Red canary

by Rickgrimesissofine

What happens when notorious crimes boss, Rick Grimes meets a talented singer named Michonne Hawthorne otherwise known as ‘Red Canary’ at his favorite club? Will their introduction lead to sparks flying, or rather bullet casings…? After all, secrets eventually lead to bloodshed and betrayal. [Darkfic-Rated M for violence, language, and smut]

4. Chapter 03

Trigger warnings: Explicit torture, mentions of suicide, harassment, and power play. This story is labeled as a DarkFic for a reason, and will continue getting a lot darker in the upcoming chapters. So if you are easily triggered please leave and don't leave nasty comments.

---

June 7. 1944. Manhattan, New York. Alexandria Lounge 11:18 P.M.

---

There was tension floating around the dark crevices of the lounge as the night came to a slow end. The after hours soon took over the brief night life. Most of the customers had left earlier with the exception of the drunken stragglers who laid oblivious to the dying night.

All the employees, including the dancers, singers, and even bouncers had called it a night earlier than usual from the lack of a crowd. The last few nights had been slow, a direct effect of the brewing gang war that was on the cusp of erupting. But that excluded two particular women, and a very agitated Philip Blake.

Michonne sat in front of a dimly lit vanity mirror, recalling the events from a few days prior. She'd been living in her own little world thinking about it. Her slim fingers undid the heavy jewelry from her neck.

She thought about the drawn guns, the tense confrontation between Negan, the shameless flirting of both Andrea and Shane, and of course him.

Rick Grimes.

His name alone made her shudder in excitement, strange for a man whom she hadn't had a proper conversation with. Her brief and tense interaction with him replayed in her mind like a broken record. His dark and brooding demeanor didn't take away from the unfathomable beauty he possessed. A man shrouded in pure brutality was capable of utterly enchanting her.

"Mitch? Are you okay?" Andrea asked, emerging from behind one of the changing rooms. She'd switched her dress to a much more comfortable attire of men's trousers and a wool coat.

"Yeah, I'm just thinking," Michonne reassured, her distant eyes giving away her previous activity of daydreams.

Andrea smirked, "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Just thinking."

"About...? Let me guess, Mr. Grimes?"

"No," Michonne quickly replied, "About how you almost got caught between a potential gun fight."

"I'm fine," Andrea twirled, "As you can see. You know who's also fine?"

"Don't even say it."

"The guy I met, Shane Walsh," the blonde tilted her head, a smirk playing at her pouty lips, "Who did you think I was gonna say?"

"Ugh, forget it," Michonne huffed, placing her accessories in her bag. If there was one thing Andrea loved to do, it was prying.

"So you think he's fine, hm?"

"Jesus, 'Drea. I look at some guy for a few seconds, and all of a sudden you think it's true love or something. Trust me, it's far from that. He got a pair of pretty baby blues, but that's about it. I have eyes too you know."

"He's not just 'some guy', Mitch, he's thee Rick Torricelli-Grimes. He's been the mafioso of all mafiosos since he was fifteen years old. Rumor has it, that he accumulates more wealth in a day than the whole city does in a month. And apparently he killed his whole family in order to gain his title."

"Oh, wow," Michonne sarcastically replied, "So he's like an evil Bruce Wayne and Manhattan is essentially Gotham?"

"What... who's Bruce Wayne? Michonne, this isn't like those silly cartoons you insist on reading all the time."

"They're not cartoons, they're comics. And besides, this Rick guy seems like a real character. So if that man you were speaking to is in his circle, I suggest you stay away from him before you get dragged into something you can't get out of."

Andrea narrowed her eyes, and took a seat on the chair next to her friend, "Or, this could be an opportunity. An opportunity for the both of us."

"Anyways, it seems like you're more into him than me. Why don't you go for him?"

"He's sexy, but Shane's more my type. Plus, he's only got eyes for you."

"You are delusional."

"Trust me, you haven't seen delusion yet."

"Fantasies about bad men with blood money saving you is delusional. Please don't tell me you've been reading those erotic novels that Sherry attempts to write."

"First of all," Andrea huffed, "That 'blood money' is keeping a roof over our heads. You think the men who come in are every day citizens who wanna blow off steam? You think the average Joe is willing to spend money on us? Especially in this economy? There's a reason why this place is located where it is, Michonne. Our paycheck is blood money. Second, no. I create my own erotica."

Michonne stared at her friend, completely dumbfounded. Andrea was being reckless and thinking with her pockets rather than her brain. No amount of money was worth getting entangled in a life of crime and violence. Sometimes Andrea could be a real ditzy woman.

"Anyways, enough of that. Are you free to go to a movie with me tomorrow evening? They're gonna play 'City Without Men'."

"I can't," Michonne sighed, fiddling with her earring, "I have to work a double shift tomorrow."

Andrea gave her a skeptical look, "You do realize that I have your schedule, right? You have a day off on Fridays If you don't want to go you can just tell me."

"No, really," the dark beauty slumped her head on the vanity desk, pausing whatever she was going to say, "Jacqui quit, and Dale's been on my ass for a schedule change. So starting tomorrow, I work all week with no off days except for Sundays so I can come here. Other than that I'll be swamped."

"No! Are you fucking kidding me!?" Andrea glared, "You're limiting your singing nights for Sundays, and working at 'Dale's' for the whole week with no breaks!? You'll work yourself to death, Michonne! How tight on money do you have to be for it to come to this!?"

"Andrea, an extra five dollars plus tips comes a long way you know. Not to mention Gareth keeps raising rent on me, I could use the extra cash. Besides, my glory days are over. With Deana gone, the Governor will never let me go on stage. That Hollywood, Big Apple pipe dream is quite a mile away."

"Baby, you know you can just live with me," Andrea simpered, "I wouldn't mind sharing a bed either."

"I know, Andy. I just... I can't live off of you. I've already worked so hard to get this far with people telling me I couldn't do it. It's too late to backtrack. Plus, I've been saving for place of my own. If things go right, I can maybe have enough to move to California like I originally planned."

The blonde gave her sister a small smile, "If you go... I'm coming too right?"

"When I go. I'm not leaving you behind, Andy. I love you."

"I love you too, Mitchy," a loud grumble interrupted their sentimental moment, and caused a fit of giggles to break out between the two women.

"Ahh, I'm starved."

"Me too," Michonne agreed, "I could eat a horse."

Andrea pursed her lips, and tilted her head, "Rhee's? I'm craving pizza, and Glenn did say he'd hook us up with free pies, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Michonne smiled, "Let me just change and get my bag."

"I'll meet you in the front, I'll get us a cab in the meanwhile."

"Great."

---

June 7. 1944. Manhattan, New York. Torricelli-Grimes Estate 10:09 P.M.

---

"Focus, Grimes, focus," Rick chastised himself, facing a large stack of unfinished paper work. He often discreetly praised his ability to avoid procrastination, and enjoyed getting things handled right away.

Tonight on the other hand, was a different story. His head pounded, preventing any other receptors in his brain to send out any other signals besides pain. In addition, the strain of the white sheets of paper laid out in front of him were doing nothing to subside the ache either.

He barely noticed the oak doors of his study opening, until he heard distinctive heavy footsteps approaching his desk. He shut his eyes, reluctantly preparing himself for a conversation he knew fortunately wouldn't last very long.

"Is everythang' alright, Daryl?" Rick asked, rubbing his temple with his hand, "There a reason you didn't knock?"

Daryl grunted, dismissing Rick's second remark, "Olivia said you wouldn't eat dinner."

"I'm fine if that's what you're asking. I think a headache's coming in, nothang' serious."

"You need anything?"

"Aspirin. And scotch."

"Right. Aspirin and water," Daryl nodded, walking out the wooden doors.

"I said scotch, Daryl!!" Rick hollered. He cursed as a sharp sting of pain penetrated his temples.

Holding his head with his hands, Rick closed his eyes and tried to distract himself from the relentless throbbing in his head. It was slowly starting to become unbearable.

Not even a minute later, the door to his study was being opened once again.

"Daryl, what the hell did I say about knocking?" Rick sighed in annoyance, not even bothering to look up to see the intruder.

"I don't remember any conversation of the sort," a female voice chirped. Rick opened his eyes to see a grey haired woman standing in front of his desk with a glass of water and aspirin. As pleased as he was to see her after nearly two weeks, he wasn't in the mood or the state for pleasantries.

"Carol," he greeted, "I asked for scotch."

"That's only going to make it worse, Richard," she smiled, placing down the tray.

"Richard," he rolled his eyes, taking his medicine and gulping down the water. Leaning back in his chair, Rick narrowed his eyes at the woman before him.

"You got my schedule for tomorrow?"

She smiled, and took out a small notepad from her pocket, "Ah, yes. I come home from a Latin adventure, and the first thing you want is your schedule," Carol grinned sarcastically and shook her head, "You have a meeting with Ezekiel Sutton about the expansion plans regarding those apartments you're building at eight thrity A.M."

"He's the strange one with the supposed pet tiger, I presume?" Rick asked, biting the end of his pen.

"Yes. You also have to attend charity event later on in the evening as well. Preferably with a plus one for promotion. And new shipment from the Columbians are coming in after dead hours."

"Just say it as it is, Carol. Ain't nobody here but us."

"Three thousand kilograms worth of cocaine are coming in at two o'clock in the morning tomorrow at the Hudson Port. Martinez has already alerted the shipping company of the delivery. Making it past patrol won't be an issue."

"Didn't I say five?"

"Three thousand. Don't get greedy, Rick."

"The more I get, the higher your salary, Peletier."

"Five per gram, five thousand per kilo, fifteen million in total, sixty percent profit, nine million dollars. That's a whole lotta dough, Rick. I think that's sufficient enough."

Rick glowered, "The words 'enough' and 'money' don't 'belong in the same sentence."

Carol scoffed, "What is it I hear about a nightclub you attended?"

Rick's eyebrows furrowed, the blurred events had been replaying in his mind for a long while, playing on a loop like a broken record. He analyzed every single detail. It even made him lose the little sleep he usually gotten.

But it wasn't because of the stand off. It was the woman that had shown up right before he'd left. The dark beauty.

"It was a lounge," Rick stated, "Just the usual drinks and such."

"Is 'lounge' an alias for a brothel? Aren't the whores you bring around here enough?"

He glared at the woman. Unlike Negan, Rick never made himself into an untouchable figure to his subordinates. He preferred to stay approachable and build a genuine and trust worthy relationship with them. But some took advantage of that trait, forgetting his official position and just how much power he possessed.

He had great respect for Carol, often trusting her judgment even more than his closest subordinates at times. She was a light that helped him guide his way when he was lost. But there were moments where she'd step out of line, often forgetting their relationship had changed drastically. He was no longer the young teenager she'd been a shepherd to.

"I'd choose my next words carefully, Peletier."

She smiled, a clear facade splayed out all over her face, "I'm sorry, sir."

"Is that all?"

"Espinosa told me about Negan and the Saviors," she continued, "What's our next move? They're expanding into neutral territory, right? They violated multiple codes of agreement, and the agreement states that-"

"Set up a meeting for Sunday at noon, I'll discuss everythang' with everyone then. You can see yourself out."

"But-"

"Now," his tone was firm.

The older woman huffed, as she put down the silver platter and sauntered out the room, causing an echo as the large doors closed behind her.

Rick dropped his head down on his desk, and rested his eyes, embracing the moment of peace. It was unfortunately interrupted by another knock at his door.

"These people," he spat under his breath, "What?"

"Hey, brother," Shane smiled, opening the door.

Rick waved the greeting off, "What do you need?"

"We still calling the eye patched motherfucker? You know, for compensation? With the free performances? It's almost Saturday."

"If anyone else comes in here, let 'em know I'll use them as target practice, understand? That includes you too."

"You okay?"

"Shane, get out of my office."

Shane raised his hands as if he was surrendering, and backed out of the study. He gently closed the door behind him.

"I'm gonna ask for Andrea and her friend to come preform for us," Shane added, suddenly popping his head back in the room.

Rick took out his colt, and pointed it towards his best friend, as Shane quickly exited the study.

Rick's thoughts were quickly consumed by memories of the woman from the pervious night. Tucking his gun back into place, Rick's thumb subconsciously rubbed the handle.

It wasn't often that he was completely compelled by a woman, let alone based off of looks. His intimate relationships with them never went beyond a good fuck or a quick blowjob.

It was always either a transactional relationship between him and a desperate wife in attempts of lessening whatever debt her husband owed him, or a whore trying to convince him into marrying her for the sake for power and wealth.

There were never any strings attached at the end of the day, no matter how good they were at using their mouth or pussy. Rick had never given any of them a second thought unless they were more consistent in pleasing him. But the girl from the lounge? She looked interesting. Very interesting.

It wasn't odd that he wanted to coat the fat of her full lips with his semen. He marveled at the idea of her prideful face under him, sticky from tears and cum. He didn't hold any shame at the fact that he didn't know her name, despite holding such lewd thoughts about her. What was weird was how quickly she'd consumed his entire attention to the point of unfocusing on his work. He didn't have a single idea about her life or anything in regards to her existence. But her face was plastered at the forefront of his mind, refusing to blur.

He wanted to know what secrets she held behind her pretty dark eyes. He wanted to know why a girl like her ended up in a place like that. He wanted to know everything about her, everything.

"She's just pussy." Rick shook his head, and cursed himself. He'd temporarily forgotten his mind numbing headache, and felt the pain drilling through his skull at the movement. Maybe she was the reason behind his temporary relief.

He scoffed at the idea. It was just his dick working rather than his brain. But his dick must've been a genius since he wouldn't stop thinking about her. Lust was a dangerous emotion.

Rick rose from his chair, and walked over to the doors of his study. He secured the lock to prevent anymore unwanted interruptions. Everyone must've simultaneously decided to take it upon themselves to bother him the rest of the night.

Returning to his seat, Rick unbuckled his belt and allowed his cock free from the confines of his pants. His thick, pink sex swayed slightly. Copious amounts of blood flowing within it's prominent veins, allowing it to quiver with anticipation.

Gliding a hand over his shaft, Rick groaned softly and closed his eyes. He sincerely hoped the release he craved would temporarily relieve him from his stress and eventually help him fall asleep later in the night.

Gently stroking, memories of past sexual indulgences danced behind his closed eyelids. Rick's breathing got even more shallow as a pair of green eyes popped up in his vision. It'd belonged to his most recent encounter, transfixing him into a pleasant recollection of receiving oral pleasure from the woman in the fantasy. He didn't bother remembering her name. Mercy? Marina? That wasn't important, her red hair concealed most of her face anyways.

"Shit," Rick hissed. Little beads of his pre-cum leaked over his slit, resembling little pearls of arousal. Using his thumb, he slathered his cum over the reddened tip and bucked into his fist. Those green irises quickly became onyx, transforming into a pair of cat-like eyes. Her eyes.

"Ah, fuck," Rick moaned, his cock growing unbelievably harder. Taking a temporary pause from his self pleasure, Rick spat on his hand and gripped the base of his dick to continue his ministrations. Images based off of pure lust and longing flooded into his brain, causing his testicles to tighten up.

The woman with the pretty eyes and the tight red dress knelt before him, taking his cock into her lovely mouth. Her full lips engulfed him, cushioning and massaging the pulsating veins that ran on the underside of his shaft. Her ivory teeth teasingly grazed over his aching tip, making Rick shudder in anticipation. It felt so real.

"Rick..." Her sultry voice whined, intentionally allowing her saliva to drip down from her pink tongue. Her brown irises were reflective, filled to the brim with tears of what Rick assumed was unfiltered lust. He could only imagine how wet she was, her nectar was probably dripping through her panties and on to his Brazilian Rosewood floors. If she was even wearing panties at all. He honestly wouldn't mind getting on all fours and licking it all off like a dog.

"You're so big..." She softly whispered, leaving breathy kisses all along his throbbing penis, "All this for me, baby?"

"Mhm, yeah," Rick huffed, his chest heaving, "It's all yours... oh, god- fuck!"

Before he knew it, his lewd daydream was cut short from the heavy spurts of thick semen shooting up, soiling his white button up shirt. His jaw dropped, as tremors of sheer pleasure ran through his whole body. His hand continued to stroke his sensitive tip, using the hot lubricant from his own arousal to prolong his fifteen seconds of ecstasy.

"Fottere," Rick gasped, trying to get his breathing under control. That was just about the best orgasm he'd ever experienced just off of self pleasure. He wasn't too keen on forgetting the woman responsible for it either. His initial curiosity had escalated into something beyond a simple meeting in just a matter of minutes. Even after reaching his goal of finishing, he found himself not wanting to be done with the red dress beauty just yet.

Getting up from his chair, Rick unbuttoned his shirt and balled it up for later disposal. He didn't have any towels or tissues on hand, so he used his soiled clothes as a temporary cleaning rag to get the excess fluid off of his hands and body.

He continued to breathe heavily while pushing his damp curls back with his clean hand. There were a million thoughts running through his brain. But the only thing he could bother to comprehend, was the sweet smile that belonged to his nameless muse.

The white undershirt he had on was drenched in sweat, seeping through the thin material and exposing the outlines of his toned body. His silver crucifix laid cold on his heaving chest, in contrast to his flushed tan skin.

Interrupting his post orgasmic bliss, his doors burst open with no warning.

"Does anyone in this fucking house acknowledge privacy and the decency of knocking?" He growled, not bothering to look at the person who'd just invaded his domain. He didn't even bother to question how they got through a locked door either.

"Rick," Sasha completely disregarded his minor state of undress and continued to speak to him stoically like she usually did. However there was a small sign of urgency in her eyes, "They found him."

Rick took a deep breath, still irritated at the constant unwanted interactions he was having with the last people he wanted to see at the moment.

"Who's him?" He inquired, he could feel his arousal dissipate and an undeniable craving of violence starting to emerge.

"Doctor Edwin Jenner."

The name caused Rick's blood to run cold, an unbearable throbbing sensation pounded in his head yet again. But this time it was containment. Impatience. Bloodlust.

Doctor Edwin Jenner.

The man responsible for the beginning of Rick's mental torment and cruelty when it came to torture. The man who taunted Rick and his beloved mother. The man who stole his father's dignity, limb by limb. The epitome of a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Ford and Walsh currently have him by the old plaza and rundown theater on third avenue. Should I send in reinforcements just in case?" Sasha continued to ask.

"When?"

"I'm sorry?"

"When?" Rick hissed, clutching his head.

"Just now. He was found wandering around a park not to far from where he's being held now. We have a reason to believe he's on a suicide mission. He seemed to be calling for..." Sasha uncomfortably shifted and took a deep breath, "He was calling for him, Rick."

Rick's hands shook, attempting to contain his trigger happy excitement. For the first time in a while, he felt fulfilled. He was ready to release whatever rage that had be bubbling up within him.

"Tell Daryl to get a car ready," Rick hissed, moving past the woman. His mind was racing with a million thoughts, and the one at his forefront was the gruesome punishment he was about to install on to the doctor. He turned his head slightly, reveling his blown pupils, "Tell him to get the machete."

---

June 8. 1944. Manhattan, New York. Rhee's Pizzeria. 1:30 A.M.

---

"Is it even open?"

"I dunno... it's empty, but the lights haven't gone out yet."

Michonne and Andrea stood outside the pizza shop and questioned on whether they wanted to come in or not. The nearby motel's neon sign flickered, already emphasizing how rundown the neighborhood was.

The restaurant was so much more furnished in comparison. Perfectly painted parking lots, and the walls of the building were free from vandalism and rusted windows. It was an odd sight, many people wondered why the owner, Glenn Rhee, decided to set up shop in that particular location.

Michonne pulled open the store and the comforting sound of a jingle from the bell atop the door rang immediately. Her mouth watered at the smell of fresh savory pies as she stepped foot inside. The night was finally coming to a good start, an open restaurant and the smell of pizza greeting her with open arms.

"God," Andrea moaned, following after Michonne, "That smells so good.."

"Absolutely," Michonne agreed, her stomach growling hungrily.

"Hey, we're closed!" A friendly yet stern voiced called out, "Sorry, folks. I'm closing up shop early today- oh, well if it isn't my two favorite customers," Glenn came out of the kitchen and draped a towel over his shoulder. His kind brown eyes twinkled in amusement at the sight of his two unlikely friends. It'd been a while since they had met up.

"Glenn," Michonne smiled, "I hope those free pie offers wasn't just you making friendly conversation."

"Yeah," Andrea smirked, "We'll have a half cheese and half pepperoni pizza. Thin crust."

"Now, you know I don't make promises I can't keep. Let me go pop a pie in the oven real quick," he gave them a wink, and went back to the kitchen to make their fresh pizza.

Michonne happily grabbed Andrea's hand and pulled her toward one of the red booths. Glenn's restaurant was a small and quaint place. The type of place you'd go to after a long day or a night filled with unexpected events. It was a comfort haven topped with comfort food all around.

Michonne had met Glenn when she first moved to New York. Whilst finishing her job interview for 'Dale's', Glenn had been working as the dishwasher and they both had a chance meeting during his lunch break. His bubbly and easygoing personality made Michonne weary of him, unaware of whatever intentions he may have had.

So for the next few months, Michonne was adamant on avoiding him. Although it never stopped him from trying to get her to crack. She'd never been used to anyone who was constantly looking to the positive side of things. Most of her friendships were formed by trauma bonding, so Glenn was a unique experience.

It wasn't until one night, she was walking home after a late shift and ran into the misfortune of being cornered by two men. Initially, she thought they wanted her bag, but quickly realized they wanted more than that. Nearly accepting her fate, Michonne's silent prayers were answered as Glenn came to her rescue and saved her life. He managed to knock one of the men out, and unfortunately took a beating from the other.

To their luck, police sirens sounded and scared off the man beating Glenn. Michonne was eternally grateful and regretted not accepting his friendship sooner. After going back to her apartment she patched him up and the rest was history.

It didn't take long for Michonne to introduce Glenn to Andrea, and the three hit it off pretty quickly. Over the next year, they'd all learned much about each other. Their dreams and aspirations, their goals, their desires. They were inseparable.

Glenn was passionate about opening up his own pizza joint, and worked as a dishwasher at 'Dale's' to save up enough money to buy out a building and stock up the necessary equipment. But with the crashed economy, it would take many years for him to make the amount of money that he needed in order to make his dream possible.

So when the news came about him gaining ten thousand dollars and buying out an old dry cleaning building, Michonne was pleasantly surprised and shocked. A dishwasher buying out a building worth at least six thousand dollars, and furnishing it for a future restaurant was a miracle like no other.

Upon questioning him, Glenn would simply shake his head and pass the phenomenon off as a blessing and brush off any curiosity her or Andrea would have. They had their theories, but ultimately continued to be happy for their friend's success.

But success came with responsibility. Their meetings with Glenn had decreased with the amount of business he was making. People loved him and his food and that kept him busier than he'd ever been. It all worked out for him, even if it was in mysterious circumstances.

"God," Andrea sighed, blowing a strand of hair that fell on her forehead.

"Hungry?" Michonne smiled.

"Dead. I could eat a blue whale topped with a little bit of butter and caviar right now."

"That is disgusting. How did you even come up with that combination?"

"When I'm hungry, I like to imagine the most outlandish things to eat so I could feel better about not having any food. I'd rather crave a stuffed penguin with green onions and jello, than crave a large turkey and mashed potatoes."

"Interesting method," Michonne giggled, "You know, you can always eat here."

"Are you kidding me? And ruin my figure? Please, pizza is for special occasions only."

"What's the occasion for tonight?"

Andrea picked up the salt shaker standing on the shared table, and smiled, "We met our tickets out."

Before Michonne could inquire what Andrea meant, the bell of the restaurant jingled and a tall man with a receding hairline stepped in. He stood around six foot three inches on average, and he was dressed in a casual attire of jeans and a white t-shirt. He held a thick package wrapped in brown parchment paper that held some sort of unidentifiable stain. Michonne couldn't make out what it could possibly be, and stared at the newcomer.

"Ladies," he greeted politely, bowing his head in acknowledgment. Averting eyes from the curious women, he walked over to the cashing area and waited. After a few seconds he turned to the women and tilted his head.

"Is Mr. Rhee here?" His gravelly voice asked.

"Glenn? Yeah," Andrea answered, "Glenn! Someone's asking for you!"

"Andrea?" Glenn stepped out of the kitchen, and momentarily hesitated once he saw the man standing there waiting for him.

The man cleared his throat and side eyed the blonde, "I have the... delivery. He wanted me to give it to you personally as per usual," his voice was hushed, but the women were still able to hear his words.

Glenn nodded slowly, avoiding looking the object in the man's hand. His eyes wandered around the store and landed on the faces of his two friends still watching the encounter in genuine curiosity. This wasn't a conversation that was supposed to be made in front of them.

"Tobin, let's step outside for a minute."

Tobin nodded, and gestured for Glenn to take the package, in which Glenn hesitantly took. The two men headed outside of the store, standing a generous distance away to conceal their conversation.

Andrea turned to face Michonne with wide eyes and a knowing smile, "What do you think is in that package?"

"No idea," Michonne muttered, nervously touching her earrings, "Who's Tobin?"

"The giant apparently. Did you see how nervous Glenn got? What could he possibly be doing?"

"I dunno, 'Drea. It's really none of our business..."

"But it is," Andrea argued, "What if he's in danger!?"

"You seem way too excited for the possibility of Glenn being in danger. Maybe it's a personal matter, like a family member's will or something."

"Tobin doesn't look like a lawyer, Michonne. And that thing in his hands looks too round to be mail. 'As per usual?' So is this a regular thing?"

"Well, Glenn doesn't look like he'd own a pizza store either."

"But I really do wonder," Andrea picked up the Parmesan shaker and angled it to her mouth. Just as she was about to catch the sprinkles of the falling cheese on her awaiting tongue, Glenn walked back in. His face was twisted into one of deep thought and stone cold seriousness.

"Everything okay, Glenn?" Michonne inquired.

The man smiled slightly, his demeanor had completely shifted, "I'm alright."

"Really? What's in that little present Tobin got you?" Andrea noisily asked, "Mr. Rhee, is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?"

"Oh, this?" Glenn forced out a strained chuckle, and hid the package behind his back not-so subtly, "Nothing to worry about.."

"Oh, my God. Are you.. are you selling drugs? Glenn, you have to tell us!"

"Andrea!" Michonne scolded.

Glenn let out a genuine laugh, despite his eyes holding some sort of restraint, "No, dumbass, it's not drugs. I promise it's none of your concern. As a matter of fact it's none of my concern either, it has nothing to do with me."

"Ok... well, if you decided to let your lips loose, you know who to call," Andrea winked, "Now, where's our pizza?"

"Oh, right! Coming right up, ladies!" Glenn sped walked back to the kitchen, leaving the two women in the dining area.

"Alright," Andrea's smile dropped, "What the fuck was that?"

"Andrea.." Michonne mentally prepared herself for an upcoming tangent.

"No, Michonne! What was that!? Some shady looking man comes in late at night holding a package that required to be delivered in person, and Glenn made him step outside to talk about it?"

"It's really none of our business."

"Are you kidding me? As far as we know, we're the closest people to him. We deserve an explanation as his friends."

"Exactly," Michonne sighed, "As far as we know. In all honesty, we haven't got clue about him beyond the things he's told us. Plus it's only been a year."

"We've known each other for a year."

"But we're practically inseparable. Glenn however, that's a different story."

"And let me remind you, we still have no idea how he managed to scrape up enough money to buy... all this," Andrea erratically waved her arms around, "I have a bad feeling about this."

Michonne scoffed, "Not everyone has our bad luck."

"Ladies, your pizza," Glenn announced, walking back with a piping hot pie on a plate. He placed the pizza between them and gave them a grin, "Enjoy."

"On second thought," Andrea started, "Can we take this to go? We both have work tomorrow, and we don't want to stay out too late."

Michonne narrowed her eyes at the blonde, and got a sweet smile back. Her eyes darted back to Glenn, who stood there uncomfortably. He knew something was up.

"Yeah, of course," before he started walking back to grab a box, Glenn turned to the women slowly, "I really meant it when I said it wasn't your concern. I know it seems off, but I promise. Especially you, Andrea. I know how you like to jump into conclusions."

"Hmpf," Andrea pouted, "We're just worried, a large man comes into your restaurant with a package in his hands and starts to talk about personal deliveries? It's looking like a scene from a dealing."

"How would you know what those would even look like?" Michonne asked, raising an eyebrow.

"New Jersey, born and raised."

"Guys," Glenn shook his head, "I'm truly sorry if I scared you. Let's just... pretend this never happened, alright?"

The women nodded, as he went behind the counter to grab a spare box. Once the pizza was in, Michonne and Andrea bid Glenn a goodbye and left the restaurant.

"That was interesting," Andrea chuckled, shivering from a sudden gust of late night summer wind. She wrapped her arm around Michonne's shoulders and pulled her in for comfort.

"Are you serious? You made a fuss about a delivery," Michonne scoffed, "You stressed the poor man out of his damn mind."

"Rightfully so, did you see the way he was acting?"

"Why didn't we eat inside the restaurant? I can't wait any longer," Michonne deeply inhaled, "It smells so fucking good."

"And discuss what just happened in front of him? No way."

"What is there to discuss? You've already made your theory, no matter how outlandish it may be."

"There's still plenty to talk about."

"Like what?"

"How scared he looked when he came back in? How he apologized to us? How he literally told the guy to step outside to talk? This is something we gotta investigate."

"Don't dig yourself in to a hole you can't get out of. It's best we stay oblivious, it's truly none of our business."

"You need to start taking more risks, babe."

"Yeah, well," Michonne huffed, "Risks get you killed, darling."

"Ah, but risks can also change everything," Andrea gave Michonne a knowing look, "Which leads me back to my original point."

"I've lost track of how many things you yap about on a daily basis, so I don't recall."

By this point Michonne and Andrea had been walking for a few minutes, and had gotten to the bus stop where they usually waited for any late night taxi drivers to pass by since public transport was closed at that hour.

"Well," Andrea rotated her body to face her best friend, "Everything happens for a reason."

"If that's the case, God better give me a real good reason on why everything is the way that it is."

"'Chonne, this is just a small roadblock. In a few years, fuck, maybe even months we'll be in California living on the coast together. You'll be a hotshot singer, and I'll be your backup dancer. We'll take over the industry and blow the top hats off of Hollywood."

"Big dreams with such little funds," Michonne sadly smiled, "We have to focus on how to get there before we think about the actual destination."

"I know," Andrea sighed, "I'm just reminding you of what's laying ahead of us. What we're working towards."

"I'm excited but... I just- I just don't want to get distracted along the way. I've already come this far, and the damn governor isn't making things any better..."

The blonde nodded, and placed her hands atop Michonne's shoulders, "I'll be there whenever you need me. No matter what."

Michonne smiled, "I love you, Andrea."

"I love you-" Andrea's grin faltered, and her electric grey eyes narrowed at the sight of something across the street. Michonne's eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher whatever Andrea could be transfixed on just by reading her face.

Slowly losing her grip, Andrea pulled away from Michonne and inched closer towards the curb. Her movements faltered as soon as she seemed to catch sight of what she was looking at.

"Andrea?" Michonne started, "What's wrong?"

Andrea shushed her, and pointed across the street, "What do you think he's doing?"

Michonne scrunched her nose, turning towards whatever Andrea was looking at. Squinting her eyes, Michonne was surprised to see the same man from Glenn's restaurant hunched up inside of a phone booth. The only reason why Michonne could see him was because of the flickering lights above him.

He didn't seem to notice the two of them, but he was repeatedly looking around his surroundings while holding the old phone to his ear.

"Tobin," Andrea muttered, "That guy who gave Glenn that thing, what's he doing?"

"Andrea, really?" Michonne whined, "Enough of this, he's making a damn phone call."

"In that booth? We all know what all those lines connect to..."

"Jesus, you're quite invested on uncovering whatever he's doing. You should consider becoming an officer."

"Pfft," Andrea snickered, "I'm more of bad cop."

"Hah. Now, let's forget about this guy and go home, alright? I think I see our ride," Michonne could see the headlights of an incoming car, and waved towards the vehicle to come to them. Unfortunately, the last thing on her best friend's mind was going anywhere near a cab.

Out of her peripheral vision, Michonne could see Tobin look towards the incoming driver and make a hurried farewell to the person on the other side of the phone. He lowered his tall frame to squeeze out of the phone booth, and quickly disappeared into the alleyway nearby.

Without missing a beat, Andrea sped past Michonne and followed Tobin's path. Michonne let out a sharp gasp, and rested her hand on her head. What the fuck did the blonde think she was doing?

"Andrea!! Come back here!!" Michonne hissed, desperately trying to get her to return back to her side. Tugging at her earrings, she silently cursed Andrea's idiotic behavior.

Andrea turned around and gave Michonne a pity wave, and continued to trot across the street, and she too blended into the darkness shrouded alley. There was no way this girl was fully mentally stable.

"You coming in, or what?" The taxi driver asked, rolling up to the curb at which Michonne was standing in front of.

"I-" Michonne averted her ticked off gaze toward the clearly tired taxi man, still frustrated at her friend's childish behavior.

"Hurry up, girl, I don't got all night," the driver impatiently sighed.

Closing her eyes, Michonne opened the back seat of the cab and hesitantly placed the box of pizza in the backseat. She paused. No matter how stupid Andrea may be, she was still the only person she had. Her well-being was one of her concern and no amount of idiotic behavior was going to change that.

"I have to go," Michonne announced, completely dismissing the pizza that still laid in the backseat, "I'll see you on Sunday, Bob."

"Whatever," Bob sighed, "Have a good night, Hawthorne," and with that, he drove off into the darkness.

"Bitch," Michonne muttered, unsure if she was cursing herself, Tobin, Andrea, or Bob. Shaking her head, she ran in the direction of Andrea, completely disregarding the potential dangerous consequences.

---

June 8. 1944. Bronx, New York. The Sanctuary. 1:48 A.M.

---

A single flame flickered, illuminating the dark room. Sherry's lips wrapped around the half used cigarette, taking a generous inhale to calm her nerves.

"Just until he gets the job done."

She could hear footsteps from down the hall, making its way towards her. Sherry could smell his cologne without him even opening the door. She wasn't sure how long she could go without holding him in her arms.

The irritating sound of the large door creaking open echoed, making her wince. Hopefully it wasn't loud enough for anyone else to be made aware of stragglers. It was odd, a grown man making other grown men and women have a curfew. The Sanctuary felt like a prison in comparison to its very ironic name.

"Sherry," the warm and comforting voice called out, beckoning her to move towards the new company.

"Dwight," Sherry sighed in relief, "You're here."

"You called," Dwight gave her a pursed smile, and ran his fingers through his chin length hair, "You need something?"

The brunette lowered her gaze as she took another drag from her cigarette, "Nothing, I just wanted to see you."

"You see me."

"Without him."

"Sherry," Dwight dragged his hand over his burned face, "We shouldn't be doing this."

"I don't know where we stand anymore. You've been trying so hard to avoid me, and I know you're already aware of what me and Negan have done but... I have to tell you this. Negan.. he- he wants to marry me."

Dwight's head snapped towards her in alarm, "He wants to what?"

"He wants to marry me. He said, he said he'll help Tina with the treatment if I do it. I have about a week to decide. I just wanted to let you know before I make a decision."

Dwight was devastated. His love, his fiancée, the woman who was supposed to be his bride was going to wed another man. A man he knelt under, being used as a footrest. He'd already taken half his face, his dignity, and now he was going to take the only thing he ever cared about.

"He can't do that... Why would he want to marry a random girl he met at the lounge? I don't- I don't get it.."

"But he does," Sherry smiled pitifully, "I love you, Dwight. I love you more than anything in this world, I want you to know that."

"W- what are you saying?" Dwight stammered, "Sherry- I'll- I'll kill him right now- I'll go in there and shoot him dead!"

"But you won't, baby. I love you, but I also love Tina. She's my baby sister and I know I asked too much of you when I worried about the money for her chemotherapy."

"I'd do anything for you, Sherry, anything. Just please, please don't do this."

"I have to, Dwight. You've done your part, now I'll do mine."

Dwight stood there dumbfounded, his heart aching. Sherry took one last drag, and crushed the cigarette bud underneath the soles of her shoe. Dwight felt as though it was an accurate representation of what she just did with his heart.

"He's already burned half of your face for stealing from him for her, he's already aware of who Tina is. What she means.. to both of us. He knows, Dwight. He knows who we are to each other."

"Fuck," Dwight cursed, "Fuck!"

"Shhh! Keep it down," Sherry hushed, "We'll get through this. I promise we will. But until then..."

"What? Until what, Sherry?"

"We have to stop seeing each other."

"What, so you're breaking up with me? After all we've been through? Will all of this be for nothing???"

"I want to take a break. Forget about me for now, focus on your mission. Focus on why you're here. We can't keep giving each other any attention, he's everywhere. Even when we might not know it, even now."

The blonde man shook his head, "I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill him and make him regret ever doing this to us."

"You will," Sherry encouraged, "I know you will," taking a few steps forward, she pressed a small kiss on his chapped lips and wrapped her arms around his torso, "I love you, Dwight. Don't ever forget that. He's nothing to me."

Dwight hesitated to reciprocate the hug, already aware she'd laid with another man, Negan nonetheless. But he knew she was true to her word. His involvement with Negan had been a huge coincidence that had spiraled out of their control. It wasn't her fault Negan noticed her, Dwight couldn't blame him for it.

"I love you too," Dwight muttered, finally sinking into the deep embrace his now ex-lover was providing.

"We'll get though this," Sherry insisted, "We'll kill Negan, get Tina her treatment, and get married. Promise me."

"I promise."

---

June 8. 1944. Manhattan, New York. Unknown Location. 11:17 P.M

---

"This the place?" Rick asked, walking along the wet pavement that led to a large warehouse. He could hear the faint dripping of water from one of the water pipes connected to the building they were under, building up the anticipation.

"Yeah," Daryl responded, "You think it's him?"

"How many men do you know are named Doctor Edwin Jenner, calling out for Antonio Torricelli in the middle of the night? Damn fucker has a death wish."

"I dunno, man," Daryl sighed, "Leaving him in the hands of Walsh and Ford is risky, especially if we got the wrong guy."

"Nah," Rick drawled, "It's him."

The two men made their way to the wearhouse that stood proudly at the end of the narrow pathway. Rick's grip tightened around the handle of his machete, he was going to put it to very good use in a very short while.

The door of the wearhouse creaked open as Daryl pushed himself through. He made way for Rick to go in first, and stuck his head out to check for any passersby's. This was a private party that wasn't suitable for public eyes.

"Woah," Rick warned, resting his hand on his colt. He made a shushing motion towards Daryl and crept through the rundown building.

They moved stealthy, hunched over just in case of spontaneous gunfire. They could never be too careful in case there was a trap waiting ahead. Rick abruptly stopped, sensing some sort of presence nearby.

"You hear 'sum?" Daryl asked, clutching his crossbow tightly.

"Yeah, keep your eyes open," Rick took a single step forward and nearly shot at the ground, as a rat ran through his feet. His pulse dropped, and he continued on.

"Hold your fire!" A loud and firm voice echoed, it was Abraham.

"It's us," Daryl called back, still keeping his crossbow at eye level.

"Rick with you?"

"Yeah."

Shane stepped into view from the darkness, presenting the two approaching men with a view of his blood stained shirt. His usually coiffed hair had been roused, giving the appearance of someone who'd been rolling around on the floor.

"The hell happened to you?" Daryl asked, lowering his weapon.

"Ain't like you look any better," Shane replied, cracking his already bruised knuckles. They couldn't seem to catch a break from Shane's love of violence.

"You got him?" Rick asked, wasting no time. He wasn't there to have small talk, he needed blood.

"Yeah, same fucker."

Shane led the men to where Jenner was being held, "We were making our rounds, y'know, checking in on area. Then we just hear this guttural cry," he shook his head, "Abraham thought it was just an animal, but I knew something was up."

"Sasha said he was calling for... he was calling his name?" Daryl slowly asked.

"Yeah, just screaming 'Antonio' at the top of his lungs. Bitch damn near ripped out his vocal cords crying like a lady and shit."

"Where is he?"

"Right here," Abraham's flaming red hair came into Rick's vision not long after Rick's cold eyes cut into the shivering man who sat bounded to a wooden chair.

The man's face was concealed by the bag over his head, but Rick could make out the outlines of a bloodied nose pressing against the thin cloth. Must've been the source of Shane's fresh bruises.

"We roughed him up a bit," Abraham sheepishly confessed, "If you don't mind."

"Nah," Rick reassured, rolling up his sleeves, "He could use some warming up. Take off the bag."

Shane ripped the bag off of the man, immediately causing his head to loll downward. Rick squinted his eyes, trying to make out any significant features. As far as he recalled, Jenner had an ordinary face not worth remembering. Plain and stale like old white bread. But Rick remembered.

The man in front of him had a beard and a messy mane that was clearly neglected. Resembling nothing like the once pristine and neat doctor Rick grew up with nearly his whole life. He thought twice about scolding his men for potentially picking up a straggler from the street.

"Look up," Shane hissed, grabbing a fist full of tangled hair. He angled the man's face to meet Rick's, and leaned down to his ear, "You wanna get shy all of a sudden? What happened to all that confidence? You got what you wanted."

The man whimpered, his steel blue irises were bloodshot and watery. His fate was completely sealed. There was no making it out of there alive before dawn. He knew that, he knew that Rick knew that as well.

Rick chuckled, easing his sleeves up his arms in preparation, "You know why you're here, right? I'm praying to God you do, Jenner."

"W- What?" Jenner blubbered, saliva already pouring out from his mouth.

"Nasty son of a bitch," Shane muttered, backhanding Jenner's head, "He's talkin' to you. Best be polite and answer."

"I- eugh.."

Rick squatted in front of the battered man and lowered his head, "My father, he always had this... saying. I never really put too much mind into it growing up, but.. I think I understand what it means now."

"P-please..." Jenner begged, his jaw going slack, "I'm sorry."

"He used to say, 'La mia misericordia prevale sulla mia ira.' My mercy prevails over my wrath,'" Rick ran his hand over his stubbled jaw and chuckled, "He'd always tell me as a boy to focus on being merciful and forgiving towards others, no matter how upset I felt. Whether it was a disagreement with a friend, a conflict while out playing ball on the field, or even a betrayal."

Jenner shook uncontrollably, having no choice but to listen to the man speak. Fighting wouldn't get him far, best wait it out as long as possible before he ultimately met his demise.

Rick continued, "Giovanni Torricelli was a good man. He was a man of honor, a family man, a man who'd look past everything about a person just to see their character. He didn't give a shit about who you were, what you looked like, or who your family was. He was a damn saint."

"And everyone loved him. See, he believed in second chances. Half of my damn men were saved by him, pulled out from the gutter and given another shot at life. He believed in redemption and rebirth. But ultimately, that was his fatal error. He was a strong man, but he was naive. He looked past everything and often forgot that at the end of the day we're all still animals, succumbing to our primitive instincts. And although it took him far, it was only nature that he'd eventually get hunted by the ruthless of the pack. This world... it ain't built for forgiveness and love, we can't all just go around giving each other baskets full of candy and flowers. It's all about survival of the fittest."

"Your father... he- he was a good-" Jenner winced, as Abraham dug his fingers into his neck, effectively silencing him.

"That he was, wasn't he?" Rick scoffed, getting up from his squatting position, "Weak men, often latch onto whatever power that's presented to them. In your case... Antonio was your scapegoat. And now you're here ready to face your punishment that you owe. Daryl."

Daryl grunted and handed Rick the briefcase filled with the various tools used to milk Jenner's suffering. As much as Rick wanted to prolong his torture, he was still a man of morals. A man not too far gone.

"My mercy prevails over my wrath," Rick muttered, talking out a pair of dull scissors. He feigned the action of thoroughly examining the object, and continued to further torment Jenner.

"I'm a reasonable man, Doc. I have a soul in contrary to what many people may believe. I do believe in somewhat of a redemption. So that's why... I'm going to give you a chance. Because unlike you, I can acknowledge that you aren't solely my enemy. You were there for my family even though it was all an elaborate lie in the end. I haven't failed to forget what little good you've done for me."

Jenner's eyes welled up in tears, "Oh! Oh, God! Thank you, God! Oh!" His cries of relief were replaced by screams of agony, as Rick suddenly jerked his wrist swiftly and slashed Jenner's right eye with the scissors. It would've been humorous, the quick change between his reaction, but the sight of Jenner's blood running down his face in a replacement for his tears served more as a somewhat of a demonic picture.

"God? God ain't here, asshole," Shane taunted, watching the entire ordeal in amusement, "Matter of fact, no one's here to save you."

Rick chuckled, "Might I have to remind you, Doc? You ain't getting saved. My father ain't saving you, Antonio ain't saving you, your safe haven for the last sixteen years ain't saving you, and the all mighty lord himself ain't saving you," Rick tilted his head, forcing Jenner to look at his with his only functioning eyeball, "There ain't no God here, Jenner. He ain't gonna save from whatever's gonna happen to you tonight."

"P-p- please!" Jenner blubbered, a snot bubble liquifying and running down his nose, "H-have com- compassion... Please, God.."

"Well," Rick nodded his head knowingly, "You sure didn't have much compassion when you were mutilating my father, did you?"

Jenner cried, fighting against the dull throbbing coming from his head and the sharp pain stinging his eye. He tried desperately to conjure up any kind of excuse to convince Rick and his goons to spare him from any impending violence they had in store for him. He clawed at the hopes of potentially surviving the night, even if it meant losing his eyesight.

"What was the saying I told you about earlier, Jenner? My mercy...? Say it."

"My- my... ugh... my m-mercy... my mercy pre-"

"Say it!" Rick boomed, rummaging through the briefcase as a warning.

"Mymercyprevailsovermywrath!" Jenner managed to strew a nearly inaudible sentence together. But to his temporary luck, Rick had deemed the response as acceptable.

"Now, you listen to me very carefully. You're going to die tonight, plain and simple. All your chances of staying alive have slimed down to zero. And if there is one thing I can promise you, you won't be leaving this building with a pulse. But, I'll give you two options," Rick knowingly informed, as though he was simply giving Jenner an simple rundown of casual situation.

"A, you give me what I want, and respond to any questions I have regarding anythang' I may need to know from you. Or B, you refuse to cooperate and stay loyal to men who wont bat an eye at your passing. If you go the first route, I'll make it quick and moderately painless. I'll personally make sure you get a burial, and try to keep your body in pristine condition. If you choose the second option," Rick laughed, "The longest I've stretched out someone's death was about three weeks. Or at least three weeks until maggots started to feed on them. Usually I count them as dead when all the bacteria and mold starts to grow and feed on their rotting flesh."

"You're in luck, bastard," Abraham commented, touching his large mustache, "Boss ain't as forgiving towards other people. You should count this as him giving you a slap on the wrist.

Jenner bit his tongue. Naturally, he was a cowardly man, unable and unwilling to speak his mind in the presence of those he deemed powerful. But to hear his captors make a mockery out of him, really tempted him to allow his words to make a life of their own. All five of the men, including him knew there was no forgiveness involved. Rick was just toying with him until he got bored. It seemed to be a common theme for the Torricelli men.

"Yeah," Rick agreed, nodding his head slowly, "Except, there's one more thang' you gotta do for me before we proceed. Daryl."

Daryl threw his crossbow over his shoulders, and unbounded Jenner's arms. This was immediately responded by Jenner, who attempted to aid his injured eye by clutching on to the wound. This led to no resolution, besides slightly subsiding the blood that poured from the directly affected area.

"Oh, my God! It h-hurts! God!!" Jenner cried, genuinely anguished by his physical pain.

"You think that hurts?" Shane knowingly asked, a twisted smile stretched across his face. He grabbed both of Jenner's limbs, and retied them down to the arm rests of the chair Jenner sat upon.

"Shane," Daryl warned.

"What? Just askin'."

"Rick," Abraham called out, "I got the torch."

"The what-" Jenner's unharmed eye nearly bulged out of his head, as a large blade swung down his wrist, severing his right hand. They spared him no warning against the sudden assault, and simply watched in amusement as Jenner screamed in a mixture of shock and torment.

The sharp ends of his broken bones were littered with the stray droplets of blood. His vessels sprayed the iron infused liquid all over the ground and even landed on Rick's pants, proving further evidence of the torturous hazing.

Rick stood unaffected by the picture displayed before him, and simply soaked in the rare satisfaction he had received by restoring his father's honor. Justice had finally been served, but in Rick's nature? It was never enough.

He'd always gone by his own moral codes, and eye for an eye, and tooth for a tooth. But in this case, and hand for a hand. The bloodlust had grown even stronger, he contemplated on changing his mind about the offer he'd given to Jenner. Perhaps he'd just make his death prolonged and as sufferable as possible no matter how much the doctor wanted to cooperate.

"Should we cauterize it?" Shane asked, trying to amplify his voice over Jenner's screams.

"Nah, let him bleed," Rick smirked, his pupils growing double its size, "Let him suffer a bit, then we'll get to talking when he's done crying."

"But... he'll die," Abraham cautiously input, "Or at least pass out... we need to finish this as soon as possible, Boss."

"Yeah.." Rick sheathed his machete, and stuck his hands in his pockets, "Shane, grab that blow torch and cauterize his wound. Add a couple of burns as a warning."

Shane grinned, "You got-" the irregular noise of something or someone outside of the five men caught all of their attention immediately. It was the unmistakable sound of a door creaking open.

"H- Help-! HELP ME!!" Jenner desperately yelled, trying to get whatever intruder's attention to save him from the hellish nightmare he was stuck in.

"Shut up!" Daryl hissed, stabbing at Jenner's severed wrist with his arrow. In return, the doctor let out a shrill scream, drawing whatever's attention towards them.

"Abraham, Shane, stay here with this asshole. Cut his tongue out if he makes another sound," Rick chillingly ordered, "Dixon, you're with me."

"Yes, Boss, the three men responded in unison. But before anyone could make a move towards their new objective, a shadowy figure appeared about thirty feet away. Immediately the men drew their weapons, all fingers resting comfortably on the trigger ready to fire at any moment.

"You have ten seconds before I blow your skull to pieces!" Rick warned, his hunter eyes on the figure, "Step out, now!

The person stepped out of the shadows and took off their hat, raising their arms in surrender, "Hold your fire, it's me."

---

June 8. 1944. Manhattan, New York. Unknown Location. 2:38 A.M.

---

Michonne blindly ran after Andrea, desperately trying not to bring attention to herself. She had no idea what was going through the blonde's head, as she led them down a narrow alleyway, barely providing any lighting in order to see.

To her dismay, Michonne relied on the guidance of garbage dumps and grimy alley walls to prevent her from falling or running into unwanted company. She'd better receive a really good explanation from Andrea on why she was chasing random men in the middle of the night.

"Damn you, Andrea," Michonne cursed, grimacing at sensation of something slimy coating her hands from the adjacent wall.

Her heart raced, she could feel the organ working double it's normal rate just to keep pumping blood through her veins. She was strictly running on adrenaline and desperation.

She never imagined in a million years that she'd be chasing after another woman in the middle of the night unprovoked. The original plan was the lay low and keep her head down, she completely derailed from the mission all together.

Stumbling blindly, Michonne gasped in relief at the next turn she made. Street lights, although not as bright as she'd like, were lined up with a good amount of spacing between them. And although the pathway was a lot more illuminated, Michonne couldn't help but feel a chillin her spine. There was something almost demonic and unsettling about the entire alley.

To her luck, she spotted Andrea not far away from where she was. The blonde stood with her hands on her hips, seemingly stuck on figuring out where Tobin had disappeared to. Immediately, Michonne marched up to the woman and tightly grasped her shoulder.

"Oh, my God!" Andrea yelled, clutching her hands against her chest, "Mitch! Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Excuse me?" Michonne hissed, "I was going after your stupid ass! Running after strange men for the sake of curiosity!? What is wrong with you?"

"I didn't ask you to follow me," Andrea argued, "You're perfectly free to go home! I'm not a child!"

"You sure are acting like one! What are you even doing?"

Andrea's eyebrows furrowed, "I lost him. I had him in my sights but he just vanished."

Michonne fumed, "I don't give a fuck about him! If you were a child, I wouldn't think twice of smacking your mouth right now! We are going home, now!"

"Wait, but-"

"No! It's fucking late, and I want to do nothing but stuff my face with a pizza that we don't even have anymore! I want this night to end!"

Andrea glared at Michonne and clenched her jaw, "Fine. Lead the way, mother."

"Do not," Michonne warned pointing her finger in the blonde's face, "Do not start with me."

Andrea opened her mouth to say something, but quickly lost her train of thought. Her eyes connected with something behind Michonne, quickly capturing her attention. It was almost uncanny, the rate of how much her facial expressions changed in the span of a few seconds.

"God, what now?" Michonne glared, completely familiar with the new routine. Andrea sees something she wants, and doesn't think about going after it despite the consequences. Except, when Andrea harshly pulled Michonne behind her, Michonne knew something was off.

"What-" Michonne started, before Andrea dug her fingers into her arms in warning.

Michonne's eyebrows pulled down in a scowl, before directing her attention to whatever Andrea was seemingly terrified of. Her brown eyes widened.

About forty feet away, two men stood in front of a railing facing an open door. Michonne could see cigar smoke wafting into the air and hear hushed whispers from their small talk. The flickering streetlights illuminated the large bulges of their pants. They were heavily armed.

"Andy..." Michonne whispered, "Lets go."

"Wait," Andrea muttered, "We gotta wait it out."

"Andrea."

"Please. I don't wanna risk being seen."

"Oh, so now you wanna be cautious?"

Andrea rolled her eyes, and shook her head. There wasn't any time to argue. She quickly contradicted herself by letting out a gasp at the sight of two more men dragging out a body from the open door. She turned to look at her more reasonable companion, and was terrified to see that she wore a similarly petrified expression.

The men carrying the body threw it over the railing as though it was a sack of potatoes. This received a plethora of laughs from them all. They clearly found the entire thing amusing in contrary to the two women.

The body landed on the wet pavement with a loud thud, earning an unexpected groan from the victim. Michonne was too focused keeping a keen eye on the men to notice the vomit that threatened to rise from her stomach.

The body was still alive. The body that belonged to someone's child, sibling, parent, loved one, was alive and breathing. And there was nothing Michonne could do to save them.

"My, God," Andrea gagged, covering her mouth.

"Shh," Michonne urged, tears brimming her waterline, "Keep quiet."

"'Chonne, they're alive.."

"I know, I know."

The two women could hear a brewing conversation, barely audible for them to hear. They desperately needed context on what was unfolding in front of them. For all they know, the person could've had it coming.

"We appreciate the cooperation, Jenner," an oddly familiar voice said, flicking their cigarette down at the sprawled out victim.

This was responded by a groan. And to pile on any more sick surprises, the person raised their arm, outlining the silhouette of a severed wrist with no hand. With the violent shaking of the limb, Michonne knew it was an injury acquired not too long ago.

Besides her, Andrea covered her mouth and gagged. They were potentially witnessing the butchering and execution of a human being.

The men gathered around the body, simply staring down at the person. There was a small silence, before one of the men decided to spit down at the helpless victim. This was a breaking point for Andrea before she spat out a mouthful of vomit. Michonne recoiled from her and continued watching the scene.

"Where's Tobin?" One of the larger men asked. Michonne and Andrea gave each other an alarmed look, and strained to hear more of the conversation. Tobin, the man that prompted them to be in this mess in the first place. Michonne never hated Andrea more than this very moment.

"He's going to the Chinese kid's restaurant to drop off the hand," another gruff sounding guy answered, "He'll be here any minute."

"He's Korean," the large man replied.

As if on cue, a sharp whistle sounded in the air, posing as a distinct signal of someone's arrival. An unmistakably tall silhouette appeared out of the shadows, undoubtedly being Tobin's six foot four frame.

"Dropped it off?" The man with the cigarette asked.

"Yeah," Tobin replied, "Rhee's running of storage, says he's gone past capacity."

"I don't think we go through that many, unless he's helping other people as well."

"I don't wanna pose your actions for judgement but..."

"But? It's alright, Tobin, I accept constructive criticism."

"Is it really a reliable method to store our... trophies in a freezer at a restaurant? The freezer of a man who isn't even in our organization?"

There was a pause, "My trophies. Rhee is more than the man with a restaurant. He saved a woman I consider to be my own flesh and blood from harm's way. He willingly bestowed a debt on himself that I never required him to pay. Unless you wanna use the Hudson River as a disposal, risking parts to float up and have the coastal guard on our asses, we're sticking to Glenn."

"I'm sorry, Boss," Tobin's voice was unsure, clearly regretting questioning the man.

"As I said, any of y'all are welcome to question my rule. Just expect an answer every time."

"So, we gettin' this done or what?" The familiar man asked impatiently, "Get this shit over with."

"Calm down, Shane, we don't got nowhere to go," the gruff sounding man replied with a scoff.

Michonne's eyes nearly bulged out of her sockets. She was barely comprehending everything she was hearing, but the name that was just uttered was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Shane.

Michonne could hear Andrea shift besides her, most likely also caught off guard by the sudden name drop. But where they really all that surprised? Man who's entire persona that revolved around enjoying violence, partaking in the most extreme form of violence at this hour?

Michonne's heart sped up. If Shane was one of the men who stood a mere distance away from them, then that meant..

"Rick," Shane hissed, "The motherfucker is damn near dyin', either we chop him up or put him outta his misery."

Andrea attempted to rest a hand on Michonne's shoulder, prompting Michonne to yank her arm away. She was in no mood for uncharted fantasies involving horrid men. She was the reason why they were witnessing this mess in the first place. But in all honesty it was the least of her concerns, he was there.

"Any final words?" Rick requested, slowly pulling out what looked like his gun from his holster. The women could feel the pure lack of sympathy and coldness that radiated from him.

Michonne's breath hitched, watching carefully as the man on the ground inched his head up to make his final statement.

She flinched at the loud gunshot and flashing white light that temporarily blinded her from the spontaneity. Her ears rang from the sharp echo of the single bullet leaving the clip, and lodging into the man's skull.

He was heartless. He feigned giving the man a chance to say his piece, and stole his last moments of life as though it meant nothing. As if he was merely putting down a stray dog to end it's misery. As far as Michonne could tell, he was cruel.

Rick Grimes was cruel.

To her horror, he started unloading more bullets into the man's dead body. His figure didn't flinch even when the recoil began weakening his steady arm. All he could focus on was shooting holes through Jenner's limp corpse. If this wasn't the pure embodiment of evil, Michonne didn't know what was.

He didn't stop shooting until smoke drifted from the snout of the gun. It wasn't until his colt had decided to take a break from his pure brutality, before he halted his assault on Jenner's mangled body.

"Abraham, Shane," Rick heavily sighed, "Divide him and mail him to Bessy."

Not a single word was spoken, as both Abraham and Shane picked up the corpse and dragged it back inside the wearhouse. Michonne could hear the faint sound of blood dripping from the wounds of the multiple gunshot holes. There was so much blood, she swore she could smell iron.

"Tobin," Rick acknowledged, sniffling, "You're free to go. Your reward will await you tomorrow. I'll have one of my men deliver it to your home at noon."

"Thank you, Boss," Tobin gratefully replied, making his exit haste in order to shorten his involvement in the crime.

Carefully getting up from her crouched position, Michonne turned around to see Andrea in a shell shocked state. Her skin had paled, allowing Michonne to faintly make out the dark blue veins stretched across her eyes.

"Get up," Michonne whispered, lightly shaking Andrea's arm.

Andrea slightly shook her head, her mouth agape. For someone who was a crime fanatic, she sure wasn't prepared to see a live crime scene play out before her.

"Please," Michonne pleaded, trying not to breakdown in tears, "Please, let's just get out of here."

"No- no."

"... what?"

"He- he killed him."

"Yeah, that's what bad men do, they kill people. I tried to tell you once, you didn't listen to me!"

"Oh, god..." Andrea vomited whatever was in her stomach, and hung her head low to the ground.

"Aye," an unidentifiable voice called out, "What the hell was that?"

Michonne's heart dropped. They had heard them.

"Andrea we gotta go," Michonne ordered, her eyes filled with determination. She wasn't going to die in the hands of a gangster, let alone on that particular night.

"Ugh," Andrea softly groaned.

Michonne grabbed her forearm and tightly gripped the soft flesh as hard as her hands could allow "Get up, or else I'm leaving."

Michonne knew she would never leave Andrea, she'd never abandon her sister to save herself. Even if it meant putting her life on the line, hence why they were both hiding behind a dumpster. Oh, how fast the night changes.

Andrea sniffled and hastily got up, making her way sneakily against the wall to avoid casting any shadows to identify her presence. Luckily, they weren't far from an exit out of the alleyway, giving them a good chance to slip out without being noticed. But there was still a chance they'd get caught.

Michonne followed closely until she heard a small object colliding with the ground. She hastily reached up to touch her earlobe, and froze when she couldn't feel the smooth surface of her rounded earring.

"Fuck," she muttered, dropping to her knees. Tears dripped from her eyes in a panic, as she felt for the missing accessory in vain attempts to find it in poor lighting.

"No, no, no!" Michonne cried out, making sure she was as quiet as possible. Her fingers clenched at the wet concrete and dug into the dirt filled crevices. She knew her fingertips would bruise in the morning, if she even survived the night.

She couldn't lose it, she couldn't lose the only thing connecting her to what was once her haven. She needed control over something. She couldn't allow the dreaded night to destroy her any further.

"Where is it?" Michonne hissed, frantically searching for her lost earring. She had to make a choice, quickly. It was either her life or what was left of it.

"'Chonne!" Andrea hissed, motioning towards Michonne. The blonde stood against the wall nearby the exit of the alley, impatiently waiting for Michonne to catch up.

"Rick!" The man with the gruff sounding voice called out once again. He definitely heard her.

"Daryl," Rick drawled, also hyper aware of the fact that they weren't alone. Cocking his gun into position, Rick stepped closer to where Michonne was crouched, "Go check in on Ford and Walsh."

"But, Rick-"

"I know, I heard it too. You go check on them and I'll make sure we're clear. Go on."

Daryl reluctantly complied, but not before aiming his crossbow towards any open space nearby, hoping to catch a final glimpse of any living creature that could've possibly bared witness to their actions. Slowly, he backed into the building and joined the other men inside.

Michonne's blood ran cold at the noise his shoes made, inching closer and closer to her hiding spot. He was about fifteen feet away when the distinct sound of his safety came off his gun. A chilling thought ran through her mind.

She'd never heard his colt click from running out of ammo. She'd only assumed since he stopped firing at the body he persisted on disturbing. There was never any real confirmation on his chamber being empty. Whatever bullets that were left were likely now reserved for her.

A choked out sob escaped her lips unwillingly, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up with fear. She could feel him inching closer and closer to her, unsure if he's already spotted her. Out the corner of her eye, Michonne could see Andrea desperately looked around her surroundings. The blonde was contemplating on whether she would wait for Michonne or leave.

There was no way Michonne would be able to find her earring at that rate. The poor lighting, the shaking of her hands, the impending doom creeping up behind her, it was a lost cause.

Taking her chances, Michonne took a deep breath and got up from the ground. Immediately regretting her decision on leaving her hiding spot, she nearly ducked back down to resume cowering in fear. But it was too late, Rick had already noticed the movement behind the dumpster.

Michonne heard a vehicle behind her and nearly cried out in joy when she saw the familiar bright yellow cab blocking the exit. It was Bob, it had to be. Michonne thanked the heavens for leaving that pizza in the backseat, or else he would've never come back to find them.

But it was no time to celebrate, this was her only chance. Either she bolts down the narrow alley and risk getting gunned down or possibly chased, or, stay where she is and accept any punishment Rick decides to impose on her. She chose the former.

Making a run for it, Michonne's heart pounded erratically. Her vision blurred, making her barley make out Andrea's hand motioning towards the car. She was damn close, just a few more feet.

Rick rested his finger on the trigger and marched towards the dumpster, completely aware of the bystander fleeing around the corner. Reaching the dumpster, Rick could see a womanly figure nearing the illuminated exit. Her shape was configured by the large coat she'd wore, the only way he identified her sex was by the sharp clicking of her heels.

As she was at the cusp of escape, she turned around to face him completely. Adrenaline shot though every blood vessel in his body, and beads of sweat rolled off of his forehead. It was like a sudden forcefield, everything hitting him all at once the moment their eyes connected.

It was her. The woman from the Alexandria Lounge, the woman he couldn't keep his eyes off of, the woman he'd pleasured himself to. The lady in red. What the fuck was she doing there of all places?

Her beautiful brown eyes widened as his gun aimed straight at her heaving chest. Even from afar Rick could smell the sheer terror that seeped from her. A sickening feeling overcame him. The usual satisfaction of making his enemies and foe cower had turned in to guilt and shame. There was no way in his right mind he'd leave her unharmed, but a strong emotion tugged at his weakened heartstrings, allowing for his mercy to conquer his fighting instinct.

Every atom in his body was on fire, staring at her was far more exhilarating than killing Jenner by a million miles. Her beauty alone allowed his dopamine to feast greedily. His reddened eyes faltered. Rick's father had often compared the beauty of his wife to that of Venus, the Roman goddess of love and beauty. Although Rick did believe his mother was an extremely gorgeous woman, he never went as far as thinking she was on the level of a literal deity.

But he now understood. This woman was created by rose petals, and with the delicate hands of Aphrodite, Venus, and Iris herself. Somehow in the dimly lit moonlight and lack of glamorous clothing, she managed to hypnotize him once again. He was at her bidding, and that began with him lowering his weapon.

She hesitated, her irises drifting back and forth between Rick's lowered gun and the alley exit only a mere footsteps away. She wanted to escape, badly. Her discomfort only thickened the suffocating tension.

Rick tore his gaze away from her frame and tried to regain his composure. There was no way he was going to silence her. Normally he wouldn't have thought twice about erasing her existence from earth, but it was far too soon for her to die. He fully believed he'd stumbled across an angel, and God would wreak havoc upon him if he ever laid a single finger on her. He barley noticed or acknowledged the woman behind her.

Rick used the butt of his gun to scratch his head and narrowed his eyes at the woman. Her hands gripped on to her coat tightly, finding something to focus on besides the now awkward situation. With Andrea hissing at her to back away and Rick standing silently practically disarmed, Michonne was stuck at a crossroad.

Taking a cautious step back, she kept her eyes trained on his gun carrying hand. To her relief he made no indication of aggression or any attempts of stopping her. This was her chance. Running behind the car Andrea had stood in front of, Michonne opened the door and took one last look at Rick.

She could see him drop down to pick something from the ground, and rise back up in time to see her face. She was entirely grateful for him sparing her life. She hated the thought of expressing any sort of gratitude to a sociopath, but he had every chance to kill her and he didn't. Giving him a small nod, Michonne climbed into the car, which coincidentally happened to be Bob's taxi.

"Bob! Drive!" Andrea command, entering the cab in a haste. She nearly toppled against the back of the driver's seat as Bob pressed on the gas and sped off. Michonne closed her eyes, the feeling of slipping through death's grasp still left her drenched with an ice cold sensation. Her entire body was on fire, but the pounding against her rib cage was similar to stepping into a freezing shower early in the morning. The only comparison she could make, besides the one she'd felt after looking to the glacier-like irises of her new nightmare.

---

June 8. 1944. Manhattan, New York. 3:12 A.M.

---

"I, uh, I realized you left your pizza in the car," Bob started, a poor attempt at starting small talk, "As good as it smelled, I realized you may have wanted it more than me."

As much as Michonne wanted to avoid any form of conversion, she was eternally grateful for his timing. If Bob hadn't shown up at the right place at the right time, her and Andrea would've either been running away on foot against five men or remained in the alley whilst begging for their lives to be spared. The once irritating man had become her new savior and he didn't even know it.

"Thank you, Bob," Michonne uttered, trying to catch her breath, "It's been a long night."

"Seems so, it's nearly five. I think I ran up and down the block about a dozen or more times looking for you ladies. If I'm not mistaken, Andrea was running after something, right?"

"Yeah, turn out it was just something my mind conjured up," Andrea lied, "You know, late night false sightings."

"Oh, well, what did you think you saw?"

"Um..."

Michonne gave Andrea a hard glare, internally setting the blonde aflame with just her eyes.

"A b- bunny," Andrea stammered, feeling the intensity of Michonne's stare.

"A bunny... in New York?" Bob asked looking through the rear view mirror.

"Right? I thought I was dreaming, turns out I was. I just had to check it out for myself, hah."

"Right."

"'Chonne, your place or mine?"

Ignoring Andrea's question, Michonne tapped on Bob's shoulder and quietly requested to head back to her apartment. The rest of the ride was silent, giving Michonne and Andrea a chance to process their thoughts. But not much thinking was going on, the loud gunshot and the lifeless body was the only thing their hippocampus could store. But in Michonne's case, the crazed eyes belonging to her deprived and lusty fantasy also held a large storage in her mind.

Soon enough the car had reached its destination, a semi safe neighborhood with a few deteriorating buildings scattered around the block. It wasn't the best place, but it was what fit into her pay grade and allowed her to live somewhat comfortably. Michonne's body ached, she was glad to be home finally. After a long night, all she wanted to do was lay her body on the soft mattress that took up half the space of her bedroom.

"Don't forget your pizza," Bob reminded with a chuckle, "You ladies have a good night."

"You too," Andrea replied, taking out a few bills to pay for the fare.

Michonne grabbed the pizza box and got out of the cab, her legs wobbling the second she stood on the ground. She was still filled with utter fear, and her weakened muscles reflected on that fact. She watched as Bob drove off into the night, leaving them in front of the metal gates that surrounded the her building of residence.

"C'mon," Andrea sighed, reaching out to rest her hand on Michonne's shoulder. Michonne moved out of the way, and shot a scowl at the blonde. She was in no mood to respond or interact with her. It was all her fault Michonne would most likely develop some sort of post traumatic stress disorder. Seeing something she was never meant to see and nearly facing her end.

Andrea let out another deep sigh and pushed the cold lever to the side, causing the old gate to creak loudly. She knew the man had seen Michonne before the two made their getaway, but she wasn't about to bring it up to further anger her sister.

Without as much as an acknowledging glance, Michonne slide past the blonde and entered the courtyard that laid in front of her apartment complex. Unlike the usual sense of serenity and quietness she felt coming home to a lack of noise, she felt paranoid. The strewn out toys and unclaimed bicycles laying on the floor made the complex look like a ghost town. The lack of lights also amplified the illusion of abandonment.

The women walked into the complex, avoiding any sort of littered toys worth tripping over. Their only source of light was the unmistakable flicker of a match and the creaking of an old chair. Nearing the source of sound, they were met with the stench of cigarettes, cheap liquor, and another unidentifiable substance.

Michonne felt herself tense, goosebumps trickling all over her body. After a night like hers, the last thing she needed was another unpleasant encounter. Unfortunately, God had decided to make that particular night a living nightmare and didn't spare her from any sort of trouble.

"Well, well, well... if it isn't my favorite girl," his voice echoed in the air, holding more weight than Michonne wanted.

"Gareth," Michonne sighed, "It's late, we're heading in."

"Aht, Aht," Gareth mocked, taking a long drag from his cigarette, "You know, it's way past your curfew. You shouldn't be wandering around the streets like an street cat. It's dangerous."

"Listen, asshole-" Andrea started, immediately yelping as Michonne dug her nails in her arm.

"Goodnight, Gareth," she mustered a strained smile, pulling Andrea towards the direction of her apartment.

"Hold on, I'm not done talking to you," the mousey man ran his finger through his greasy hair, "Stay for a while."

"We really need to go-"

"Is going home more important than your rent increasing?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. He was playing with her.

Michonne shut her eyes in frustration, she felt as though she was at an all time low. A man she held so little respect towards, mocking and humiliating her. He was human scum.

"Andrea, go inside."

"But-" the blonde protested, her plump lips pulled into a scowl. No doubt her affinity for fighting would get them both in deep trouble.

"Go. Here are my keys."

Withholding any complaints, Andrea sighed and reluctantly took the keys. She gave Gareth a soul burning glare and dragged her feet to Michonne's door.

"She's a feisty one," Gareth smirked, "I didn't want her to go just yet."

"You wanted me to stay?" Michonne asked impatiently.

"Woah, take it easy, mama. I like you just as much, if not better."

"Please, just... get to the point. I have to be up in a few hours and I'm really not in the mood to argue."

"You know," he softly muttered, "All this hassle... second jobs, running around town trynna make money for what? This shit hole? A woman like you, Michonne, you don't deserve that."

"That's awfully kind of you to say. As if you don't keep making it harder for me every other month."

"You're ignoring a very important detail. I offered and I'm still offering," Gareth leaned forward, "Be mine for one night, that's all I ask. Bring Goldilocks and you'll earn extra benefits."

"Remind me again, what would I possibly gain from that?"

"No stress, no rent, and a damn good night."

"I will never even consider touching you with a thirty foot poll. Keep asking me to sleep with you for free housing, you'll keep getting the same response. I'll work a hundred jobs to stay afloat because of scum like you, before I ever stoop that low," Michonne hissed, pointing her index finger toward the man to further cement her point.

But Gareth took her words as a damn joke. He never listened to what she was saying. His eyes sparkled in amusement at the woman's heavy statement, he could only imagine how demanding she possibly could be underneath him.

"You're so pretty when you're bossy," he whispered, exhaling smoke from his nose.

Michonne shook her head. Glancing towards her apartment, she could see Andrea peeping through the curtains, monitoring their conversation just in case she needed to step in.

"You're dismissed," Gareth smirked, "Next time you come home this late... you'll be a wishing you stayed a good girl."

"Jesus," Michonne gagged. Ignoring his irritating laughter, she made a beeline for her door. All she could think about was the aching of her muscles and the disgusting withdrawal of sleep. The door opened swiftly, Andrea taking the box of pizza from Michonne's exhausted arms. Nothing else came to the forefront of her mind besides the appeal of the grey ottoman in front of her. Slamming the door shut, Michonne collapsed on the couch and immediately fell into a deep coma. Everything else be damned.

---

June 8. 1944. Manhattan, New York. 4:13 A.M.

---

"Rick."

"Hmm?"

"You alright, brother?"

"Yeah.. long night."

Rick and Shane sat side by side driving back to the Grimes estate. Daryl and Abraham had decided to stay back to clean up any and all evidence back at the wearhouse.

Rick twirled a cold pearl earring around his fingers, lost in his own deep thoughts. No doubt it was hers, he remembered her wearing it at the lounge. She must have dropped them before she left. It was most likely the reason explaining why she stayed back while her blonde friend was ahead of her.

He couldn't keep her sweet petrified eyes out of his mind. The deep brown pools reflecting the unforgiving night sky, and the light mimicking a star trapped in her irises. Rick squeezed the piece of jewelry in his palm and itched his brow with his thumb. It was beyond an interesting night.

It wasn't as though he could tell his men about their witnesses without an overwhelming majority of them voting on riding them of the earth. The risk of them running their mouth was still a concern, but Rick wasn't quite done with her just yet. He hoped in good faith she'd be good and keep her pretty lips shut.

"That son of a bitch, Dixon, he got me real good with that arm. I didn't know Jenner had all that blood in him, that can't be normal, right? Having all that blood in one spot."

"I don't wanna be disrespectful to the dead..."

"Then I'll say it for you, his wife killed herself, right? All that blood that should've went to his dick prolly went straight for his arm since he don't got no one to suck it for him."

"You're disgusting, you know that? Ain't he supposed to be smart? Why didn't his head cause such a mess?"

"Maybe because he was putting good use to his right limb. Tugging on his dinger and shit. Probably explains why it was so muscular in comparison to everythang' else."

Rick let out a laugh, and shook his head, "Does your mama know you talk like that?"

"She don't gotta know... How you feelin'?" Shane slowly asked, strumming his fingers on the wheel, "Jenner's another off your list, right?"

"Yeah.. it's certainly a relief," Rick yawned, "I think I'll be more celebratory when I finally get rest."

"Hah. You know, Carol's back. She came in this evening and apparently she got the deal down with those Mexican guys. The... the Santoes...?"

"The Santos," Rick corrected, his country twang making his pronunciation sound off, "I know. First thing she does is give me a whole list of chores for tomorrow, or today I guess."

"She's always workin' and never playin'."

"She keeps us on our toes, can't deny that. That woman, she's a force of nature. I wouldn't be here without her."

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"We gotta celebrate, man."

"Shane," Rick sighed, "Not everythang' is a party, this was simply a job that needed to be taken care of. It's like if I threw a party over sellin' a book at a library."

"Shit, man. Now you know damn well that ain't the same thing. God put us on this earth to have fun and enjoy each other's entertainment! And with the life we have? We oughta make the most of what we got which happens to be everythang'!"

Rick laughed, "I think he put us on here to do the opposite actually."

"Whatever, man. Either way two down, three to go. That's nearly half of our mission."

"Nearly two decades," Rick gritted, "Two decades to find some fucking suicidal doctor. I should've got him years ago, Shane. Fucking years ago."

"Now, hold on a second," Shane glanced at his friend and raised his eyebrows, "You killed the big boss before your damn balls dropped, you caused all those fuckers to scatter and hide from a damn kid. You tore down what that asshole started and rebuilt your father's legacy into something beyond everythang'. You finished all that in less than twenty years and have the freedom to play cat and mouse with these pussies. You're about the toughest son of a bitch I've ever known, brother."

"You kissin' my ass, Walsh?"

"Ahhh," Shane scoffed, "I'll eat one of Olivia's biscuits before I ever kiss that tiny pale hind of yours."

"Asshat," Rick chuckled. His eyes drifted back to his palm, studying the smooth bead incrusted with silver. His mouth opened a fraction before biting his tongue. The dim street lights wizzed by, leaving Rick's eyes dazed from the illumination.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Shane asked.

Rick shook his head, "Just thinking about shit. The Glenn thang'."

"The Asian?"

"Shane, you know Glenn. The one with the restaurant."

"Is this about the thang' Tobin told us about? No storage? I mean, c'mon. How many dismembered hands are we going through a day?"

"This is still one man's freezer. If he don't got no more room, we simply help him clear it out."

"No disrespect to him," Shane started, "Why did he bother offerin' his services anyway? Didn't you say your troubles were for free?"

"It wasn't any trouble and It wasn't free. He helped Maggie when she needed sanctuary for the night, and kept her safe. And for that, I owed him. He's a good man, trynna one up me with a good deed. There ain't too many men like that left in the world."

"Bet he's regretting it, huh?"

"Ehh, I hear no complaints," Rick chuckled, "Besides, he don't gotta worry about anything for the rest of his life as long as I'm around."

"Which will be a good twenty years at the rate you're aging."

"You callin' me old, asshole?"

"Now, I ain't ever said anythang' about being old," Shane snickered, "You thought about that thang' the eyepatch motherfucker offered? You weren't really in the right mind when I brought it up earlier."

"Shane why are you so insistent-" Rick frowned, feeling an impending thought creeping into his mind. But then it dawned on him. Blake said he could get any girl he wanted, that included his innocent witness. Not only would he be able to return her lost earring, he'd also be able to remind her of the consequences if she opened her mouth to anyone about what she had seen. He had faith in his girl, but her charm wasn't enough to prevent him from being cautious. Extra points for also being able to see her again without dim lighting and a gun in his hand.

"I'll call him in the morning. Let him know who we want."

"Which is?" Shane excitedly asked.

"That blonde you were talkin' to and..."

"That woman. The one that made your mouth hang lower than my nonna's tits."

"You're a crude man."

"And you need to get your priorities straight. I'll let 'em know we want both."

"Actually," Rick interjected, "I'll call. It'll seem more demanding that way, you know?"

Shane stared for a moment and nodded, "Alright, I don't really think there would be that big of a difference in who calls since it's on your behalf either way. But yeah."

"I have my reasons," and he did. Rick wanted to personally make sure she'd be coming. He didn't want to hear anything about availability or schedules, he wanted her. He wouldn't settle for anything more or anything less, no possible risk of exceptions or replacements. God, he really wished he got her name.

"We're here," Shane announced, pulling in front of the large bronze gates that contained his Tuscan styled estate.

Rick nodded, ready to end the night for a few strained hours of attempted sleep. He know that would be impossible though, he knew her memory would paralyze his whole body until he saw her again.

---

June 8. 1944. Manhattan, New York. Dale's Diner. 7:30 A.M.

---

"Order up!"

Warm sunlight poured through the wide windows of the diner, allowing passersby's to enjoy the sight of the busy staff bustling with platters of food. The streets were filled with pedestrians rushing to work and enjoying the early morning sun.

"'Order for table three," Theodore Douglas said, tapping on the stacked pancakes with his craft turner.

Michonne nodded tirelessly, and carried the food to the diners. Her eyes darted to the table she passed by, making a mental note of the man's nearly empty coffee cup.

"Here you are, eggs with cheddar, large pancakes, a side of bacon, and hash browns. Would you folks like anything else?" She asked, placing the order down in front of a young couple.

"If you don't mind, a cup of orange juice please?" The woman asked with a shiny smile, "And a black coffee with three teaspoons of sugar for the gentleman."

"Right away, ma'm," Michonne gave them a matching grin, "Enjoy your breakfast."

She wiped her moist hands down her waitress uniform, and snagged the coffee holder to refill the now empty cup of coffee from the other table.

"More coffee?" She asked, a sweet tone overriding her normally monotonous voice.

"Ah, yes," the man nodded in appreciation, "You're a dear."

"Just doin' my job, Dr. S."

"Are you alone today? I haven't seen Jacqui."

"Yeah, she quit unfortunately. Until we get a new waiter or waitress it'll just be me."

"Order up!" Theodore's voice rang out.

"You're a tough girl, Ms. Michonne," Dr. S smiled.

"Yeah, I wish I was," she sadly replied. Walking towards the divider between the kitchen and dining area.

"Here," Theodore said, placing the order on the counter, "Who the hell asks for an shake and a burger at this hour?"

"I would," one of the line cooks, Jim, replied, "I'm starving."

Michonne shook her head, "Let's just get this over with."

"You good, Hawthorne? You look a little... rough."

"I'm fine, Theodore. I didn't get much sleep last night."

"How many times I gotta say it, call me Theo," Theo smiled, reveling the small gap between his front teeth, "We're past formalities."

Michonne shrugged and picked up the platters and balanced it out with her hands. Expertly weaving around the somewhat crowded restaurant, she skillfully delivered all of the customers their meals. But despite the excellent service she was providing, her mind was drifted off elsewhere.

The events from the previous night replayed over and over, practically mocking any sort of sanity she had left. The flashes of gunfire, Glenn's supposed involvement, the sound of Jenner's strained breaths, her lost earring, the wet ground she prodded through, the cold sapphire gaze that pierced through her soul for what it seemed like indefinitely.

She hadn't gotten much sleep once they got home. Her eyes snapping shut the second her head fell on to a pillow, but waking up a couple hours later for work.

Despite the shortcomings of the food she was meant to eat, her body was ready to shut down even before the loud rumbles in her stomach ended. Michonne was relieved to find that Andrea hadn't eaten all of the pizza, leaving her four out of the eight in the box.

The blonde was also gone by the time Michonne woke up, double win. She didn't have time to go through an awkward morning conversation with her, similar to a one night hook-up. They would have time to discuss everything once they both recover mentally.

She was so stupid. Her recklessness and lack of accountability led them to this current conclusion in the first place. She didn't seem at all shaken in comparison to Michonne. Maybe it was the mentioning of Shane's name that made her believe she was off limits. But killers like that? They spared no one. Not even women they wished to lay with.

"Here's your orange juice and coffee," Michonne smiled, returning to the young couple.

"Ah, thank you, Mi... Meshawn?"

"Michonne, sir," Michonne corrected, "The sugar is on your table."

"Thank you, thank you."

Michonne skipped over to a few more tables and served whomever needed assistance. She repeatedly ventured from the counter top and the various customers, consumed within her own thoughts.

Who was that man? The victim of the brutal execution she'd witnessed in broad public. He must have done something to deserve that fate, there was no way he'd have his hand chopped off and shot multiple times in the face without a vendetta.

But then again she didn't know anything. She didn't know what evil lurked in the inner city, or what men like Rick were truly capable of. What was his name? Jeramy? Jerald? Jenner.

Jenner was his name, the name that belonged to the helpless soul trapped between a gun and the cold concrete that would be the canvas of his brain matter. He didn't even get a chance to say his final words, it was like his breath was stolen from his throat.

And Glenn. Michonne didn't even put into account the large bomb Rick and Shane had dropped by mentioning his name. Andrea may have had a point about Glenn, his potential involvement with criminals running around the city. She didn't even want to know what kind of favors he was doing for them. Clearly something worth significance if Tobin was reporting back to the big boss himself. Talk about a wolf in sheep's clothing.

But within the clusterfuck brewing in her thoughts, Rick Grimes stood right in the center. There was a strange feeling that fell over her when her eyes locked with his. Instead of fear she felt intrigued. It was like he was pulling on to her conscious like a magnet, unable to fathom anything or anyone else except him.

He was so different from the man she'd briefly encountered at the lounge. Sure, he exhibited that sort of behavior while confronting Negan but it wasn't anything to the extent of what she'd witnessed the night before. But then again, what did she really know about Rick Grimes? Not as much as everyone else apparently.

But him being at the same place as her at the same time was the last thing she was worried about. The real questions sat at the tip of her tongue. What came over him? What was going on in his mind? Why did he let her go?

She shouldn't have expected anything more from a well known criminal, but his fairness and reasonable demeanor in the lounge made him appear to have a strong sense of morality and integrity. Her first impression of him clouded her real judgement, small parts of her trying to grapple with the reality of him being a monster. Because that was what he was, a beast unable to contain his insatiable need for violence.

Michonne's heart started beating faster. Biting the tip of her thumb, she thought back to how his eyes froze completely on her. It was like rest of the world melted away, leaving just the two of them to a tense stand off. If she was in her right mind she'd forget about the whole incident, leaving the previous night in a vault of hidden memories. But she didn't want to forget. No, she was too drawn in.

He clearly had recognized her from the lounge, why else would he have let her go? Love at first sight didn't really exist, much less in situations like that. Either way, wouldn't he have considered her a liability? There had to be some sort of explanation for his decision. A dull ache emitted from her body, reminding her of the copious amount of work she would have to do for the rest of the day. But if only it could fully distract her from the loud questions.

Andrea, Jenner, Glenn, Rick.

Andrea, Jenner, Glenn, Rick.

Andrea, Jenner, Glenn, Rick.

Andrea, Jenner, Glenn, Rick.

"Hey, Michonne," Jim called out, snapping her out of her thoughts. He leaned against the counter and adjusted his cap, "Where's your head at?"

"I'm still here," Michonne sighed, running a sweaty palm over her face, "Who the hell is cooking if you're out here talking to me, Jim?"

"There ain't nobody to cook for, everyone's already gotten their order."

"Prep?"

"Done."

"Dishes?"

"C'mon, you know I ain't no dish boy. Besides, it's Theo's turn."

Michonne sighed, "Does that mean I can finally take a break?"

Jim smiled, "Don't let Dale see you."

"I haven't seen him all morning, is he in the back?"

"Yeah, been cooped up in his office. Something about interviews and stuff."

"Hopefully," Michonne huffed, "First day on the new schedule and I'm already exhausted."

"Yeah. Oh, and that thing you were saying about breaks? I think you may have to push that back."

"Huh? Why?"

Jim gestured behind her, and as if on cue the bell above the door signaling someone's entrance into the diner. Michonne turned around and immediately beamed at the sight of the new customer, "Officer Jones."

"Mrs. Hawthorne," Morgan Jones, NYPD's lead investigator gave the woman a smile and made his way to the counter.

"Your usual I'm assuming?"

"You assumed right, ma'am. And maybe an extra cup to go? I have a long day ahead of me back at the station."

"I can only imagine," Michonne sympathized, "How's Jenny and baby Duane doing?"

"She's back on her feet and as stubborn as an ox," Morgan chuckled, "My Jenny, she's been really craving those beignets you made for her."

"Well, tell her I'll make a fresh batch just for her. Just say the word."

"I don't think she'd mind if you made a couple extras for me."

Michonne laughed, "I would never forget. I'll go get your coffees."

Morgan smiled and picked up the morning paper from the countertop. He made his way back to an empty table and began reading.

"Anything interesting in this morning's paper?" Michonne asked, wiping down the tables nearby.

"Uh," the officer skimmed through the pages and squinted his eyes, "Stock market is improving, the president is signing a new legislation, the Soviets are acting up again, the economy seems to be getting better, and..." He frowned at the last article.

"What's wrong?" Michonne asked, resting her hands on her hips.

"Eh, nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Morgan," Michonne scoffed, "You know I'll just read it myself if you won't tell me."

The older man frowned, causing creases to form on his forehead, "There's been a string of kidnappings recently... we suspect they're all connected but it's under wraps."

"The radio didn't mention anything about this... that's so awful."

"Yeah, we're publicizing the case since thirty missing children in the span of two months is beyond anything we've ever seen."

Michonne covered her mouth with a shaky palm and took a deep breath, "Who's most at risk for the abductions?"

Morgan blew out a heavy breath, "Children. Usually between the ages of nine through sixteen. The oldest being seventeen and the youngest being six."

"That's horrible. Poor babies."

"It's been a rough couple of months, Michonne. And these children... most don't even have proper homes. About the majority had an absentee parent or were complete orphans. They're targeting the unprotected."

Michonne thought back to the previous night. She thought about the moment Rick shot and killed that poor man in cold blood, how he simply brushed it off as thought it was a simple chore for him.

Biting her nail, her eyes drifted back to Morgan. She stood right in front of a police officer, one whom she knew as a friend. She could tell him everything, finally feel the burden she carried slip away by telling someone who was sure to handle it.

Hell, maybe she could even convince him to put her on witness protection for her safety. If Rick got wind of the police being aware of that particular crime, he'd immediately know it was her who ratted. Then she'd be on the run from him and his goons for the rest of her life. She was stuck at at tight spot.

Michonne also considered the amount of shit that was already on Morgan's plate. Coming in for two coffees, working on a case that involved dozens of missing children, a new born baby to care for? He was swamped. She couldn't possibly add to the lists of things on his radar.

Glancing at the large clock on the wall, Morgan hastily jumped out of his seat, "Would you look at the time? I better run down to the station."

"Oh, let me go get your coffee first," Michonne chirped. She fastened the lid of the paper cup and handed it to the retreating officer.

"Have a good day, Michonne," Morgan waved with a smile.

"You too, Officer Jones!" Michonne sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. Seeing that there weren't any more customers to tend to, she trudged over to where Theodore and Jim stood.

"- and I was like, 'man you did not pick up three girls at the same time.' I mean the man can barely speak above a whisper!" Theodore laughed.

"Just let the guy dream a little," Jim chuckled, pulling his cap further down his face.

"What are we talking about?" Michonne inquired with a smile.

"Leon Basset's lying ass," Theodore snickered.

"Awe, leave him alone. He's just a kid."

"A nineteen year old ain't a kid," Jim said, shaking his head.

"You think Dale gonna give him that job?"

"As a dishwasher? Pfft, even a handicap could get hired for that."

" I don't know, it takes a lot of effort to wash, polish, and dry all that silverware," Michonne argued, "I remember having to be on dishing duty for a day, I was just about ready to quit."

"Ah, back when Glenn was still working here. Hey, how's he doing?" Jim asked, throwing a towel over his shoulder.

"He's good..."

"Yeah, those pizzas taste amazing," Theodore grinned, "He ain't even Italian either."

"Best pies I've ever had," Jim sighed, "I should ask him to cater for my daughter's bat mitzvah."

"You gonna have those falafels with that white sauce too right?"

"You bet."

"Better invite me," Theodore jokingly ordered.

The three conversed in a playful banter, briefly allowing themselves to take a break before the next rush hour. Michonne was glad she could take a breather with her unlikely co-workers, she relished in the distractions they provided.

Unfortunately for them, their fun was quickly diminished once a shorter older man walked out of a hidden backroom and towards their carefree sides. His dark eyebrows were pulled down, lips tightly pursed in irritation.

The trio quickly stiffened their relaxed state and dispersed themselves away from each other. Their eyes stayed on the man, trying to find out the reasoning behind his perplexed and slightly agitated expression.

"Mr. Horvath," Jim cleared his throat, "We were uh- getting back to work."

Dale waved him off and set his eyes on the only working woman, "Michonne."

"Yes?" Michonne cleared her throated, straightening her posture to assert dominance and control. She wasn't about to allow him to maintain anymore power than he had already exercised.

"I just got a call," Dale stared at her suspiciously, "Someone by the name of Phillip Blake wants to talk to you."

---

June 8. 1944. Manhattan, New York. Alexandria Lounge. 8:08 A.M.

---

"Ah, shit... right there, that's it... fuck! Your teeth! Stop using your fucking teeth!"

Phillip Blake glared down at the brunette woman practically gnawing on his cock. She gave him a sheepish smile and flipped her hair.

"You know I don't like that, Lilly," he gritted.

She obliged and continued bobbing her head up and down. The Governor leaned back and rested his palm atop her curls. The morning light danced behind his closed eyelids as his dick was being sucked.

He couldn't think of a better way to start his morning, often measuring how good his day would be based on his enjoyment of her sexual act that morning. Nearing completion, Phillip pushed her head lower towards pelvis and prepared to release his fluid deep into her throat.

As he neared the edge, a knock rapped at his door, successfully interrupting the sweet relief he'd been chasing for the past few minutes. The Governor clenched his open fist and cursed at the intruder.

"What!?" He yelled, startling Lilly.

"S- sir!"

Milton. Of course it was that idiotic and cockblocking cuck who dared disturb his peace. What could he possibly want from him at that hour? Much less after the Governor warned him to stay away unless it was an emergency. What could possibly be so urgent at eight in the morning?

"Get up, Lilly," the Governor huffed, pushing her off of him.

"Phillip-" she protested.

"Just go wait for me in the front. I have to take care of whatever bullshit this asshole has waiting for me."

"Hmpf."

The Governor pulled up his pants and walked towards the door. He gave Lilly one last look, making sure she was presentable enough to show her face and opened the door.

"Milton," he glared, "What the hell do you want now?"

"I- oh, hello, Lilly," Milton politely greeted, as the woman slipped past the two men.

"Hey! What do you want?" The Governor hissed, shoving the meek man's shoulder.

"There's someone- someone on the phone for you?"

"And?? Take care of it!"

"No I don't think you understand," Milton shakily replied, his glasses slightly crooked on his mousy face.

"Understand what!?"

"It's- that man, that man with the gun."

"There are many men with guns, asshole, which one!?"

Milton took a deep breath, "I think you should come and talk to himself yourself, sir."

"Milton. You're on the verge of making me permanently paralyze you. With that shit you pulled, and the burden you're making me carry for your mistakes?? You're lucky I haven't emptied a clip in your skull."

"Sir," Milton sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Please, come with me."

The Governor threw up is arms in exasperation, and followed Milton to the other office where the phone was sitting on the counter. He approached the waiting receiver and raised it to his ear.

"Hello? Phillip Blake speaking."

"Mr. Blake. I believe we have some unfinished business between us," the man on the other side of the line said, a slight drawl in his tone.

"Who am I speaking with?" Phillip sighed, rubbing his forehead against his fingertips. His eyes widened at the man's answer, and immediately sat down on the chair in complete alertness.

For the next few minutes, Phillip listened keenly and wrote down the instructions that was provided for him on a piece of paper. His hands shook, waiting for the call to be over.

"I expect nothing short of what I asked for."

"Of course, sir!" Phillip cheerily replied, "I'll make sure everything is to your liking," hanging up the phone, the Governor let out a deep breath and rested his head on the desk.

"U- um, sir?" Milton asked, his body hidden behind the doorframe, "What happened?"

"Milton. We'll be closed today and tomorrow, make sure the cleaning crew come in on both days and scrub every square inch. Go into the safe and go buy more booze from the supplier. Everything has to be in order."

"What's going on?"

The Governor glared at him, and leaned back into his chair, "We'll be hosting a couple of special guests tomorrow night."

---

"Shit." Michonne's stomach churned. She had explicitly asked Phillip to refrain from ever contacting her in her day job. She knew he wasn't exactly fond of her, but going to the extent of disrespecting her boundaries and calling her superior?

"Ok. Did he tell you why?" Michonne asked, trying to keep her tone casual. Her eyes narrowed at the older man, eager to hear his response. Her best guess was her new work schedule. But why would he care? It's not like she ever did anything anyways.

"That's the thing... he said it was matter between the two of you. He was adamant on not telling me anything. He says it's an emergency and to have you speak to him right now."

Michonne nodded, "May I?"

Dale motioned for her and allowed her to walk past him to his office. Jim and Theodore gave each other curious glances and went to busy themselves with any kind of task in hopes of not being caught slacking off again.

Her palms were dampened from the amount of sweat that formed from the sheer anxiety of what could've possibly been the reason for the Governor's call. She hesitated in entering the small office and gave Dale a glance. Picking up the phone, Michonne slowly rose the it to her ear and sat in the chair nearby.

"Hello?" She slowly asked, bracing herself for whatever she was going to hear.

The person on the other side of the line cleared their throat, "Mich- Michonne..?"

"Yes? Is this the Governor?" Michonne asked rolling her eyes. He never bothered to ask for her name.

"I'm gonna cut right to the chase, Mitch- I'm gonna just call you by your stage name, sweetheart."

"Alright? Michonne isn't hard to pronounce or remember, but go ahead."

"Whatever, I need you tomorrow."

Michonne rubbed her eyes in annoyance, "Did we not agree I'd come in only on Sunday nights? What happened to that? I already changed my work schedule here."

"I'm not disagreeing to the new arrangements, Canary," the Governor snapped, "It's urgent, and I swear to you it's not up to me."

"Really? Who's it up to then, huh? I thought you own the lounge now?"

"I do, I do... but we received a call from someone we can't deny the request of. It's vital that you come or else you'll be endangering your job and possibly everyone's lives. He warned us against any mistakes and to not sent anyone in replacement of you."

"What!?" Michonne's shrill voice rang, causing Dale to pop his head into the office. She gave him an apologetic look and waved him off.

"I'm not exaggerating when I say this, Canary. It's a matter of life or death, we need you."

"I'm not following. You got a call from someone? And now you need me to come or else everyone's gonna die? Do you know how... that's absurd."

"Not only you, Andrea as well."

"Andrea!? For what!? Phillip, what the hell is going on!?"

"Calm down, I promise it's not as bad as it sounds."

"So much for cutting to the chase," Michonne gritted, "You won't even tell me what's going on, or who the hell is threatening you for me and Andrea."

There was a pregnant pause on the other side of the line. Michonne's anxiety soared, causing goosebumps to run over her arms and exposed skin.

"Do you remember those men? The ones from last Friday? After the altercation and misunderstanding with that good for nothing Milton, I gave one of them an offer as an apology."

She could hear the blood rushing through her ears, a small churn in stomach forming, "What kind of offer?"

"Free drinks and food, personal catering, and a free show with women of their choice."

Michonne shut her eyes tightly, "I'm assuming they wanted me and Andrea? That's why you're calling?"

"Yeah."

"Who?"

"Pardon?"

"That night, there were two men who had any sense of authority. You must've been talking about one of them, am I right?"

"You're correct on that, Canary."

"So which one? Which one do I have to sing for?" A breath got stuck in Michonne's throat as she awaited for his answer. Either choice was an inconvenience but she knew which one she'd rather not go to.

Michonne wasn't ready to face him so soon. Not after everything she'd witnessed, or rather what he'd witnessed. But knowing her luck and the morbid coincidences she'd been experiencing, her suspicion and fear would most likely very much come true.

Her stomach knotted in dread at the Governor's next words.

"Rick Grimes. He's has personally asked for you to preform for him, Red Canary."

---

A/N: Hey... lmao. It's been a while since i updated so i wan to apologize for that. I made sure to write a much longer chapter to make up for my hiatus and I hope it was worth the wait @_@ anyways I would like to clear up somethings for the future and just set things straight.

1. Ik this is a story set in the 1940s but I will NOT be including any form of racism or any sort of segregation/Jim Crow themes in both this story and other stories I'll be writing. My reasoning is simple, I don't think it's necessary whatsoever. There's already so much bigotry in the fandom and reality and I don't think it's worth adding that shit into fanfiction. The whole point of fanfiction is to escape reality and create our own stories to further enjoy characters and adding brutal forms of racism isn't my cup of tea. as a matter of fact I want my reader and myself to feel personally comfortable without having to read hatful content when trying to escape reality. Not to mention, TWD itself doesn't have any racism minus Merle's small minded ass in the first and third season and Daryl briefly in the first season. For the future when I'm writing Merle I'll make a small exception without being extreme but other than that don't expect any sort of race based hate towards anyone. The reasoning for the Governor's bias against Michonne has nothing to do with her race or skin color :)

2. Again this is a darkfic. It's gonna have heavy themes and questionable morals and decisions made by the characters whether you're rooting for them or not. And since this is a Mafia!Au no one is safe. And I mean that. Be careful when you decide on choosing who you're gonna like and who you're gonna hate, most if not all the featured characters are morally grey with the exception of a few background and supporting characters.

3. Going back to the first point, I'll try my hardest to be as historically accurate and consistent with the time period. I'm still debating whether I want WWII to exist but I do know for a fact that fascism and other forms of authoritarian regimes were going on in the world. It won't be very important in this story but might connect to certain events and reasoning for the characters's arcs.

4. If the pacing a time slots are confusing, each pov is provided with the time of the event. I'm aware some of these are out of order and want to clarify before anyone is confused.

Anyways I hope you enjoyed this latest chapter and please please please review! It's like a reward I promise a simple little comment goes a long way. Until my next update :)

-Starlight