Disclaimer: The Walking Dead Series is NOT my work. It is owned by TellTale, all rights, commendation and acknowledgement goes to them.

However, "Derek Brooks" is my own fictional character and apparently the only thing I own in this story.

Chapter 18 - Where All Roads Lead (Part 3)

Derek sat in a dimly lit room, stripped down to just his shirt and pants, clinging to a small semblance of dignity despite his predicament. Metal cuffs bound his arms and neck, securely fastened to the table, biting into his skin with every slight movement, causing constant discomfort. The doors and windows were constructed from solid iron bars, with the door itself locked with a hefty metal padlock. Outside the cell, a guard lounged in a gruff manner, lazily smoking a cigarette. The smell wafted into Derek's cell, filling the room with its acrid scent.

On the opposite side of the table sat his interrogator, a no-name nobody whom Derek could give two shits about.

"I'll ask you again, Brooks. What happened that day?" the interrogator asked, his tone demanding.

Derek shot him a dirty glance, choosing silence as his answer.

The interrogator sighed in frustration, clearly annoyed by Derek's non-compliance. "You're not exactly making things easier here, Brooks. I'm giving you a chance to come clean. The sooner you help me, the sooner I can help you."

Derek continued to ignore the man, looking away in defiance. The silence that followed was thick and unyielding.

The interrogator's patience finally cracked. He stood up abruptly and left the room, his frustration palpable. However, it didn't take long for another individual to replace him—this time, someone Derek was all too familiar with.

The man walked into the room with an air of authority, his presence commanding attention. His eyes scanned Derek from head to toe, clearly displeased with his current predicament. "Lieutenant Brooks," he said.

Derek's eyes widened in surprise, and he stood up instinctively in response, but the chain around his neck yanked him back down to the table. Derek hissed in pain, the metal collar digging deeply into his skin.

The man raised his hand, signaling for Derek to relax. "At ease, soldier." He closed the distance between them and took a seat on the opposite side of the table. From his pocket, he produced a key and flashed it before Derek's eyes. The latter realized it was the same key which could unlock the cuffs that bind him. A silent communication passed between them, and the message was clear: freedom for cooperation.

Derek's eyes flicked to the key, then back to the man. He leaned in, and the man obliged, quickly unlocking the cuffs that had held Derek captive.

"Three hours in that thing doesn't feel comfortable, now does it?" the man remarked.

Derek scoffed, rubbing his raw, red wrists where the cuffs had bitten into his skin. "You tell me," he retorted, his voice laced with bitterness. He looked up at the man before him, the same man who had once saved him from the massacre years ago. "Lieutenant Davis."

Davis chuckled humorlessly, "It's Captain now, actually. They promoted me after… well, you know why."

Derek averted his gaze, knowing what exactly he's implying.

Silence filled the room, a palpable tension lingering in the air. After a moment, Davis broke it. "I just checked in with your friend earlier. The girl."

Derek's attention snapped back to Davis, his eyes widened in shock. "She's alive?!"

Davis nodded, but before he could continue, Derek started asking questions at a rapid pace. "How is she? Is she okay? Where is she? I need to see her." He said, his concern was palpable.

The older man raised a calming hand, "Easy, easy. The doc told me that she'll be fine, but if you want her to stay that way, you'll need to learn to cooperate with us." Davis's eyes narrowed at him, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Derek leaned back into his chair, sighing heavily. Then, a thought struck him, and he mentally berated himself for forgetting about AJ, his whereabouts unknown. "What about the kid. Where is he?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Davis hummed noncommittally, his gaze avoiding Derek's, blatantly ignoring his question. Derek gritted his teeth, his frustration boiling over, but he can't afford to be physical or else he'll lose his chance to find out – or worse, get shot. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to remain calm. "If I tell you what I know, you let me see them."

Davis pursed his lips, considering. "I'll see what I can do," he replied, his words deliberately vague.

Derek clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into his flesh as anger surged through him. He shook his head, unsatisfied with the older man's answer. "I want a guarantee." He demanded, his words were coated with barely conceived anger.

Davis met his gaze with a steely glare. "And I want my answers."

The two stared each other down, locked in a silent battle of wills. Derek weighed his chances. On one hand, discussing the details of what happened the day he left could lead to his execution, torture, or worse. The more he thought about it, the more uncomfortable he became with the idea.

On the other hand, cooperating might be his only chance to see Clementine and AJ again. The last time he saw her, she was bleeding on the ground, and he wasn't even sure if she was conscious. He had no idea what had happened to AJ either and could only speculate.

To hell with the consequences, he thought. He had dragged them into this mess; it was only right that he drag them out too. With a heavy sigh, Derek relented. Slumping back into his seat, he found a small measure of comfort as his mind drifted back to that fateful day.

"I remembered waking up in a clinic…"

=line break=

Derek opened his eyes but all he could see was a blur mess, his senses slowly returning as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. His vision swam with disorientation, the world appearing hazy and indistinct. He felt a tight sensation encircling on top of his head. Instinctively, he reached up to touch the foreign object and despite his hazy mind he could still conclude it was a bandage. Suddenly, he felt a sticky sensation beneath his fingertips and he recoiled in response. He observed his fingers and saw that it was blood. His blood.

A surge of adrenaline surged through him and he attempted to rise from his position, but his efforts were in vain as his body failed him and sent him crashing back to the ground in a disorienting whirl of motion. The world spun above him, as he lay there, a spark of confusion flickered in his mind. 'Floor?' Derek thought to himself, his mind wondering how he got there in the first place.

Derek's vision slowly returned its clarity and he quietly observed his surroundings. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, mingling with the musty odor of neglect. Rows of medical cabinets lined the walls, their once-organized contents now in disarray, with empty prescription bottles scattered haphazardly. It seemed he found himself inside of what appeared to be an abandoned clinic.

How he got there was an enigma, even to himself.

Summoning his strength, Derek used a nearby table as leverage to pull himself upright. His gaze fell upon a small first aid kit, its contents spilled out across the table's surface. He reached the bandages on his head once again, his mind wondering if this was his doing, but stopped short when a sharp pain surged in his head and he hissed in pain.

He ignored the thought for now. With a furrowed brow, he surveyed his surroundings, hoping to find clues for his current predicament. However, the room offered little in the way of answers. The barricaded doors and windows hinted at a desperate attempt to fortify the space against potential threats, but whether these measures were taken before or after his arrival remained uncertain.

A series of rasping coughs echoed from an adjacent room, drawing Derek's attention like a beacon in the darkness. His hand subconsciously went towards his holster but was surprised to feel nothing. He gazed down and realized his service pistol was not with him. He cursed under his breathe but whatever caused that noise was sure enough to be human. The dead don't cough as far as he knew. Summoning his dwindling strength, he steadied himself and made his way toward the source of the sound. As he approached, he noticed a tarnished nameplate affixed to the door, bearing the inscription "DOCTOR'S OFFICE."

With a tentative hand, Derek reached for the doorknob, his heart quickened with anticipation. Slowly, he applied pressure and pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest.

The first thing Derek saw was a figure laying by the wall, facing towards the door. The dim light of the room cast eerie shadows across the figure's face, obscuring his features. Suddenly, the figure moved with quickness which his hazy mind couldn't catch on and Derek's heart pounded in his chest as he stared down the barrel of a pistol, his breath caught in his throat.

"Derek...? Is that you?" the figure spoke his name, his tone mixed with disbelief.

Derek blinked in astonishment, his hazy mind struggling to process what he was seeing. There, slumped against the wall, was his commanding officer, Captain Vasquez. But his eyes widened in horror as they fell upon the knife lodged in the captain's gut.

"Captain!" Derek's voice cracked with alarm as he rushed to the captain's side, his movements fueled by a surge of adrenaline. Despite his own injuries, he pushed aside his pain, his sole focus on rendering aid to his friend and ally. He assessed the severity of the wound, his mind racing with thoughts of how to help.

"Captain, what happened?" he inquired, his voice laced with urgency.

Vasquez regarded him with a hint of bewilderment, his eyes clouded with pain and uncertainty. "They must've hit you pretty hard if you forgot," he remarked, his eyes drifting towards the bandage wrapped around Derek's head. Vasquez grimaced in discomfort as he adjusted himself, his movements strained and limited.

Derek examined the numerous wounds adorning the Captain's body, his mind racing with urgency. If he couldn't stabilize him soon…

"We should get back to base. Get you patched up and-" he began, his mind formulating a plan.

But his suggestion was met with vehement opposition from the captain himself. "NO!" Vasquez's voice thundered with conviction, cutting through the air like a sharp blade.

Derek recoiled slightly at the captain's fierce response, his eyes widening with a mix of confusion and alarm. "What do you mean, sir? If we can't get you help, you'll-"

Vasquez ignored his protests, seizing Derek by the collar and pulling him close with unexpected strength. "We've been set up," he rasped, his voice heavy with resignation. A violent fit of coughing wracked his body, spattering blood upon the floor. "You need to get out of here while you still can," he insisted, his gaze piercing Derek's with a sense grim determination. "They'll kill you if you don't."

The captain's words struck Derek like a bolt of lightning, sending a jolt of fear coursing through his veins. His mind raced with a million questions, but only one question came out.

"But…. by who?" He asked timidly.

Before Vasquez could provide any further explanation, a series of footsteps echoed from outside the clinic, drawing Derek's attention. Instinctively, he moved to investigate, but Vasquez's firm grip on his arm halted him in his tracks.

"Don't," Vasquez rasped, his voice strained with effort as he coughed up blood. "Don't trust anyone." With a trembling hand, he passed his pistol to Derek before succumbing to unconsciousness.

"Captain?" Derek shook him gently, desperation creeping into his voice. "Wake up, Captain! Stay awake!" But his efforts proved futile, as Vasquez remained unresponsive. Panic surged through Derek's veins as he frantically searched the room for anything that could help, his eyes falling upon the scattered remnants of medical supplies littering the floor. He scrambled towards the scattered remains, scrutinizing each item, but none of them were of any use.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Derek cursed under his breath, his mind racing with panic. He can't lose him. Not after everything.

A loud crash coming from the clinic's main door shattered Derek's concentration, sending a jolt of adrenaline through his veins. The unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps followed, accompanied by the gruff voice of an intruder. "They're here somewhere. Find them."

Derek's quick thinking sprang him into action, rushing to the door and slamming it shut before swiftly locking it. However, the noise drew the attention of the intruders. Their heavy footsteps ceased, and Derek knew, if he were in their shoes, he would stack up on the door with the others and prepare for entry. Sensing the impending threat, his instincts guided him to seek for cover. With a quick glance around the room, he spotted an overturned office table and wasted no time in dragging the Captain to safety behind its sturdy frame.

Hunkering down behind the makeshift barricade, Derek's heart raced with anticipation, his senses heightened as he braced himself for whatever may come next. The Captain's warning echoed in Derek's mind as he gripped his pistol tightly, his fingers trembling with adrenaline. He instinctively checked the chamber, ensuring it was loaded and ready for action. With each passing moment, his mouth grew dry, his heart hammering against his ribcage like a relentless drumbeat.

A loud gunshot followed, completely obliterating the doorknob and sending bits of wooden bits everywhere. Derek's senses went into overdrive, his pistol aimed at the ready at the door. The door opened ever so slightly and a small object rolled to the tiled floor. Derek shifted his gaze darted towards the object, and panic surged through him as he recognized the small, improvised grenade lying before him.

"Shit!" Derek cursed under his breath as he instinctively threw himself flat on the ground, shielding Captain Vasquez's body with his own. The explosion reverberated through the room, sending a powerful shockwave rippling through the air.

The force of the blast tore through the surroundings, splintering the table they had sought refuge behind into a hail of wooden shrapnel. The room shook violently, its fixtures and furnishings reduced to twisted wreckage in an instant.

The force of the shockwave sent Derek's senses reeling, his vision was clouded and his movements were sluggish. A piercing, continuous ringing filled his ears, drowning out all other sound. Three shadowy figures materialized in his blurred field of view, their weapons poised and scanning the room with deadly intent.

His training kicked in, prioritizing survival over everything else. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his sense of preservation temporarily overriding the feeling disorientation and pain. He grasped for his pistol only to find it missing, presumably knocked from his hands by the blast. Fumbling blindly, he didn't have to search for long as he felt his fingers close around the familiar grip. With a determined resolve, he raised his weapon, locking onto the nearest figure he could see with unyielding focus. The armed intruder exchanged a last second glance with Derek, his weapon trained right at him.

But he hesitated.

Derek's first shot rang out with deadly accuracy, the bullet finding its mark with precision amidst the swirling dust and debris, hitting the armed figure right between the eyes. The lifeless body crumpled, falling directly on top of Derek.

The other two were quick to react, training their weapons towards the source and opened fire. One had a MP5 submachine gun, and the other used a shotgun. Thankfully, the armored body of the lifeless corpse provided Derek a makeshift shield from the barrage of gunfire.

Bullets whizzed dangerously close to Derek, most of them hitting the lifeless corpse of their own ally, but he pushed through the danger, firing off another shot at the general direction of one of the assailants. The figure flinched, ceasing his fire and retreated out of the room.

Third assailant, the one wielding the submachine gun, heard their weapon clicked empty. They cursed under their breathe and reloaded their weapon. His mouth moved but Derek couldn't hear a single word from them. With steady hands, and unwavering focus, Derek squeezed the trigger, sending a single bullet tearing through the air. The figure staggered backwards, his hands clutching his chest right where the heart is, a look of shock etched across their face before collapsing to the ground.

As the last echoes of gunfire faded, and the dust finally settled down. Derek took a deep breath, taking stock of the situation. He was alive. That's all that mattered. Derek's chest heaved with each ragged breath, the weight of exhaustion bearing down on him. With trembling hands, he pushed the lifeless, bullet-riddled corpse off his body, the effort sent spikes of pain through his muscles. Slowly, he rose to his feet, his movements sluggish and unsteady.

The persistent ringing in his ears refused to fade, a small reminder of the explosion earlier. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he fought to regain his composure amidst the deafening noise. He was thankful however, for the improvised explosive has a lower blast radius than the standard grenades they used back then.

His gaze fell upon the captain's body, lying motionless on the ground. As he reached out to touch him, a cold chill enveloped his hand, sending a shiver down his spine.

Blinking rapidly, Derek struggled to process the flood of emotions coursing through him. His mind raced with a myriad of thoughts and questions, each more bewildering than the last. With trembling fingers, he tentatively pressed two fingers against the captain's neck, searching desperately for a pulse. Yet, despite his efforts, he felt nothing but cold, lifeless flesh beneath his touch.

For a moment, all was silent, save for the ringing in Derek's ears and the sound of his own ragged breathing. He stared at the lifeless body before him, his mind swirling with a tumult of emotions. Guilt, sorrow, anger—each vying for dominance within him.

As the gravity of the situation sank in, Derek felt a profound sense of loss wash over him. The captain, his mentor, his friend, now gone, left to rot in this unforgiving world inside an abandoned clinic in the middle of nowhere.

He couldn't leave him like this, he can't let him turn. With a heavy heart, Derek raised his pistol, his grip tight. A mixture of pain, anger, sorrow etched upon his face as he aimed the weapon at the deceased captain's head, his finger hovering over the trigger.

For a moment, a wave of conflicting emotions urged within him, his consciousness battling one over the other for dominance. The gun wavered and shook but steadied itself at the last minute, a fierce resolve burning bright.

With a steady inhale, Derek steadied his aim, his gaze unwavering as he braced himself for what must be done. In that fleeting moment, amidst the turmoil and despair, he found a fleeting sense of clarity.

And with a single pull of the trigger, the deafening sound of gunfire pierced the air, shattering the silence and marking the final chapter for a friend.

And Derek, was left to grapple with the weight of the situation. Alone, and isolated.

=line break=

"-grabbed whatever I could carry then set off with one of the cars they left behind," Derek concluded, his voice trailing off.

Davis listened intently, absorbing every detail of Derek's story. As soon as Derek finished, Davis nodded, a mix of satisfaction and a hint of sadness crossing his face.

After a brief moment of silence, Davis leaned forward. "Where'd you go next?" he asked, his tone now softer, almost as if he finally understood why Derek left.

Derek blew a puff of warm air from his mouth, leaning back in his chair. "I drifted from place to place over the years, never sticking around much in Washington. I was alone, and too many people were looking for an easy target. I did manage to reach Richmond a few years back, but the place was on the brink of war, so I didn't stay there either. Besides, the place was crawling with walkers. So, I kept moving south until I reached this place called McCaroll Ranch. Stayed there for a few months before moving out and eventually settled on top of an abandoned radio tower. It wasn't too far from the cities, and it had a great view of the surroundings. Didn't have any trouble with walkers ever since."

As Davis continued to listen, his ears perked at the mention of McCaroll Ranch. He leaned closer towards Derek, his interest piqued. "You've been to the ranch? When was this?"

Derek shrugged, trying to recall the exact timeframe. "I don't remember exactly, but I celebrated my seventeenth birthday there. It was the only place with working calendars, to be honest."

Silence followed as Davis went deep in thought, which worried Derek. The weight of the pause grew heavier, and Derek's anxiety mounted. Finally, he gathered the courage to ask a question of his own. "What about you guys? Did… most of us make it?"

Davis looked at Derek and blinked, his eyes haunted and hollow, as if they had witnessed unspeakable horrors. Derek was about to backtrack on his question, regretting having asked it, when suddenly Davis took a deep breath and started speaking. "We lost a lot of people, Brooks, and things…." He trailed off, swallowing a lump in his throat before continuing. "Things aren't the same as they used to be." His tone was broken, each word heavy with sorrow.

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, his concern deepening. "What do you mean?"

Davis slowly rose from his seat, he moved towards the door and glanced back at Derek, gesturing for him to follow. Derek, though hesitant, complied.

As they reached the door, the guard, noticing Derek was uncuffed and moving freely, instinctively reached for his gun. "Stand down!" Davis commanded, his voice resonating with authority in the empty hallway.

The guard's eyes darted between his commanding officer and Derek, his hand hovering over his weapon. After a tense moment, he reluctantly complied, stepping aside and allowing them to pass.

Davis led the way towards a pair of double doors, pushing them open to reveal a sprawling compound bustling with activity. Men and women of all ages moved with purpose and efficiency.

A number of them were engaged in rigorous physical training on a makeshift agility course, navigating through tires, broken-down cars, and improvised barricades. To the east, a basketball court buzzed with energy as men and women competed against one another in a spirited match, their cheers of laughter echoed despite the bustling compound. On the western side, a large circular ring drew a crowd of onlookers, their voices a cacophony of swearing and shouting as they cheered on the combatants within. There were several more buildings of note within the compound but Derek wasn't sure what their function was just by watching at a distance.

Nearby, a battalion of soldiers marched in perfect harmony, their chants echoing with zeal and discipline. However, unlike traditional military personnel, most wore simple civilian clothing—tattered jeans, worn shirts, and makeshift gear.

Derek chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Finally ditched the stuffy uniforms?" he said jokingly.

However, Davis didn't share the sentiment. His face remained emotionless as he spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. "It was different back then, Brooks. People looked up to us. We protected them from the infected and people alike, and we kept them alive. Over here? All they see is a target, can't step one foot in the city without getting shot."

The gravity of Davis's words hit Derek hard, and his mood quickly soured. However, some of the former lieutenant's words piqued Derek's interest.

'Over here?' he thought to himself. Glancing around the base, Derek noticed the stark difference in the environment compared to the last base he was stationed in before he left. The unfamiliar trees and geography were a dead give-away. "Why do I get the feeling we're not in Washington anymore?" he asked out loud.

"That's because we're not," Davis simply replied. "The last remaining armed forces stationed in Washington was overrun with walkers, and their supplies were stolen by other groups. By the time we sent a rescue team there, the bastards were already waiting for them. After a while, they somehow tracked us down and launched a full-scale raid on our main base. We had no choice but to abandon Washington entirely. We kept moving until we reached West Virginia. That's where we are now."

While Derek listened to his story, he glanced toward the sea of unfamiliar faces. None of these people were familiar to him, and as realization slowly dawned on him, his stride slowed to a halt. Davis, noticing Derek was no longer following, turned back, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"How many survived?" Derek asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Davis's expression darkened, his eyes growing distant. He took a deep breath before answering. "Not enough," he said quietly, shaking his head. "Those who survived reintegrated to Delta, the only squad that ever came out in one piece. Since then, the name got stuck ever since."

Derek sighed heavily, nodding somberly as the weight of the news bore heavily on him. He considered asking about the others, the few friends he managed to make back then, but thought better of it. It was probably better not knowing. He should just be happy that at least two of his friends were alive and well. For the most part at least.

The two continued their trek, with Davis taking the lead. The two followed a beaten path towards a medium-sized building constructed from weathered wood. The structure seemed modest compared to the rest of the compound, its exterior bearing the marks of time and use. Davis opened the door and stepped inside, with Derek following close behind.

Inside, the atmosphere was quieter, with only a handful of people wearing lab coats moving about with purpose. Two guards near the entrance noticed their arrival and, just like the guard from earlier, reached instinctively for their weapons as they noticed Derek.

"He's with me," Davis commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The guards hesitated but eventually complied, their eyes never leaving Derek, scrutinizing his every move.

As they walked deeper into the building, Derek couldn't help but voice his concern. "Alright, what's the big deal? Every person I just passed by looked like I could kill them with just one look."

Davis glanced back at Derek, his expression serious. "Don't mind them, they're just cautious." There was a beat, then he continued. "They don't trust you Brooks. Plain and simple. Some are scared; others are, like I said, just cautious. Can you blame them?"

Derek sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I guess not. But it doesn't make it any easier for me."

They passed through several doors before stopping at the second to the last door. Davis turned to Derek, pausing briefly before speaking. "Your friend's still out cold, but she'll be alright." He slowly opened the door, revealing Clementine sound asleep, covered by a clean cotton blanket. Her clothes had been replaced with fresher, cleaner ones, free of dirt and blood.

Derek wasn't sure what to feel at first. Relief? Happiness? Gratefulness? A cascade of rampaging emotions fell upon him, leaving him unsure what to feel. He felt something wet on the corner of his eye, and he hadn't realized that he had been crying silently. He swiftly wiped the tears away, a little embarrassed while in the presence of his lieutenant. Err- Former Lieutenant.

Whether the officer noticed it or not, he didn't comment on it. Fortunately, he didn't stay around for long. "I'll be outside if you need me," he said quietly, slowly leaving the room to give Derek the space he needed.

However, he paused half-way closing the door, almost forgetting something. "Oh and Brooks?"

Derek turned to look at him in attention.

"Welcome back." Davis smiled, a genuine one.

For the first time since Derek came back, he felt welcomed. "Thank you."

The door closed with a click, allowing Derek let his tears fall freely. He was tormented by a swirl of conflicting emotions—happiness, confusion, and fear all mingling together. His inability to keep his feelings in check frustrated him, but he couldn't blame himself for the whirlwind of events that had unfolded in a short period of time.

He put a hand on his face, sighing heavily. He needed to tackle the situation one step at a time. His first order of business should be assessing their current situation, then move on to the next issue. One step at a time.

'Just one step at a time,' he reminded himself, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. He repeated this process until his thoughts became clearer. After a while, he finally recollected himself and could begin to process everything with a clearer mind.

He glanced towards the unconscious Clementine. If he were honest, a part of him had given up hope that she'd survived. When he was locked inside his cell without news or closure, his thoughts had been consumed by revenge, envisioning on how he would burn the entire place down to the ground and make everyone involved pay, whether he knew them or not. But when the news of her survival came, he was ecstatic. He dismissed every single doubt in his mind, clinging to the hope of seeing her again – one last time.

Now, seeing her alive and well, a profound sense of comfort washed over him, knowing she was still breathing.

However, he couldn't afford to relax yet, not until he found AJ. He knew the boy was somewhere around the camp, but he couldn't afford to mess things up if he wanted to see him. Right now, he needed to cooperate.

Sighing, he grabbed the nearest chair and set it beside Clementine. He put a hand on his face, lost in thought. He blamed himself for what had happened; he should have taken another route, ensured nobody followed them. Instead, he had dragged the three of them into this mess.

He would do whatever it takes to get them out of here as soon as possible. The sooner, the better. Something is definitely off about this place, the sheer scale and intensity of the training hinted at something deeper, something significant that had triggered such extensive preparation. Whatever it was, he hoped they could get out of here before getting dragged into it.

His hand found Clementine's, gripping it tightly. He whispered to her, "I'll fix this, I promise."

Her hand twitched, ever so slightly, in response.

AN: This is the last chapter for this arc. Next chapter would be a filler series, which may or may not be plot-relevant. As for when it's going to be uploaded, however, i have no idea. Whenever i feel like it's ready i suppose.

Thank you again for the support you guys give me. Even if there's only a handful of you. Thank you very much for your loyal support :3