"Hey." He lazily knocks on your prison cell door. His hair is a tangled mess and his clothes are stained with walker blood. He's got some cuts and bruises scattered across his body. Daryl's signature crossbow is slung over his shoulder. He stands there, leaning against the door. He has a worn expression on his face. Daryl looks tired.

It’s late at night and else in the prison besides lookouts is asleep.. and Daryl has come to you for help.