Daryl slunk silently through the maze of underbrush, searching for prey. It was difficult to find because the shots from training earlier startled the prey, and the few straggling walkers it attracted had again startled them. Many probably ran away in fear of the moaning monstrosities. Daryl froze as he heard one about five yards to his right. He finessed his crossbow up and aiming at its mark soundlessly and rapidly. Once the walker lurched forward out of the obstruction of a tree, Daryl released the arrow and watched with satisfaction as it pierced the skull between the eyes. Stepping over a felled branch to snatch the projectile, a heavy blow was dealt to the back of his head and he crumpled, unconscious.

As he regained consciousness he recognized the feeling of handcuffs cutting into his wrists. He was hanging from the ceiling, his toes low enough to just barely put his weight on them rather than his arms. He looked around carefully, relieved that he was alone. The room was lit by a lightblub in the middle of the small room, a foot ahead of him. The room was completely concrete. His back was a few feet from the back wall. At the end of the room he was facing was a thick steel door. Daryl realized that he was only wearing his jeans, his shirt, shoes, and socks taken. He raised his head quickly as the door was opened and a man stepped in, closing it firmly behind him. This man wore simple clothes and strode comfortably toward him. Daryl glared as he stepped to a foot away from the captive. He looked the hunter up and down and began circling around him while Daryl stood firmly in place.

"You seem pretty well-off for being stuck in the middle of the woods in the middle of the apocalypse." Daryl tried not to turn to watch as he circled behind him. "Now, I don't think that you were alone. See, a man couldn't survive for this long all on his own. Where's your group?"

Daryl stared straight ahead and replied immediately, "I'm alone. Got a cabin in the woods, been livin' alone out here. I was huntin' fer lunch when you clocked me." He saw the man half-smile.

"Now, now, I know that can't be true. Just tell me where your group is and I'll let you go. Just need to know the taken territory around here, don't wanna cause any trouble. Oh, and some supplies would be nice." Daryl remained stoical as his captor stepped up to him, looking him in the eye. After a moment's consideration, he cocked his head. "Alright, I understand your hesitation. How about we start with something simpler. Why don't you tell me your name?"

Daryl paused. He didn't see the point in withholding such trivial information. "Daryl. And you are...?"

"Doyle. Good. Now, why would you lie to me about having a group? Why do you feel the need to protect them?"

Daryl scoffed. "I dunno, maybe it's the way you knocked me out an' strung me up."

Doyle laughed and shrugged. "I just want information. I will get it, whether you cooperate. I'd rather you give it willingly and without much of a fuss, but I'm fine with... extracting it." He walked up to the hunter and said, "Now, do you want to tell me where your camp is, Daryl, or must I make you?" after the sore lack of an answer, he sighed and walked over to a covered table in the far left corner. He pulled off the cover and revealed a table covered in tools and devices. Daryl frowned at the array. This was not going to be fun.

Doyle took up a taser and returned to stand in front of Daryl. "I don't have to do this. Just tell me and you're free." Silence. He turned the voltage up to half its full power and pushed it into Daryl's right side. His head shot back and he gritted his teeth but he did not make a sound. After a few seconds he removed it and jabbed it into his left upper arm and earned the same reaction. pulling it away after holding it there a few seconds longer, he amped it up to three quarters capacity and shoved it into the center of Daryl's chest and held it there for a full minute. Daryl's initial groan morphed into a choked back shout, but he didn't release it. Why give the sonuvabitch any satisfaction when this was the only control he had?

Doyle pulled it back again, now turning it up to the highest setting. "Now, Daryl, all you have to do is tell me. Where is your group?" After a moment he stabbed the taser into his abdomen. He held it there and Daryl cried out in agony as fire surged through his body and it jerked with the painful electricity. He shouted, eyes scrunched tightly, until the taser was finally removed. He dropped his head and gasped, focusing on remaining conscious.

"Come on, you don't have to be so stubborn. I just want-"

"I know what ya want, Doyle," Daryl rasped. "Ya ain't goin' anywhere near 'em. Ya got no BUSINESS with 'em, jus' leave 'em alone. Let me go an' we'll let ya live."

Doyle stopped and glared at him. "You're not leaving this place until you've told or you're dead. Why fight me, Daryl? I am going to find out either way. It's not worth all the pain you'll suffer through otherwise." When Daryl rolled his eyes, Doyle punched him in the face and his head flew to the side. When he brought it back forward Doyle punched it again. He punched his head and gut, knocking the air out of his lungs and cracking a rib or two in the process. When he was done he stepped back to admire his work. Daryl coughed and spit out blood, dragging in air greedily. When he caught his breath Doyle stood up to him, grabbing a handful of his long hair. Yanking Daryl's head to the side forcefully he whispered, "I WILL know." Then he sent a heavy fist into Daryl's head, knocking him out.

Waking up this time took longer than the first. Daryl's body ached and he slowly lifted his head, searching for Doyle. When he didn't see him, he sighed with relief. Then he felt a hand on his back and realized that his tormentor was behind him.

"Nice of you to rejoin the party, Daryl. I was just amiring these scars on your back. How did you get them?" Daryl growled. "Ain't none a yer damn BUSINESS!" Doyle only chuckled.

"Tell me, Daryl, or else I'll give you more scars to hide." Daryl shuddered. He could handle pain, but not this. This was too personal. Just thinking about it brought back memories he'd rather not think about, especially now. "Are these from a belt? Come on, give me something. Tell me what happened." Daryl inhaled sharply when he heard him remove his belt. Then he felt a burning pain in his back, all too farmiliar a pain. When the leather finally started to dig into his skin and tear it in strips, he screamed.

"P-please, Dad, I-I'm sorry, I di-didn't -"

"Shut up, boy."

Young Daryl sobbed as his father tied his hands to the headboard and removed his belt. He straddled the boy's legs and slurred, "You've been a very very bad boy. You know that you're too stupid to understand why, but you deserve this. And you know not to fight me, boy, so stop strugglin'. I said shut up!" He couldn't control his tears, and paid dearly for it.

After twenty lashes, Daryl cried, "S-stop!" Doyle paused, moving in front of

Daryl. "The scars... they're from my dad. He used ta punish my brother an' me, when he got ta drinkin'." Daryl lowered his head, trying to keep back tears of pain both physical and emotional.

"How old?"

"F-rom eight ta eighteen."

Doyle nodded. "Good. That's good." He turned to leave. "I'll give you an hour long break. I'm feeling generous." He walked out and the door closed just in time for a tear to fall from each of Daryl's closed eyes.

An hour later Doyle returned. By now Daryl's throat was sore and dry, his stomach grumbling, and his eyes drooping. He needed food, drink, and rest but he knew he'd never earn any.

"Ah, still conscious I see. Excellent. Now, Daryl," he stepped up to him and spoke in a low tone, "You're fading. I want to finish this up soon. Just tell me where the camp is. You can stop all of this, it's your choice." Daryl lifted his head and spat blood at his torturer's face.

"Fuck you."

Doyle swiped the blood away and snarled. "Suit yourself." He took a long, cruel knife from the table and brought it up to Daryl's chest. "Don't worry, I won't let you die of blood loss. I've got practice." Deliberately slowly and deeply, he carved into Daryl's chest while the man groaned and shouted. After twenty minutes Doyle stepped back and read it aloud.

"Sacrifice." He grinned up at the scowling Daryl.

"I still ain't tellin' you a goddamn thing, you sick bastard." Doyle stared for a moment, then a smile slowly spread across his face. He walked up and slapped his face hard. Daryl flinched when Doyle punched him in the gut. Doyle reached up and unhooked the cuffs, letting Daryl fall with a scream that was cut off by Doyle kneeling and gripping his throat. He choked and bucked but Doyle remained firm. After examining his captive's body for a bit, he released his throat and flipped him over. As Daryl gasped and gagged, Doyle got undressed and yanked down Daryl's pants and boxers. He stilled immediately then lashed out with his legs. Doyle stood and stomped on both ankles, breaking them, and Daryl stilled a bit choking on a sob. Doyle straddled his thighs and grabbed his ass. Without warning, he shoved one finger into his entrance. Daryl gasped and muttered "NO no no nonono..." Doyle added another finger, pushing and stretching. He added a third finger and Daryl shouted "S-STOP!" Doyle only CONTINUED.

"You know how to stop this, Daryl." He then shoved in his whole fist, pulling and pushing in and out harshly. Daryl screamed as he was stretched and torn from the inside, and soon his blood acted as a lube. Doyle pulled his hand out. Then he pressed his hard cock to his entrance. "Last chance, Daryl." Daryl just turned his head and pressed his face into the ground as Doyle shoved in. He thrusted in and out, going balls deep and violently fast. Daryl was now crying, shouting with each thrust. He kept going harder and faster, and gripped Daryl's hips so tight they were already forming bruises. Finally, he released a strangled cry and came inside of Daryl. He pulled out suddenly and flipped his victim over. Daryl had stopped crying and now whimpered when Doyle sat on his injured chest. He strongly grabbed Daryl's chin, forcing open his mouth. Quickly he sat forward and forced his cock into Daryl's mouth. His eyes widened as Doyle sat forward and shoved to the hilt into his sore throat. He struggled until Doyle started thrusting into his throat. He couldn't breathe and began thrashing, trying to throw him off. Doyle punched his side, stunning him. He shoved himself brutally down the boy's throat and after a full minute, climaxed again and came in his throat. Daryl's eyes bugged and he choked. Doyle pulled out quickly, covering Daryl's nose and mouth. Daryl was forced to swallow the cum and when Doyle removed his hands and stood away so he could breathe, Daryl flipped over and threw up. He sucked in copious amounts of oxygen and gently lay back, closing his eyes.

Doyle dressed then snatched a gun from the table and kneeled next to Daryl. He pointed the barrel at Daryl's right knee and sighed. "Daryl, tell me where your camp is. I will not kill you. I will continue to torture you until either you tell me or you heart gives out. Which, in the case of a spry young man such as yourself," he simpered, "could take quite a while." He cocked the gun and Daryl took in a shaky breath. The group needed him to survive, and he could only protect them if he wasn't irreparably injured.

"I-I... I'll t-tell you. B-but only if you swear not t-ta hurt them. Not one."

Doyle grinned. "Of course. I am going to be taking some of your supplies, though. I have snipers to take care of any interferences if it comes down to that. But if anyone tries to take me down, it's not them I'll be hurting. I will come back for you." Daryl repressed a shudder and nodded slowly, describing the location of the group. Doyle grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged him to the door. He stopped at the door to grab a bandanna and gag him, pull up his pants, and open the door before dragging his victim outside the little bunker.

Daryl moaned and grunted as he was dragged on his back across the ground. About ten minutes later they reached the edge of the forest. They were near where Daryl had been hunting, halfway along the long back field, not too far from the Greene house. Doyle kept going, heading to the camp across the open field. A few steps onto the field, Dale spotted the odd pair. He shouted to the others and ran toward Daryl and his captor. Doyle pulled Daryl up onto his feet, forcing him to stand on his broken ankles, and held his handgun to Daryl's bloodied head. Tears of pain pricked Daryl's eyes and he groaned. He quieted when Dale ran to a few feet away then stopped.

"Daryl, what the - who are you? What happened to him?" Dale saw the gun aimed at his friend's head and the gag and his look grew darker. "Who are you?" Shane and Rick ran up, having told the others to stay in their tents. "Dale, what were you..." He took in the situation and stared at Doyle. "Woah, what's going on?" Doyle laughed. "I found your friend here in the woods, decided to ask him a few questions. He led me straight here." Rick looked at Daryl worriedly, looking back up to glare at Doyle. "I want guns, ammo, and food. Pronto."

"Hold up a minute. What gives you the impression that you've got the advantage?" Rick placed his hand on his holster. "Well, why don't you just ask my buddy Daryl here? Daryl, should they give me what I want without a fight?" Daryl fervently nodded his head, looking at Rick wide-eyed, trying to convey the urgency. Shane placed his hand on Rick's shoulder. "I think we should give the man what he wants." Rick nodded, glancing at Dale. "How much do you need?" "Two shotguns, two pistols, a box of ammo for each, and all the non-perishables you can grab." After a moment's consideration, Dale nodded. "I'll be right back."

While Dale scurried to gather the supplies, Rick and Shane stood facing the captor and captive. Rick looked at the former. "What's your name?"

"Doyle," The nonchalant sadist replied. "No use in faking names in a world like this, huh?" Doyle had cuffed Daryl's hands behind his back and had his arm wrapped tightly around his chest. He could feel Daryl struggling to breathe properly and pulled his arm tighter, causing a grunt. Daryl began to wheeze.

"Doyle," Rick snapped, "Loosen your grip, he can't breathe!" Doyle laughed. "Bet he's used to it by now, hmm Daryl?" Daryl hung his head, his vision going dark. This all was too much to handle at once. He was going to pass out any second, which was not an option right now. He jerked away to loosen the grip, but he fell instead, heavily on his left shoulder. He released a muffled scream as his shoulder popped out of its socket and he lay on his back, which of course only rubbed dirt into his lashed back, so his cries of pain continued. As Daryl fell Doyle had let him in order to keep his gun trained on him, maintaining his leverage. He knelt beside the young Dixon, pulling him up, and yanked him back onto his feet by his dislocated shoulder. Daryl screamed again, but he quieted when Doyle pulled down his gag.

"Alright, Daryl, why don't you tell your friends why I have the leverage?" He smiled at the man beginning to sweat from the effort to stay conscious, and Daryl sighed shakily. "H-he's got two snipers aimin' at us. If you try ta pull s-somethin', they'll kill you." Doyle nudged him.

"And...?"

"A-and then h-he'll take me back with him." He closed his eyes in weariness. Was it worth being tortured to delay this moment? It didn't feel like it now, but he knew that if he hadn't done his utmost to protect the group, he couldn't live with himself.

Dale returned with a duffel bag. Doyle put his gun in the back of his pants and rooted through it with one hand, nodding, and pushed Daryl onto his back on the ground. "Good enough. Daryl, you remember what I said." He winked, then ran back into the woods. The three men rushed forward to help Daryl up, but they weren't sure how to move him without hurting him more. They saw blood and torn skin and broken bones, yet his eyes were still open and clear. He looked at Rick and muttered, "I did the b-best I could, Rick. I-I'm sorry." He laid his head back and focused on breathing. He needed to stay awake to explain what had happened, they needed to know the possibility of danger.

"I'm gonna go get Hershel," Shane said as he stood and ran to the house.

"Daryl," Dale said gently as he kneeled close to him, "What happened? Are you okay, son?" Daryl took a deep breath. "Dale, we should wait to ask until he's rested." Rick reprimanded.

"No, Rick I gotta tell y'all soon because he might c-come back." Rick's eyes widened. "Okay, Daryl, Hershel's gonna check you out, fix you up, and then you can tell us." Daryl nodded as Hershel ran up to the scene, asking Dale and Rick to give him space. He pushed and prodded wounds and Daryl struggled to remain silent. Hershel didn't mean to hurt him, he just had to know his injuries. He used a cloth to wipe away some of the blood on his chest, and they all read the word carved there. What the hell had this guy done to him?