[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 772 - Ron Has Lost His Mind

When there are more of them and more guns, that's the only truth that matters in this godforsaken world.

The heavy machine gun on the hillside had its barrel locked onto every single person around the school bus.

Nobody moved.

They all knew exactly what that thing could do. One twitch from their side and they'd be torn apart before they hit the ground.

Simon chewed his gum and walked straight up to Aaron.

"Guns. Hand them over."

He jabbed the barrel of his assault rifle into Aaron's chest, eyes full of contempt.

"Don't make me take them myself. That would be rude." He tilted his head. "We should learn to respect each other. Don't you think?"

Aaron's jaw was locked so tight the muscles in his cheeks were jumping.

He looked at the wall of gun barrels surrounding him. Then he looked back at the people behind him.

He knew. One word of refusal and these lunatics would open fire without a second thought, turn every single person here into a sieve.

Aaron drew a slow breath, unslung the rifle from his back, and dropped it on the ground.

Simon let out a cold snicker, kicked the gun back to one of his men, and walked over to Jesus.

"Long hair. You're carrying quite a collection."

He reached for the knife at Jesus's waist.

Jesus's eyes went cold. His wrist shifted, pure instinct, a fraction of a movement.

Click-click-click.

A dozen guns around him racked their slides in unison.

"Go ahead," Simon said, grinning wide enough to show his yellowed teeth. "Let's see if you're faster than a bullet."

Jesus closed his eyes.

Then he opened his hands.

He let Simon pull away his shotgun, his handgun, and the short knife he never went anywhere without.

Within minutes, every weapon the survivors had was gone.

The Saviors hit the crowd like bandits, shoving, grabbing, searching with rough hands. They stripped out the last spare magazines, the knives, and even a few flasks of clean drinking water.

Negan stood a short distance away, watching it all with quiet satisfaction.

He let his gaze settle on Ron. Curious how far this kid was going to take it, now that he'd switched sides. If Ron showed enough steel, Negan wouldn't mind handing him this whole group to manage.

Ron stood in front of Deanna, Lucille gripped in both hands.

The barbed wire was maybe 3 centimeters from her forehead.

One swing. That was all it would take.

Deanna didn't flinch.

She closed her eyes and waited.

The pain never came.

Ron's arm had stopped in midair.

He was trembling, not from fear. From something that didn't have a clean name. A rush of electricity, the pure high of holding a life in his hands, of being the one who decided.

He stared at her pale, empty face, and a flash cut through his mind: his father's head snapping back, one shot, gone before he could say a single word.

Just club her to death right here?

Too fast.

Too easy.

Dad didn't even get to scream.

Why should you get to die clean?

"Let you off that easy?" Ron's voice dropped low, quiet, and somehow worse for it. "That would be far too merciful."

He slowly lowered the bat.

Then he turned around, his gaze sweeping past Deanna, sliding back and forth across the disarmed survivors behind her.

It didn't take long.

Reg.

Deanna's husband. White-haired, soft-faced, the kind of man who always had a gentle smile ready, an architect who still looked like he believed the world could be reasoned with.

Ron walked toward him.

Reg's face went the color of ash.

"Ron..."

He tried to keep his voice steady. Tried to reach the boy underneath whatever this was.

"Son. Just calm down, "

Ron didn't let him finish.

He shot out one hand and seized Reg by the collar.

Then he yanked.

Reg was old, and his legs had already turned to water from the Runners earlier. The yank sent him straight off his feet. He hit the ground hard.

"Come on, Uncle Reg." Ron's smile had nothing in it.

He gripped the collar and dragged him. Like hauling a dead dog. Hauled him all the way out of the crowd, across the asphalt, while Reg's shirt shredded against the rough surface and bloody gashes opened across his arms and back.

Reg groaned through clenched teeth, both hands scrabbling at Ron's grip and couldn't break it. The madness in Ron had lit something up, and he was stronger than he should have been.

"Reg!"

Deanna's eyes flew wide. She lunged forward.

Ron spun and shoved Lucille in her face, and she stumbled back.

Aaron had gone red-eyed. He couldn't take it anymore. He roared and charged.

"Let him go! You lunatic!"

He hadn't taken two steps.

BANG!

A Savior swung the stock of his rifle and put everything he had into the side of Aaron's face.

Aaron screamed and went down hard. Half his face swelled up before he'd even stopped moving. The sound of his cheekbone cracking was clearly audible. Blood poured down from the corner of his mouth and pooled in the gravel.

Click-click-click.

Three black muzzles pressed against his skull.

"Stay the hell down, or are you stupid?"

Simon walked over and planted his boot on Aaron's back. Ground his weight in, slow and deliberate.

"Move again and I'll cut your head off and kick it down the road."

Every survivor who'd been about to step forward froze.

None of them moved.

They couldn't.

They could only watch as Reg got dragged out into the open and thrown down in front of Deanna.

Reg curled up on the ground, clutching his bleeding arm, without the strength left to stand.

Deanna broke.

Thud.

Her knees hit the rubble-strewn asphalt, and she didn't seem to feel it.

Tears were already running down her face.

"Ron." Her voice was barely a voice. "I'm begging you."

She had never been this small. This stripped bare.

"Whatever happened, I pulled the trigger. I killed him. It was all my fault." She raised a hand and pointed at her own head. "Take it out on me. Beat me to death with that bat. I won't move. I swear I won't move." Her voice cracked. "Please. Spare Reg. He didn't do anything."

Ron stood over her with Lucille hanging from one hand.

He looked down at the woman kneeling at his feet and felt something he had no word for.

Back in the community, he'd had to look up at her. Follow her rules. Exist inside the order she'd built and pretend to be grateful.

Now she was on her knees in front of him, weeping like a dog.

This was what power tasted like.

Behind him, Negan watched with a slow nod.

He loved this part. Watching the so-called civilized ones tear their own masks off when violence was the only language left.

Ron drew a breath.

He looked at Deanna's face and let a smile spread across his own. His tone shifted, went almost gentle, almost warm, like he was catching up with an old neighbor over the fence.

"Deanna. Hey. What are you crying for?"

He even bent forward slightly.

"We're neighbors. We've lived together so long." A small shrug. "Everything can be worked out."

Deanna's whole body shuddered.

Something flickered in her eyes. A desperate, terrible hope.

"Yes." She nodded fast, words tumbling out before he could take it back. "Yes, everything can be worked out. Ron, whatever you want — anything, I'll give it to you. Just don't hurt Reg, please, "

The smile disappeared.

His face curdled.

He snapped upright.

"Not this."

She stared at him. Her mind had gone completely blank.

"I want you to watch him die." His eyes bored into hers and didn't let go. "I want you to feel exactly what it's like. To lose the person you love most."

Ron raised Lucille high.

Thud.

Another sound from behind him, heavy, soft, like something giving way.

Jessie had pushed through the crowd and dropped to her knees right next to him.

Her face was wet and filthy, streaked with dirt and tears. She looked like she'd already fallen apart from the inside and the outside was just catching up.

"Ron." Her voice came out wrecked. "Baby, please."

She wrapped both arms around his leg and held on.

"Look at yourself. Look at what you've become." She was sobbing hard, barely getting the words out. "That's Uncle Reg. He taught you how to draw. You can't do this. You can't."

She couldn't process it. The boy she had carried and raised and loved, standing here with a barbed-wire bat and a stranger's eyes.

Ron looked down at her.

Clinging to his leg. Shaking. Crying his name.

His expression didn't change.

No softening. Nothing.

Just a cold, flat emptiness.

"Let go."

Jessie shook her head over and over.

"No. No, I won't. You can't kill someone — it will destroy you—"

"Let go."

Ron raised his leg and kicked her in the shoulder with everything he had.

Jessie flew backward. She hit the ground and her forehead caught the edge of the curb, and a thin red line opened up across her skin.

Ron didn't look at her.

He raised Lucille, turned back, and found Reg's face, wide-eyed, white, terrified, and locked on.

➤ Next: Immediate Surrender