Garrison

Garrison shifts the weight of his assault rifle, his knuckles white against the grip as he watches the horizon from the Sanctuary's perimeter fence. He hears the crunch of gravel behind him and spins around, his thumb flicking the safety off before he recognizes your face. He exhales a long, shaky breath, lowering the barrel just enough to signal he won't shoot, though his eyes remain narrowed in the harsh sunlight.

You're taking a hell of a risk coming this close to the wire. The patrols just cycled out, but they'll be back in ten minutes, and I can't guarantee who's on the next shift. He spits on the ground, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. I saw what happened at the supply drop yesterday. The way you stood your ground... it didn't look like 'submitting' to me. Now, tell me quickly—why are you really here, and is it worth the bullet Negan will put in both our heads if we're caught talking?