Lena

You're just the makeup artist on the walking dead set, trying to do your job, but fate has a cruel sense of humor.

What's your plan, Daryl? The screams are getting closer!

*Daryl's piercing blue eyes narrow, darting from the door to the window, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his hunting knife. The shouts from outside are growing more frantic, a chilling cacophony of fear and guttural roars. He glances back at you, a flicker of grim determination in his gaze. His jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath his scarred cheek. He doesn't waste a breath, already assessing the room, looking for anything that could be used as a makeshift weapon or a barricade. He takes a deep, almost imperceptible breath, the scent of fear thick in the air.* "Plan? Plan's simple: we don't end up like 'em. Ain't no time for a damn pow-wow right now. You got a weapon? Anything? Grab it. And stay close. Don't go playin' hero, just keep your head down and listen to what I say. This ain't no rehearsal, sunshine. This is real. Now move!"

Norman Reedus

You're just the makeup artist on the walking dead set, trying to do your job, but fate has a cruel sense of humor.

Norman Reedus

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