She did not want to know if they would ever pull her teeth.

The weight on her hand quickly became uncomfortable at well. More leather straps and braces held the piece in place, but it was slid on like a glove. For a moment she was incredibly confused as to what they could possibly be doing. It was not until the spikes on this glove were driven into her hand that she realized they were likely meant to keep her from clawing anyone who pressed her.

When the last part was driven in and the right hand and forearm was strapped and nailed into this heavy glove, she realized these were not meant to pacify her. They let her go, the final restraints removed.

They placed a trust in her she did not expect. Her conditioning brought her far and though she had not killed anyone yet, these gloves most certainly could make that happen. It was clearly some kind of cheap metal gauntlet taken off a dime store decorative armor, but modified with more protective metal plates and razor sharp nails on the end. It emphasized her nature as one of the dead, a muzzle and metal claws.

She was a more effective killer than she had ever been before. Not that Laura particularly cared to be a 'killer' but they certainly made her into one. Laura's place in their town was guard dog and the best thing they could do to make that a reality was to give her claws.

Punishment for attacking any Woodbury man or woman would be branding her hands and still making her wear these gauntlets. The fire they had threatened her with was enough for her to obey. Instead of lashing out immediately with her new weapons, she remained as docile as ever. Her eyes catching the fire of the wood burner on the far side of the room.

They were always prepared for her to act out. It was hard to accept that she was broken animal and they had gotten exactly what they wanted.

Laura flexed her fingers encased in metal. She had long since gotten used to the feeling of the gauntlets and the muzzle strapped to her face, even the spikes, needles, and nails in her flesh only momentarily bothered her.

It had been some time since they leashed, muzzled, and clawed her. She was a perfect tool in a world of the dead, able to hide a single person traveling and spot anyone long before they ever spotted her or her partner. They treated her like a feral animal and that is exactly what became of her; she cut down anyone that got too close and made sure her perimeter was clear.

New scars, old wounds, and these nails inside her skin itched. The burns she had suffered during her torture remained etched in her mind. That feeling never went away, it was a memory she could not repress. Just as the brand seared a mark into her skin it seared a moment into her head that she could never forget. During her first few weeks she did act out and all they had to do was bring out the hot iron and she would behave immediately.

Laura had lost herself months ago. She was slipping when she was with Carol and, sitting on the porch with Red, she knew she was done for. It was over for the person Laura was before the outbreak, she surrendered to the Voice in her mind, the infection spreading through her diseased brain. It was a fruitless endeavor to retain what humanity she had anymore.

Humanity would not keep her moving or help her persevere through their torture. It was the part of her that they labeled a monster that kept her going, kept her up right and able to manage the suffering. The man who did this was sick and Laura's humanity could not excuse it, but it was her own sickness that matched his. Her own version of the sickness that cleaned out half the human population and it was this same sickness that would survive this torment.

Her life was a nightmare of recurring incidents each one worst than the last. Her personal hell did not end and she had nothing in her to stop it. Her mind was a constant flurry of coping with her greatest fears, there was no time or desire to try and reclaim what little memories she had anymore.

"You just gonna stand there all day or are you gonna help me load this shit in the truck?" The rough voice of the man she had been paired with had broken her focus. He came from the broken door of the convenience store, the second storey had proven inaccessible though they did not want to go up there anyways. This building was unstable and could give out if they were not careful.

She turned around, swinging the rifle to her back and entering the building. It was dark and murky inside, like a damp cave. The windows were boarded up so someone was here back during the initial outbreak at least. The damage told them whoever it was they did not win. The plywood boards had claw marks and shattered sections that left the broken windows completely open. Either the people got out or they died in here.

He, the harsh uncaring man she was paired with, happened to be Merle this time out. He did most of the runs to higher risk areas were walker numbers were elevated or they had spied some survivors. This time he was here on a scavenging run, no one had come through, but they were on the lookout for left over weapons and ammo. He just happened to stop into this store because it was one of the few stores with shelves not soaked through. He picked through the food and drink left behind and found a few cans he liked.

Not that it mattered, either he was drunk or trying to get drunk. She wondered if it had anything to do with his hand, she felt like that missing hand had something to more behind it but had given up trying to figure it out. Laura could not recall how he lost his hand though he made a point to tell her she should know, that it's in her head somewhere.

Nothing came to her, so she just ignored his taunting. There was no effort behind remembering anything, no point to recall a life she did not have or a family she would miss. Everyone lost people, Laura just felt like she perhaps got the worst deal of it all.

She knew her father was the doctor there, she knew she hated him, and that was the extent of that knowledge. Her life before the outbreak was not needed to tell her why she hated him, just what she looked like now. He played a part, though a lesser part to the scars, a greater part in that brokenness she felt inside her.

Merle held up a case and she hand to take it by the bottom instead of the thin cardboard handle. The metal on her gauntlets made it extremely challenging to do much of anything other than causing damage to anything around her. The metal they had strapped to her hands was enough to cut the wood of the door frame as she stepped out carrying the pack of beer Merle wanted. Just dragging her fingers on the wood molding around the door cut and splintered the edge of the wood.

This meant to her that they made these for her to do damage, to fight when they needed her to. The Governor considered her something of a trophy from the wilds he had procured. She was a prize to be flaunted around, used to inflict hurt on his enemies, and clear the area around Woodbury. She was locked away when not required and allowed to move supervised when needed.

Laura dropped the pack into the bed of the truck. They did not need this, but what Merle wanted he got. She was in charge of keeping him from hurting himself and she would see it done.

Merle was very talented at getting himself in trouble. He was tough that was true and it would take a lot to get him down, she once saw three walkers grabbing him to pull him into the mud below. He did not care how many, he just kicked one off and used the blade strapped to that replacement hand and killed the first two before killing the third. He could tear through the undead and he was wicked when it came to the living. There was no real separation between killing the living and the dead for him.

She stayed nearby at all times, waiting for his signal to get involved. Merle liked to talk, he apparently loved the sound of his own voice or something else equally narcissistic. He would talk to the living and when he was ready, he would send her a signal to tell her what he wanted from her. Either she would go in guns blazing, claws out, or take a hostage. There were four distinct signals that gave her direction, the only thing that would override these commands was if he was at high risk of being injured or killed.

The Governor gave her specific guidelines to follow and those guidelines were burned into her. Whomever she traveled with returned alive and in the same condition he or she left in. Occasionally she failed this directive, but did what she could to do what he told her.

Merle had a gift for getting himself hurt or in trouble with a group of survivors or the dead. Laura lost count how many times he called her to him with that annoying whistle. How tired she was of hearing it.

But here she was, answering to him every time he whistled to call her aside.

"There ain't nothing here, girl." He jumped the fallen street light and walked up to her at the truck bed. "We should head out a bit farther, see if there's anything to see to the west of here."

She looked at him, neutrally. There was no way to communicate if she agreed or disagreed with him aside from nodding or shaking her head. Usually he would give her a grin when she agreed and made some quip when she disagreed. In the end it would never matter, he did what he wanted. Laura knew all that was to the west of here was the lake that flooded this area.

So it was time for a pointless drive to nowhere. Again. She turned around and got into the car and Merle jumped into the passenger. There was nothing but the sound of water splashing under her tires as she drove them away from the convenience store. Laura only focused on what to do if spotted and how to keep the person at her side alive.

The training taught her to do what she must to make it out here. There was always someone out here that left something behind when they ditched the area or died. So far they had little luck.

When she took them down the west road Merle seemed less pleased than before. She wondered what he expected, the bridge over the lake was flooded and getting across was not possible in a truck that had broken down three times in the last week. The bridge was flooded, one side pouring the excess water over the edge like a waterfall. It was impossible to tell if the road was clear under the water and this truck would never make it.

She came to a slow stop before the water got any deeper. Laura parked the truck and looked over to Merle in the passenger side. "I bet there's something worth while on the other side. Another town or the like, what do you think?" He asked, looking at her face and smirking. "I guess you're on board, huh?" He did not care either way.

He jumped out of the car and began his way through the water. It was murky and if he got too close to the rushing water on the other side... he could end up getting himself swept off the bridge. Laura frowned and killed the truck engine before following him onto the bridge. She started wading her way through the deeper water as it came up to her waist and began to lick her ribs.

Merle continued across the bridge, using the far railing to to keep him on his feet while he crossed the bridge. Laura was a few feet behind him, her smaller stature making her job getting through the water all the more difficult. While he could force his way through with minimal effort Laura began to find the water harder and harder to move.

Her body began to relax, hydrating as she soaked in the lake water. A moment of pure bliss as she experienced the comforting feeling of water soaking into her clothes and skin. All the fear and anger she had felt burning in her body was instantly quelled by the icy water. She lowered herself more into the water, allowing it to wash over her shoulders up to her neck.

It was peaceful to relax in the water, like it somehow cooled all the burns and injuries she sustained the last few months. It was the first thing she knew she truly loved. Whatever put her tense body at ease made her feel better than she had ever felt before. Her memories of good things in her life was limited only to survival, trust in her undead self.

But this was euphoria that washed over her the second the water began to flood her senses. She would smile if she could without this bit in her mouth. At this moment she felt truly good.

It ended suddenly when Merle whistled and she was woken from her five second paradise. She raised herself from the water and hurried out of the water to catch up to her charge. He waited for her at the edge of the flooded bridge, when she neared him he grabbed her by the jacket and pulled her out of the water. "Come on now girl, don't keep me waiting."

She felt the water soaked in her clothing weigh her down. It felt good so still feel the water so she did not attempt to ring her clothes out. Merle lead her away from the flooded bridge and down the street. Neither of them had gone this far out yet, the flooded town was the furthest they went to the west. Without a way for vehicles to cross the bridge it was useless to travel too far out there and have no way to transport the supplies back.

Still Merle insisted so she followed. He lead her down the road through the woods, it all appeared rather empty out here. They walked along the side of the road, her leathers squishing with excess water and it dripping from her body and limbs. He found the squish of her boots and soaked jeans annoying to listen to, but did not mention it knowing he himself was soaked to the bone after wading through the water.

She walked beside him always watching for walkers or other survivors out here. He did not particularly like being protected by this much smaller woman, but what the Governor says goes. The constant guard from the muzzled walker was what he wanted. She did not falter though Merle knew he pushed her a lot more than she wanted him too.

"Y'know, I remember you from Atlanta." Merle had a knowing grin on his face. "Yeah... you were that new girl they brought up with the cop. What was his name? Officer Friendly?" His comments did not phase her. He thought she ignored him and was completely unaware she could not recall any such a time. To her there was very little before she was here.

She continued scanning the trees around them, making sure they did not get blindsided. Merle knew she was always on guard duty and found no need to keep himself in check. "That hit wasn't meant for you, you just got in the way. It's not that big of a deal. Shit happens, we were all thinking we'd die on that roof." He continued, still trying to get some reaction out of her. These long walks out of town were dull for the most part.

There was no sign she cared what he was saying or any response to his rambling. So he tried a little harder to get something out of her, he knew she could not speak with the muzzle on but she could at least gesture she heard him. He did not much care for being ignored.

"Suppose you met the others, huh? Back at the quarry I mean. There was that other cop who took charge, talking all about how we should wait for rescue. Then he changed and said we should look for the military." Merle grumbled, "Didn't mean much to anyone. The world is still screwed and we're all screwed with it... but seeing you here maybe they're all less screwed than I was."

Laura glanced at him, a questioning look in her eye before refocusing on the road ahead. She did not quite understand what he was talking about or why he was talking about it with her.

Merle lifted his arm, the missing hand covered with a makeshift metal cover with a blade attached. "I cut my hand off to get the hell out of there after you bastards left me up there to die; cook in the sun or get eaten... Didn't give me a lot of options, girl." He dropped the arm back to his side, the weight of the metal contraption on his arm clearly heavier that his left arm as it unbalanced his shoulders.

In her head she was trying to think about this situation he described. He did specify she was a part of whatever happened to him and that made her curious. No memories came to light so she continued on without overthinking it.

Her uncaring posture began to irk him more than he wanted it to. He was trying to get under her skin and nothing he said was working. This carelessness itched him until he grabbed her shoulder and stopped in the road. Laura spun on her heel, stopping when he pulled her. He was standing still, his height making him look down to see her staring expectantly at him.

His eyes narrowed, looking at her face closely. "You even there? You remember me on the roof - I knocked you clean on your ass." Her face remained expressionless, ignorant to whatever he was trying to tell her. It was unnerving to him to see the girl that appeared in Atlanta suddenly here in front of him, face to face, without recognizing him in the least. "You ain't there, are you." It was more of a statement than a question.

They continued at Merle's lead, he pulled her along with him. "You're one creepy bitch, y'know that."

DarkDust27:

Oh yeah, I like to test the limits of a character's resolve. Those Woodbury guards, men and women, all who participated in her capture and torture; they're all scum of the Earth. Can't wait to see what happens to 'em all. ;)

adelphe24:

Hell yeah. I also use it to bring readers into the character's struggles. I would describe the torture in more detail, but I think we all get the picture without me trying to illustrate it further ha ha
It also serves to challenge my writing and my character. I need her to have depth and, 40+ chapters in, she's beginning to achieve her own level of depth. Only she earned it by way of extreme torture. Carol did it through the need to survive. Rick it it out of the need to protect and provide. Laura is doing it for the need of her humanity.
A lot of people die in TWD. But yes, there might be a few people added to the "Death" roster. ;)
Oh yeah, in this chapter her father has proven torture might actually be preferable to conditioning through psychological and psychical punishment. Using a kind of "Pavlov's Dogs" kind of situation happening. Laura has lost her identity and everything that made her who she is. Time to see if she is a person who can survive trauma most people would not survive.
Man, Laura's life is twisted! :D