The voice was cold and hard, like two stones grinding together.
"What are you doing to my lunch?"
The man who stepped out of the woods looked past the survivors, his gaze fixed on the sika deer. He carried a crossbow over his shoulder; in his other hand, he held a string of squirrels pierced by arrows, blood still dripping from their fur.
He was lean and corded with muscle, his sleeveless leather vest revealing knotted arms. Beneath messy, short brown hair, his eyes were so sharp that most people instinctively looked away.
Daryl Dixon.
Leon watched him, feeling the final piece of the board click into place. The conversation with Rick and the manipulation of Shane as the "knife" had been the setup. This man was the payoff—the true core of the team's future combat strength. He was a blade sharper and far harder to tame than the others.
Daryl ignored the wary looks of the camp and walked straight to the deer. Seeing the walker hunched over the carcass, a flash of pure rage ignited in his blue eyes.
"Motherfucker!"
He kicked the walker's head with a sickening crunch, sending filthy fluids splattering across the grass. He didn't stop there. He kicked the torso over and over, the dull thuds echoing through the clearing. He was venting—not just because his prey was ruined, but because of the primal violation of seeing food tainted in a world of starvation.
The survivors backed away, intimidated by the raw, feral energy radiating from him.
"Those are... those are Daryl's bolts," Andrea whispered.
The camp's heart collectively sank. Daryl. Merle's brother.
Having finished his outburst, Daryl turned. His hawk-like eyes scrutinized every face. He noted the police revolver at Rick's waist and the shotgun in Shane's hand. Finally, his gaze settled on T-Dog, whose face had gone bloodless.
"Where's my brother?" Daryl asked. His voice wasn't loud, but the pressure was undeniable. "Merle. Of the people who went to Atlanta, he's the only one who didn't come back."
The air froze. The morning mist seemed to carry a murderous chill. No one dared to speak. T-Dog began to shake uncontrollably.
Leon watched in silence, waiting for Rick to make a choice. He wanted to see if Rick would hide behind excuses or take the responsibility Leon had prepared him for.
Rick didn't disappoint. He stepped out from the crowd, meeting Daryl's oppressive gaze head-on.
"There was a situation," Rick said, his voice raspy. "Your brother lost control on the roof. He pointed a gun at us. For everyone's safety, I handcuffed him to a pipe."
Daryl's eyes narrowed into slits. "You handcuffed him?"
"Yes," Rick said.
T-Dog, seemingly using the last of his strength, raised a trembling hand. "I... I..." His voice broke. "I lost the key. When I was running, I dropped it down a drain."
It was a spark in a powder keg.
Daryl slammed the string of squirrels into the dirt. "What the fuck did you say?!"
He let out a roar that sent birds scattering from the trees. Without warning, he drew a hunting knife and charged at T-Dog like a lunging leopard.
"No!"
Rick and Shane moved simultaneously. They lunged from both sides, Rick grabbing Daryl's waist while Shane pinned his knife arm. They struggled desperately to hold back the enraged hunter.
"Let go of me! I'm gonna kill him!" Daryl thrashed with astonishing power, dragging both men into a stumble.
The camp descended into chaos. Women screamed; Morales shoved his children behind him.
"Hey! Calm down!" Shane shouted, locking his arm around Daryl's neck. "Listen! Your brother is a piece of work! He almost got us all killed!"
"That's right!" Morales chimed in, finding a sliver of courage. "Rick did the right thing! Leaving a man like that was God's will! He deserves to die!"
Daryl stopped struggling. His bloodshot eyes slowly turned toward Morales. The sheer murderous intent in that look silenced the man instantly.
"You bunch of useless trash..." Daryl hissed. "My brother went to find food for you. He risked his life against those monsters. And because he yelled at you, you left him like a dog to die? And now you say he deserves it?"
He gave a sudden, violent wrench. With a burst of raw strength, he threw Rick and Shane off him at the same time.
Daryl didn't go back for T-Dog. Instead, he snatched his crossbow off the ground.
Click.
The crisp sound of the mechanism being cocked hit the survivors like a physical blow. He leveled the weapon at T-Dog's chest.
"None of you move," Daryl said, his voice dropping to a freezing whisper. "Someone has to pay for my brother's life."
The tension was absolute. Shane and Rick froze, knowing they couldn't close the distance before Daryl pulled the trigger. T-Dog closed his eyes, his face a mask of despair.
Leon moved.
He didn't run. He didn't shout. He simply began walking toward the lethal bolt.
Andrea's breath caught in her throat. "Leon! Don't!"
Daryl's eyes flashed. "Stop right there! One more step and I put a bolt through your head!"
Leon didn't falter. He maintained a calm pace, his expression unreadable, until he was standing directly in front of Daryl. He looked down the length of the bolt gleaming in the morning light.
Then, under the horrified gaze of the camp, he reached out.
He didn't try to snatch the weapon. He simply wrapped his palm around the body of the crossbow.
Daryl's pupils constricted. He tried to jerk the weapon back or pull the trigger, but he found his arm immobilized. That hand—which looked smaller than his own—clamped the crossbow like a steel vise. It was motionless.
"His death does you no good," Leon said. His voice was soft, fueled by a cold, indisputable logic. He looked into Daryl's bloodshot eyes. "Kill him, and you get a second of satisfaction. But you lose a guilt-ridden helper who would do anything for you."
Leon stepped closer. "Kill him, and you become the enemy. You'll be kicked out. You'll be alone in this hellhole until you're torn apart or starve in a corner."
Daryl's breathing was heavy. He glared at Leon, the veins bulging in his arms as he tried to budge the weapon. It was useless. He was feeling the gap between effort and true, overwhelming power.
Leon let go. He turned to Rick and the others.
"We're going back to save him."
The clearing erupted. The survivors looked at him with incredulous horror. A flicker of hope appeared in T-Dog's eyes, while Daryl's face twisted into bewilderment.
"Are you crazy?!"
Shane was the first to shout, his face flushed with disbelief. "Back to Atlanta? That place is a death trap! For that asshole Merle? Are you kidding me?"