"Housekeeping."
Oberson's voice dripped with perverse amusement as he watched the color drain from every face in the room. Eyes widened in dawning horror, postures stiffening with instant regret.
"O-Oberson..." Brie's voice cracked as she stumbled back, her panicked gaze snapping to Lee slouched against the wall. "You lied! You're one of them!"
Oberson's chuckle rumbled like distant thunder as he advanced, his two enforcers moving in sync, weapons rising in perfect unison. "Now now, let's not blame poor Lee here. This?" He gestured broadly with a predator's smile. "This is your own doing. Your greed made this bed."
Vernon's hands shook, but he stepped forward anyway, his voice carrying months of suppressed fury. "Our greed? You built an empire on butchering anyone who couldn't keep up - man, woman, or child. Don't talk to us about greed when you've turned survival into slaughter."
Lee's face darkened as Vernon's words echoed in his skull - child. His gaze cut toward the elevator doors, desperately searching for any sign of Kenny and Mark.
Oberson advanced on Vernon, his massive frame blotting out the light as he loomed over the older man. "You still don't get it, do you, old man?" His voice dripped with condescension. "The world's not just gone to shit - it's rotting. And I'm the one burning out the infection." He shot a sideways glance at Lee, still propped against the wall. "Survival's simple math. You pull your weight or you become dead weight." His lips curled into a cold smile. "And we both know what happens to dead weight."
Vernon's hands shook violently, yet when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of a judge delivering a sentence. "I spent nights elbow-deep in blood and bile trying to save your people. Whenever there was sick in Crawford, I worked until my hands cracked and bled." His breath came in ragged bursts, each word dripping with months of bottled fury. "Meanwhile, you held court in your 'office' - sipping liquor and feasting with your so-called 'Council'."
A muscle twitched in his jaw as he stepped forward, despite the guns trained on him. "And when we dared ask for medicine? For basic decency?" His voice dropped to a whisper that cut deeper than any shout. "You mowed us down like weeds. My patients. My friends. All of them killed by yo-"
The wrench struck with a nauseating crunch. Vernon folded like wet cardboard, a strangled whimper escaping his lips as he hit the floor. The others surged forward instinctively, only to freeze as rifle bolts clattered in unison.
Oberson crouched beside Vernon's twitching form, tilting his head at the labored wheezing. "Yet here you are," he mused, "after stealing half my shit." His boot pressed down on Vernon's trembling hand. "Leeches, all of you. The elderly. The sick. Those useless kids." Each word landed like another blow, the mask slipping. "Draining resources."
Lee's jaw clenched until his teeth ached. Walls kept out walkers, but what good were they when the real monster held the keys? The elderly carried wisdom—the children, tomorrow's promise. Oberson hadn't built a community; he'd curated livestock. And like any arrogant farmer, he'd butcher anything too weak to pull the plow.
Oberson raised the wrench, letting them all see Vernon's blood glistening on its surface. "Back in Crawford," he mused, tracing a finger along the crimson streaks, "we had a simple rule for thieves, I'm sure you still remember." His eyes swept across their horrified faces. "A bullet to the skull. But you?" He chuckled darkly. "You're not worth it."
Boyd stumbled forward, hands trembling in surrender. "Please—just take the supplies! We'll disappear! You'll never—"
Oberson cut him off with a derisive snort. "Spare me the groveling." He hefted the wrench, advancing on Vernon's crumpled form. The old man clutched his ribs, each breath a wet, ragged thing.
The first blow landed with a nauseating crack—Vernon's knee buckling at an unnatural angle. His scream tore through the room, raw and animal.
Boyd recoiled, his face a mask of primal terror. This wasn't discipline. This wasn't justice. Each sickening thud of metal on flesh stripped away another layer of Oberson's humanity, revealing something monstrous beneath.
Vernon's cries grew weaker, but the wrench kept falling.
"Examples must be... memorable." Oberson's features twisted into something feral as he loomed over the bloody wreck of a man beneath him. "Bad dogs need to be punished properly."
Lee's hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. "Enough." The word came out like the safety clicking off a gun. "You promised quick." Every muscle trembled with the effort of not putting a bullet between Oberson's eyes right then.
For a heartbeat, Oberson's glare could have flayed skin. Then - a sheepish smile bloomed beneath the blood spatter. "Ah, how unsightly of me." The pistol appeared in his hand like a magic trick, barrel kissing Vernon's temple.
Click.
Oberson blinked at the jammed weapon, then chuckled - the sound of bones breaking underfoot. "Sorry, Lee. Seems fate wants this lesson to... linger." The wrench rose again, glistening red in the dim light.
Bang!
The gunshot echoed like a thunderclap. Both armed men whirled toward Lee, his smoking pistol still leveled at Vernon's now-lifeless form.
Oberson's face contorted—a mask of pure, seething fury. His fingers twitched toward his own weapon, the veins in his neck standing out like cables. That wasn't mercy. That was theft. Lee had stolen his kill. His fun.
[Vernon Coleman Killed. Reward: Medicine (Lv. 1)]
A flood of knowledge crashed into Lee's mind—dosages, suture techniques, the anatomy of the body—but he shoved it aside. His gaze never left Oberson's, a silent dare burning between them.
"Point made," Lee said coldly, holstering his pistol but leaving his hand resting on the grip. "No need to drag it out."
The air hummed with tension. Oberson's jaw worked silently, calculating whether to turn this into a bloodbath. Behind him, his men shifted nervously, fingers hovering near triggers.
"No," Oberson hissed, the word dripping with venom as he turned fully toward Lee. His face burned crimson, every muscle taut with barely contained fury. "My point clearly hasn't been made." He took a deliberate step forward, his guards' rifles never wavering from their target. "I'd hoped you'd understand what I'm doing here... but you're still blind."
Lee didn't flinch as Oberson closed the distance, stopping just a foot away. "Enlighten me," he said, voice laced with open contempt. "What so fucking important that I'm missing?"
Oberson's lips peeled back in a snarl. "That I decide who lives." Another step. "Who dies." His breath hot against Lee's face. "That power belongs to me."
Lee's gaze flicked to the survivors - their horrified eyes darting between him and Vernon's corpse. When he spoke again, his voice cut like a scalpel: "Finally honest. This was never about supplies." A pause. "Just your sick need to play god."
Oberson's chuckle was low, dripping with dark amusement. "God?" He shook his head, grinning like a wolf baring its teeth. "No. I'm just the only one with the guts to make the hard calls. I keep people fed. Safe. Healthy. And yet somehow, I'm the villain because I enjoy a few... privileges for that service?" His laugh was sharp, mocking, as he holstered the wrench and drew his pistol in one smooth motion.
Lee's focus snapped to the weapon instantly, muscles coiling.
"I truly hoped it wouldn't come to this," Oberson mused, almost wistful, as he raised the barrel toward Lee's forehead. "I meant what I said—I like you. You'd have made an excellent hound."
Bang!
A heavy sound echoed from the elevator. Oberson's eyes flicked toward the sound—
—And Lee moved.
He seized Oberson's wrist, wrenching the pistol skyward as a deafening BANG tore through the room. A brutal kick to the knee sent Oberson buckling. Lee pivoted, twisting the gun from his grip in one vicious motion before locking an arm around his throat—yanking him backward. The cold kiss of Lee's own pistol pressed against Oberson's temple.
"Drop your guns," Lee snarled, pressing his pistol harder against Oberson's temple, "or I decorate these walls with his sick fucking brains." The guards fingers inched towards the triggers.
However, the elevator doorswere pulled open with a metallic groan. Two blood-smeared figures emerged, weapons already raised and trained on the guards.
Kenny stepped forward, his rifle locked on the nearest threat. "Damn, Lee. Cut it a little close, didn't we?" His voice was all grim amusement, though his finger never left the trigger.
Mark followed, his expression strained. "This ain't what you pitched back there, Kenny." He scanned the tense standoff, jaw tightening. "Someone wanna tell me what the hell we're walking into?"
Before Lee could respond, Oberson gurgled out a wet chuckle. "Boys...just...kill these bast—"
CRACK. Lee pistol-whipped him across the jaw, sending a spray of blood across the floor. Oberson's head snapped back, but his grin remained - crimson and crazed.
Lee kept his weapon steady as he addressed the hesitant guards. "Here's how this plays out. The deal stands. You get us that boat..." He jerked Oberson's head back by the hair. "...and we return him to to you. Does that sound good?"
The two guards exchanged uneasy glances, their weapons wavering. After a tense silence, the taller one swallowed hard. "The Council will have our heads if he dies," he muttered, fingers flexing on his rifle stock.
His partner hesitated, then gave a terse nod. "Fine. Terms accepted."
"Stupid f—" Oberson's snarl turned into a choked gasp as Lee tightened his chokehold, cutting off both air and insults.
"Mark," Lee barked, never taking his eyes off the guards, "get the walkie from my pack."
Mark's fingers worked quickly, unzipping the pack and pulling out a sun-bleached yellow walkie. The transmit button was permanently depressed under layers of cracked duct tape - ensuring every word spoken in this room had been broadcast. With a smooth underhand toss, he sent it arcing toward the guards.
The lead guard fumbled the catch, the radio clattering against his chest before he secured it. His face darkened as realization set in.
"This whole damn time—?" one guard spat, eyes darting to the cheerful sticker-covered walkie clipped to Kenny's belt - the matching unit they'd been listening through. The cartoon smiley face on its side seemed to mock them.
"You'll get your call," Lee said, backing toward the elevator with his human shield. Kenny and Mark moved in perfect sync, their weapons never straying from the guards as they retreated. "Try anything before then, and we'll return Oberson piece by piece."
Lee hesitated, then turned to the remaining survivors. "Take what you can and go," he said, voice low but urgent. The group stared back—eyes burning with betrayal, lips curled in disgust. They all knew his hands weren't clean in Vernon's death. "You've got sixty seconds before we're gone. After that..." He didn't need to finish. The implication hung heavy: the guards would have free rein.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, as one, they glanced at Vernon's lifeless form—his blood still pooling on the concrete—and made their choice. Supplies were snatched up in frantic silence, backpacks stuffed with whatever they could carry. The guards shifted uneasily but held their ground; Lee only needed one alive to deliver his message.
As the group fled into the sewer's gloom, Brie whirled around. Her face was a mask of pure loathing. "This blood is on your hands," she spat, jabbing a finger at Vernon's corpse. "Remember that when you try to sleep tonight."
Lee remained silent, backing into the elevator with his pistol trained on Oberson until the metal doors sealed away the guards' seething glares. The moment they clicked shut, the tension in the small space thickened.
"Time to move," Mark said, wiping sweat from his brow. "You've got no idea how many walkers we plowed through to get here." The memory of rotting bodies around them made his shoulder muscles twitch.
Kenny scoffed, peeling the sticker-caked walkie from his belt. "Hell, they barely glanced at us once we were painted red." He tossed it to Lee. "Smart play with the duct-taped one. Would've missed our cue otherwise."
Lee caught it one-handed, his other still pressing steel between Oberson's shoulder blades. "We're not safe till we're back behind walls." His eyes flicked to the rusted maintenance ladder. "Mark, you're on point. Then our guest here." He jabbed the barrel harder, eliciting a chuckle from Oberson that died when Lee cocked the hammer.
The climb through the pitch-black shaft was agony - every scuff of boots, every creak of metal threatening to give them away. When they finally spilled onto the hospital roof, the afternoon air tasted like freedom.
Now, they had to focus. The plan was straightforward—haul Oberson back, let Crawford stew in their own panic, then force the exchange. Simple in theory.
But Lee knew better. No, this wouldn't be easy. Nothing ever was.