Morning came, and the council gathered once more. I addressed everyone.
"We need to prepare at least 100 men," I said. Then I turned to Morgan. "What's our current population?"
Morgan responded, "After the recent operation, we're now over 1,000 strong."
I nodded. "That's a good start. But now, we have a pressing matter—destroying that labor camp and integrating the survivors. Doing so will significantly boost our numbers."
Shane spoke up, "I've already gathered 100 willing fighters."
"That's good, Shane," I said, giving him a firm nod. "You'll be coming with me. You too, Guillermo."
Guillermo asked, "Then who's staying to hold the fort?"
I turned toward Washington and Wells. "You two will take charge if necessary." My eyes lingered on Sara and Morgan for a moment, emphasizing the importance of their roles too.
"Now then, our operation begins tonight. Meeting adjourned."
As people started dispersing, Guillermo and Shane began preparing the weapons, gear, and vehicles we'd need for the mission.
I went to find Daryl. When I did, I asked, "What do you think about all this?"
He looked me dead in the eyes. "It's a solid move—and I agree with it. We know those people won't ever coexist with us. We've got our own people to protect."
I gave a tired sigh. "Yeah. I know."
"You ready?" he asked.
"I'm always ready, Daryl," I said.
stayed with Carl and Maggie for a while, cherishing the quiet moments we had left before the storm. We laughed, talked, and simply enjoyed being together—pretending, just for a few hours, that the world outside wasn't broken.
As the afternoon sun began to dip, I knew it was time. I strapped my machete to my back and holstered my favorite pistol. But before heading out, I turned to Maggie. Her belly had grown—round and full with life. Our future.
I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her gently.
"Be careful, okay?" she said softly, her voice full of love and worry.
"I will," I promised, pressing my forehead to hers for a moment. Then I stepped away and left the house, the weight of both duty and hope on my shoulders.
At the training area, a small army had gathered—men and women ready to fight for freedom. Shane stood with his arms crossed, eyes sharp. Daryl was already revving his bike. Merle leaned against the fence with a smirk, while Glenn adjusted his gear. Michonne stood silent, katana on her back, as always.
I spotted Graves, Guillermo, Sasha, Abraham, Rosita, and Bob among the group. All of them warriors in their own right. Including me, we were 100 strong.
I looked at each of their faces, wondering how many of us would make it back. How many wouldn't.
Stepping up, I raised my voice. "Alright, everyone. This is it."
They looked back at me, eyes burning with determination.
"Daryl, lead the way," I said.
He nodded, then revved his engine and took off down the road—our convoy falling in behind him, the sound of vehicles and weapons rising like a battle hymn.
War was coming.
Unknown to Rick and his group, the enemy was already starting to catch on.
Inside the labor camp, in one of the few well-preserved buildings, stood a woman whose beauty rivaled that of celebrities—though to some, even celebrities paled in comparison. Her name was Alexandra Xenoa, a former military general who had once stood against the government during the infamous Operation Cobalt—a mission that involved the mass slaughter of civilians labeled as "contaminated."
At the time, Alexandra had refused to carry out those brutal orders. But her defiance didn't stay hidden for long. One of her lieutenants betrayed her, reporting her actions to the higher-ups. In response, the government branded her a traitor and moved to arrest her.
With a loyal group of soldiers, she fought back. But it came at a cost.
Her army was torn apart. Many soldiers defected to the government, forcing Alexandra to execute former comrades. Some deserted entirely, abandoning the cause to search for their families. In the end, only a dozen of her most loyal and battle-hardened soldiers remained. The rest of her force—now numbering around 200—were either untrained conscripts or forced laborers dressed as soldiers to maintain appearances.
Once known for her strong sense of justice, Alexandra had changed. The harshness of the new world had hardened her heart. She now ruled with an iron fist, believing that survival demanded absolute obedience.
She captured people and forced them into labor, establishing a brutal regime that punished dissent with swift cruelty. Her laws were strict, her punishments harsher.
A few days earlier, the camp had suffered a walker herd attack. Several of her soldiers and many workers were lost. To prevent further soldier casualties, Alexandra devised a new tactic—using the prisoners as meat shields to draw walker attention.
She justified these decisions to herself again and again:
"This is the only way to live now. Mercy has no place in this world."
The once-noble general had become a tyrant—a woman shaped by betrayal, bloodshed, and the weight of survival.
Meanwhile, Leon, one of her most trusted men, reported to her.
"Ma'am, one of the soldiers hasn't reported in since yesterday."
Alexandra's expression darkened, her eyes narrowing. She already felt something was off, but this confirmed it.
"Double the outpost security," she said coldly.
"Yes, ma'am," Leon responded with a sharp nod.
Leon had been with her since the beginning. He was loyal—perhaps blindly so. Alongside him, a few others still truly trusted her. But as she stood there, her mind flickered back to the day she gave the order to execute her own soldiers. The memory brought a heavy weight to her chest.
Her face hardened again.
No room for regret.
She shook it off and turned away.
After exiting the room, Leon clenched his fists.
"There has to be another way," he muttered under his breath.
Unbeknownst to Alexandra, Leon had already begun harboring doubts. Her descent into tyranny was something he could no longer ignore. The woman he once followed with pride was gone, replaced by someone cold and unrecognizable. And Leon wasn't alone.
He led a secret group of soldiers—many of them once fiercely loyal—who now questioned her every decision. Some were even her most trusted men, but even they had reached their limit. They couldn't stand idly by while civilians—the same people they swore to protect—were being treated like meat shields. The last attack had pushed many of them to the edge.
Later that night, Leon met in a secluded room deep within the camp. With him were Max, Alex, and Francis—three of Alexandra's most trusted men, and also key members of the quiet resistance.
"We can't take this any longer," Max said, his voice low but sharp with frustration. "The longer we wait, the more people die… more get sacrificed like pawns."
"No," Leon replied firmly. "It's not time yet. One wrong move and everything we've built could fall apart. We only get one shot at this."
"I'm tired of waiting," Francis snapped, slamming his hand on the table before storming off into the night.
Leon sighed heavily, watching the door swing closed behind him. "Max, Alex… keep an eye on Francis. He's emotional. If he moves on his own, he could jeopardize everything we've worked for."
"Got it," Max nodded.
"How are things on your side?" Leon asked.
"All good," Max answered. "I've already gathered enough soldiers. Most of them are quiet about it, but they're ready."
Leon nodded. "Then opportunity is the only thing we're waiting for."