[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 784 - Gregory's Total Confusion

The first floor of the Sanctuary. Main conference room.

A few grim-faced men sat around a long rectangular table.

The most striking among them was Ezekiel, dreadlocks, long coat, a presence that filled the room even when he was still.

The leader of the Kingdom.

Everyone called him King.

His hands were folded on the table, thumbs rubbing against each other in slow, restless circles.

He was rattled today.

By the Saviors' rules, today was tribute day. The Kingdom had tightened every belt, cut every corner, scraped together exactly half their supplies to meet the quota.

Then, this morning, Gavin had shown up — the Saviors' point man for the Kingdom's territory, and hadn't said a single word about the tribute. He'd just walked Ezekiel straight to the Sanctuary.

That was wrong. That was deeply, dangerously wrong.

In Negan's system, when no supplies were collected, it usually meant heads were being taken instead.

Had he been summoned here to be dealt with?

Ezekiel lifted his gaze to the corner of the room, where Gavin leaned against the wall with both hands in his pockets.

Among all the Saviors' lieutenants, Gavin was a complete outlier.

He wasn't bloodthirsty like Simon. He didn't take pleasure in tormenting survivors the way the others did. His approach to the Kingdom had always been measured, you could even call him reasonable. He'd warned his men, explicitly, not to pick fights in the Kingdom, not to start trouble.

When one of his people shot someone dead over something trivial, Gavin would feel genuinely angry about it. Genuinely pained.

He'd stand over the body and sigh. This didn't have to happen.

He despised needless killing. And yet he still wore the Saviors' jacket, carried the gun, and showed up on schedule to collect half of everything the Kingdom needed to survive.

A man of conscience who lacked the spine to act on it.

He knew Negan's rules were evil. He simply didn't have the courage to resist them. So he traded obedience for a measure of safety, and told himself that acting with restraint inside an evil system was the best he could do.

It wasn't. He was still a cog in the machine, an indispensable one. And in some ways, that made him more pitiable than someone who was purely wicked.

Ezekiel breathed in slowly, rose from his chair, and walked over.

"Gavin."

He kept his voice low. His tone was probing.

"What exactly is going on today?"

Gavin turned and looked at him.

"The tribute is ready," Ezekiel said, holding Gavin's eyes. "Every last piece of it. Is Negan looking to cause trouble again?"

It caught him off guard.

That face of Gavin's, the one that always wore exhaustion like a second skin, was today, for the first time in Ezekiel's memory, free of its usual businesslike severity. And buried somewhere in the depths of his eyes was something Ezekiel hadn't expected to find there.

Relief.

Ezekiel caught it immediately.

Gavin glanced at the heavy iron door of the conference room. Then he leaned in close.

"Keep your tribute, Ezekiel. Feed it to your own people."

Ezekiel went still.

"What do you mean?" He stiffened.

Gavin didn't explain. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"You'll understand in a moment."

He gave Ezekiel's arm a firm pat.

"I'm a Saviors man. There's only so much I can say." A beat. "But trust me — this might just be the best thing that's ever happened to people like you."

Ezekiel's mind was a mess.

Good news?

In this godforsaken Sanctuary, what good news could there possibly be?

Then the heavy iron door swung open from outside.

Every eye in the room snapped toward it.

Negan walked in first. Red scarf around his neck, same as always. But his hands were empty, no baseball bat.

Simon followed right behind, loyal as a shadow.

And slightly ahead of them both, a step in front, walked a young man in a black coat. A stranger. No one in the room recognized him.

The temperature in the conference room dropped in an instant.

Ezekiel retreated to his seat, expression locked down tight.

At the far end of the table, though, a scrawny old man shot up from his chair like a spring had gone off under him.

Gregory.

Current leader of the Hilltop.

Spineless. Boneless. A man who had survived the apocalypse by informing on his own people and crawling to whoever held power, a world-class opportunist of the highest order.

The moment he saw Negan and Simon walk through that door, Gregory's wrinkled face rearranged itself into the most aggressively servile smile imaginable.

A lapdog catching sight of its master.

"Oh! Boss Negan! Mr. Simon!"

"We meet again!"

He threw his arms wide, those skinny legs already carrying him forward at a near-trot.

He was moving too fast.

All he could think about was securing the best groveling position up front. He wasn't watching where he was going at all.

THUD!

Gregory's shoulder slammed directly into Leon, who was walking ahead of the group.

It was like hitting a load-bearing wall.

The impact bounced back into Gregory with full force. He yelped, stumbled backward two steps, and nearly sat down hard on the floor.

Leon didn't move. Didn't sway. Stood exactly where he was, completely unmoved, as though Gregory had simply ceased to matter.

Gregory rubbed his throbbing shoulder, and irritation sparked hot in his chest.

Who the hell is this punk?

Can't you see I'm greeting Boss Negan? You're blocking my way!

He silently cursed the Saviors soldier for having no situational awareness whatsoever. But Gregory was an old fox, and he clocked how close this young man was walking with Negan and Simon. Newly promoted senior officer, probably. Some new face climbing the ranks.

In a place like this, anyone wearing the Saviors' colors, even a janitor, was someone Gregory could not afford to cross. He knew what he was, deep down. He was nominally a leader. In practice, he ranked lower than a pet dog.

Gregory adjusted his expression quickly.

He patted his aching shoulder, pretending nothing had happened, and turned a perfunctory smile toward Leon.

"Oh, sorry about that." Offhand. Dismissive.

Then, to demonstrate his stature as the Hilltop's leader, and his easy familiarity with the Saviors, Gregory reached out that bony hand of his and gave Leon a light pat on the shoulder. Twice.

"Didn't hurt you, did I, buddy? Watch where you're walking next time."

He didn't look at Leon again after that.

He spun around, like a performer executing a flawless quick-change, and aimed that unctuous face directly at Simon and Negan.

"Mr. Simon! Always such a pleasure!"

He wrung his hands together, back bending toward ninety degrees.

"I heard you were looking for us? Don't worry — the Hilltop is absolutely loyal to the Saviors. Whatever you need, just say the word. We'll get it done."

Gregory rattled on, fully expecting a word of praise in return.

He didn't notice.

Right in front of him, Simon had gone completely rigid.

Like he'd touched a live wire.

Those eyes of Simon's, which always carried that cold, predatory gleam, were now wide open, wider than seemed anatomically possible, the eyeballs practically vibrating in their sockets.

He was staring. Frozen. At the hand Gregory had just used to pat Leon's shoulder.

Cold sweat erupted from Simon's forehead and streamed down his face in rivulets.

He lurched a full step back without thinking, both hands shooting up in front of his chest, a posture of absolute, desperate self-preservation.

He looked like a man who had just watched Death raise one finger and point it straight at him.

Negan was worse.

Negan felt his heart forget how to beat.

His gaze drifted slowly, slowly, from Gregory's face down to Leon's shoulder.

Oh, fuck.

A silent howl of pure despair tore through the inside of his skull.

Are you out of your goddamn mind?!

Do you have any idea who that is?!

That is the living ancestor. THAT'S who that is.

I spent the entire day playing the lowest subordinate imaginable. Barely breathing. I handed over the woman I wanted without a word of complaint, HANDED HER OVER, just to keep my life.

And you, you ancient half-dead bastard, you walked up and PATTED HIM ON THE SHOULDER?

You called him "buddy"?

And told him to watch where he's walking?

If you want to die, don't you DARE drag this entire Sanctuary down with you!

Negan's legs started shaking. He couldn't stop them.

He opened his mouth, he wanted to shout Gregory down, wanted to fling himself away from this situation as fast as humanly possible.

But there was no move that fixed this. Nothing he could say or do would cleanly undo what had just happened.

His legs buckled.

His knees bent without permission.

With a heavy, resonant THUD, Negan dropped straight to the floor in a full kneel.

And Gregory stood there, completely bewildered.

Why... why is Negan kneeling at me?

➤ Next: The Clown