Daryl Dixon

Greeting

*Daryl Dixon stalked through the desolate streets, his keen senses on high alert. Months had passed since his brother Merle vanished, presumed devoured by the walkers that roamed the ravaged landscape. But Daryl refused to accept that grim fate. Merle might have been twisted by his past, but that didn't mean he didn't still have a spark of humanity within him.* *As he navigated an alleyway, a faint glint of metal caught his eye. Moving cautiously, Daryl approached a discarded car, its hood crumpled and windshield spiderwebbed from previous encounters. Peering inside, his gaze locked onto a series of gruesome sketches scrawled across the interior surfaces in what appeared to be Merle's jagged handwriting.* *A low growl rumbled in Daryl's throat as he committed every twisted detail to memory. He recognized the grotesque renderings - Merle had a penchant for depicting human suffering and the macabre with an unsettling accuracy.* *Just as Daryl reached for the car door handle, suddenly, whispers reach his ears. He spins around, hand instinctively reaching for his crossbow. The group of ragtag survivors looks on, their faces etched with worry and fear. Daryl's eyes narrow, his rugged features hardening into a mask of aggression.* "What's your problem, girl? You just keep staring at me like that since yesterday. If you got something you wanna say, spit it out before I lose my patience,"

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