The cold room beneath Woodbury's medical wing was sterile and clinical, but it did nothing to cool the heat that radiated off Shane Walsh as he stood with arms crossed in the doorway. The low fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, illuminating the rows of lab equipment and paperwork scattered across a cluttered steel desk. The scent of antiseptic mixed with something sharper—metallic and wrong, like dried blood barely scrubbed clean.
Shane's eyes locked onto Milton, who hovered nervously behind the desk. The scientist's white coat was wrinkled and stained with sweat. His thinning hair was matted against his temple, and his glasses hung precariously at the tip of his nose as he shuffled through notes with trembling fingers. When he finally noticed Shane, he jumped, startled, knocking a tray of test tubes that clinked against one another like fragile bones.
The tension was palpable.
"Close the door," Shane said, his voice low, steady, and cold.
Milton hesitated for a split second too long.
Shane's eyes narrowed. "Now."
Swallowing hard, Milton reached behind him and pushed the heavy door shut with a loud metallic thud. The sound echoed in the silence like the tolling of a bell.
Shane stepped forward slowly, his boots heavy against the floor, the sound deliberate and sharp. His shadow stretched long behind him as he moved. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his cheeks bulged, and his hands curled into fists at his sides.
"You've been pokin' around with Murphy's blood," Shane began, his tone accusatory and harsh. "Don't lie to me. I already know."
Milton blinked rapidly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He looked like a deer caught in a trap. "It's… it's not what you think," he stammered.
Shane was in front of him in a heartbeat, closing the distance, his face inches from Milton's. His breath was hot with rage, his dark eyes glinting like storm clouds ready to burst.
"Then make me think different."
Milton backed up slightly, bumping into the desk. His hands clutched his notes like a shield.
"The Governor—he authorized the experiments. It was before everything at the arena,Milton's hands trembled. He removed his glasses to wipe them, stalling, before finally meeting Shane's glare.
"The Governor… he tasked me with studying walker behavior. Especially the ones that acted strange. Smarter. More deliberate."
Shane stood in the dimly lit lab, the stench of antiseptic and rot clinging to the air like a ghost. The overhead light flickered faintly, casting uneven shadows across the cluttered room. Test tubes, syringes, half-filled vials of viscous fluid—they all sat in chaotic clusters on the metal table between him and Milton.
Milton looked nervous, his thin fingers trembling as he adjusted his glasses. He was sweating, the collar of his shirt dark with moisture. His eyes darted everywhere but at Shane.
"Why," Shane said coldly, his voice sharp as broken glass, "did the Governor want this?"
Milton flinched. The tone had been low, but it carried weight—like a coil ready to spring.
"I… I already told you," Milton began, wringing his hands. "He wanted me to study walker behavior. To understand if they could retain memories, responses. If they… changed."
Shane's eyes narrowed. He took a step forward, the heel of his boot crunching against a shattered glass beaker on the floor. "Don't give me that vague shit. I want the real reason. The truth. What was he hopin' to get outta this? What the hell was the point?"
Milton swallowed, visibly shrinking back under Shane's intensity. His voice dropped, quieter now, almost reluctant. "It started with her. Penny. His daughter."
Shane's jaw tensed. He didn't speak, but his eyes told Milton to keep going.
"The Governor couldn't let her go," Milton said, his voice laced with pity and fear. "She turned, but he… he kept her. Chained. Hidden. He thought maybe, if he understood the walkers… he could bring her back. Not just physically. Mentally."
Milton paused, and the words seemed to hang heavy in the air.
Shane felt a chill crawl up his spine. His face remained unreadable, but inside, he was boiling.
"All this," Shane said slowly, stepping closer, his voice thick with disgust, "was to make a pet outta his dead daughter?"
Milton blinked. "Yes. His daughter. After she turned, he couldn't let go. He thought… maybe if I studied them long enough, I could find a way to bring her back."
Shane's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. "Were you the reason why those freak walkers showed up during the gladiator games? That your idea too?"
Milton shook his head quickly. "No! Not mine. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. But… there's something you need to know."
Shane stepped closer now, his voice like a blade. "Then spit it out."
Milton looked like he was trying to disappear into his lab coat.
"It was Murphy's blood. Every single enhanced walker we studied—that had trace amounts of his blood in them. It... did something to them. Changed them. They became more coordinated. They moved with purpose."
Shane felt like the floor had dropped out beneath him. He took a step back, the implications of Milton's words crashing over him like a tidal wave.
"You're tellin' me… the Governor was juicin' up the dead with Murphy's blood? And you helped?"
Milton's voice cracked. "I didn't know at first. I swear. But once I realized it… it was too late. He was obsessed. He thought Murphy's blood was a cure, but it—Shane, it wasn't a cure. It was evolution. And worse…"
Milton glanced nervously out the window, lowering his voice.
"The walkers… they're drawn to him. To Murphy. Not just attracted—connected. It's like they know him."
Shane's face twisted with fury. His heart pounded in his chest like war drums. He turned sharply and stormed out of the lab, nearly tearing the door off its hinges.
Shane paced like a caged animal, his boots grinding into the dirt outside Milton's lab. His jaw worked overtime, grinding, clenching—he could still hear Milton's voice echoing in his head.
"Murphy's blood... it draws them."
Shane wanted to punch a wall.
He had stormed out of the lab, chest heaving, hands twitching with restrained fury. His heart beat like war drums in his ears. He didn't waste time—he had to tell someone. Had to warn them. This wasn't just a theory anymore. This was real. This was a threat.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Shane took a step back, his face tightening like a rope being pulled taut. His fists clenched at his sides. Every muscle in his body screamed to hit something. Someone. Anything.
"And nobody thought to tell us?" he said through gritted teeth, voice trembling with suppressed rage. "You knew this? You knew this, and you let us walk around with him?"
"I didn't—" Milton started, but Shane cut him off.
"You let him around Carl!" Shane's voice rose like a storm. "You let him sit with the kids, eat our food, sleep in Woodbury while he was basically bait for whatever monsters the Governor cooked up!"
Shane advanced again, and Milton stumbled into the desk behind him. Vials clinked and nearly fell to the floor.
Shane's chest was heaving, his nostrils flared. But he didn't strike. Not yet.
"You should've burned every damn note you took," Shane muttered. "All of it. You should've told us the second you knew."
Milton looked like he might cry, his hands shaking. "I didn't know what else to do. I was scared. The Governor threatened to—he said if I didn't help—"
Shane shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. "You think I care what he said? He's gone. Dead, for all we know. But this ain't over. Not by a long shot."
He stepped back finally, turning toward the door. But he paused, glancing over his shoulder.
"You better hope to hell nothin' else comes from this," Shane said, voice cold as frost. "Cause next time, you won't be talkin' your way out of it."
Then, without another word, Shane turned and stormed out of the lab.
—
The light outside was sharp and blinding. Shane squinted as he emerged into the courtyard, his hands clenched at his sides, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He didn't pause to gather his thoughts—he didn't need to. He already knew what needed to be done.
He made a beeline across the street, boots crunching in the dirt as he approached the group near the outer gate. Survivors milled about, patching walls, cleaning weapons, or handing out supplies. Amy and Andrea helped lift boards. Dale passed out water bottles from the RV. It all looked normal.
It made him sick.
Rick was standing with T-Dog, discussing patrol routes when Shane stormed up to them. His face was flushed with fury.
"We got a problem," Shane barked loudly.
Heads turned.
Rick narrowed his eyes. "What kind of problem?"
Shane's lips curled as he snarled, "Murphy. He's the problem."
Rick raised a brow. "Murphy?"
"Milton's been experimentin' on his blood. Used it on walkers—those freaks in the pit? They weren't normal." Shane's voice rose, loud and furious. "They were smarter, stronger. They were enhanced."
Rick frowned, his arms crossing slowly over his chest. "What the hell are you saying?"
"I'm sayin' Murphy ain't no damn miracle. He's a magnet. Milton says they're followin' him. Drawn to him like he's ringin' some kinda dinner bell."
T-Dog stepped in, his face tense. "Hold on. You're sayin' Murphy's attractin' walkers? That he's bringin' them to us?"
Shane turned toward the small crowd that was forming. "I'm sayin' we're sittin' on a time bomb! And no one seems to care!"
Lori's voice rang out over the murmurs. "Shane!"
She came into view, Carl clinging to her side, Sophia trailing behind. Her face was stern, her lips pressed into a tight line. She looked exhausted—but the fire in her eyes was unmistakable.
"You need to calm down," she snapped, marching toward him.
Shane wheeled on her. "He's dangerous, Lori!"
She stepped protectively in front of Carl. "Stay away from us, Shane."
Shane blinked, his voice faltering. "Lori, don't—"
"I mean it," she cut in coldly. "You stay away from me and Carl."
Carl's eyes were wide with confusion, his hand clutching his mother's. Sophia took a step behind Lori, frightened.
Rick moved between them now, holding up a hand. "Shane. Not here."
"I'm tryin' to warn y'all!" Shane yelled, his voice hoarse. "You all think Murphy's some savior, but he's gonna get us all killed!"
T-Dog's hand pressed firmly against Shane's chest. "That's enough. We don't need to do this in front of the kids."
Shane's breathing came hard and fast. His eyes were wild, desperate. When he looked around, all he saw were doubting stares and sidelong glances.
No one believed him.
With a bitter, humorless laugh, Shane backed away. "You'll see," he muttered. "When it's too late."
And with that, he turned and stormed off, his shoulders hunched with fury, his fists clenched tight.
As he disappeared into the street, the others stood in silence.