Everyone watched as Merle suddenly lifted his leg and, with every ounce of strength left in his body, kicked the walker straight in the stomach.
CRACK.
The walker flew backward. It stumbled through the air for a good six feet before crashing onto the concrete, landing on its back.
The cheering stopped instantly.
"He... what?!"
"Blasphemy! That is blasphemy!"
The guards raised their rifles on instinct, fingers moving to triggers. But the leader slowly lifted one hand, palm out, signaling them to hold.
His expression had not changed. If anything, he looked intrigued. He seemed curious about how this "trial" would play out.
When the walker hit the ground, the impact shifted the tattered remains of her habit. Beneath the rotting fabric, a shard of glass protruded between her shoulder blades. It was roughly six inches long, wickedly sharp, and buried deep in her spine.
There was no way to know whether she had fallen onto it before or after she died. It did not matter.
What mattered was that it was there.
Merle did not hesitate.
Before anyone in the crowd could process what they were seeing, he lunged forward, and drove his boot into the walker's chest as it tried to sit up. The corpse went down again, and he threw himself on top of it, pinning it face-down against the concrete.
The walker thrashed beneath him, its arms clawing at the ground. But he did not give a shit about that.
He twisted his body, contorting himself until his bound wrists were positioned over that jutting piece of glass. Then he started sawing.
"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!"
The plastic zip tie scraped against the jagged edge. So did his skin. The wound on his wrist split open immediately. Fresh blood ran down his hands, making everything slippery.
The pain was blinding. He could hear the sound of his own skin tearing.
He did not stop.
"What is he doing?!"
"Stop him! He is cheating! This is against the rules!"
"No! This is part of the trial! The Lost One will punish his transgression!"
"LOOK AT ME!" Merle roared.
"All you brainwashed assholes! LOOK!"
He twisted harder and felt another strand of the zip tie snap. The walker beneath him continued to thrash, trying to throw him off.
"Watch how I deal with your bullshit judgment!"
The walker suddenly heaved upward and threw him sideways. He rolled across the concrete and pushed himself onto his knees, but the corpse was already coming for him, scrambling forward with its mouth open and its arms reaching.
The zip tie snapped completely, and his hands were free.
"Come on then, you bitch!"
His hands shot out and locked around its throat. The walker's momentum drove them both backward, and they crashed onto the concrete.
Merle twisted sharply, using the walker's own force against it, and reversed their positions. He ended up on top, straddling the corpse, his hands still locked around its throat.
The walker's jaws snapped just inches from his face.
He grabbed what remained of its hair and slammed its head against the concrete.
CRACK.
The sound echoed through the factory.
CRACK.
He slammed it again. Bone fractured beneath his palm, and he felt the skull begin to give.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
He did not stop.
Merle Dixon, racist piece of shit, drug addict, violent criminal, sat astride that walker corpse and beat its head into the ground over and over and over.
The jaw broke first. Teeth scattered across the floor, bouncing and rolling across the concrete. The eye sockets collapsed next. The forehead split open, exposing gray matter and blood.
Still he continued.
Rotting flesh smeared across his face, his chest, and his arms. Blood and brain matter coated him. Fragments of bone lodged in his knuckles, tearing the skin.
He looked like he had crawled out of a mass grave.
The entire factory had gone silent.
Even the believers stopped chanting. They stood frozen, staring at the scene before them.
Merle looked down at his hands. They were soaked in blood. His knuckles were split open, and his wrists still bled from where he had sawn through the zip tie. He lowered his gaze to the corpse beneath him, or what remained of it.
Then he smiled.
He reached down, grabbed the walker's head, and pulled.
Riiiiip.
The head came free.
He stood up slowly, rising to his full height, and held the severed head high above his head.
Blood dripped down his arms.
He turned slowly in a full circle, making sure everyone in the factory saw him clearly.
Then his grin widened.
He lowered the severed head and pressed the ragged, dripping stump of its neck against his own face. He rubbed it across his cheeks and forehead, smearing thick black blood over his skin.
A kiss mark.
He tossed the head aside. It rolled across the concrete and came to rest against someone's boot. They jumped back like it was a live grenade.
Merle raised both hands and extended his middle fingers toward the leader on his platform.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA! This is your bullshit trial?! HUH?!"
He spun around, addressing the crowd now.
"You goddamn motherfuckers! Who else wants to judge me?! WHO?! COME ON!"
He beat his chest with one fist, leaving a bloody handprint on his own skin.
"WHO ELSE?!"
---
Rick stared at Merle.
He had put down walkers, fought living men, and made decisions that determined who lived and who died.
But he had not expected Merle to turn the tables.
It was not just the violence that struck him. It was the will behind it. The refusal to accept death.
He could respect that, even if he despised everything else about the man.
Nearby, Shane watched Merle as well.
He had never liked the Dixon brothers, and Merle least of all. The racism, the volatility, the drugs. He had always seen him as a threat to the group. But now, watching Merle stand there covered in blood, refusing to yield even in the face of certain death, he was forced to reconsider.
He still did not trust him. He probably never would.
But he respected him.
The others were coming to the same realization.
T-Dog most of all.
In his mind, Merle had always been easy to define. He was a racist, a dangerous man, someone not worth understanding.
But the man standing beneath that spotlight no longer fit that simple label.
Was that really the same person?
He was no longer sure.
They had history between them. That had not disappeared, and it probably never would. There would still be anger.
But in this moment, as he watched Merle stand in a pool of blood and defy death itself, something shifted inside him.
This unhinged, violent bastard was one of them now, whether anyone liked it or not.
The believers were starting to panic. Their voices rose in confused babble.
"How is this possible?!"
"He passed the test... but he is a sinner! The Lost One should have..."
"It is a trick! He cheated!"
"He killed the Lost One! His sins are even greater now! Judge him again!"
But their voices lacked conviction. The fear was real. Merle had done something they thought was impossible.
He had beaten their "judge." And in doing so, he had made them question everything.
---
Merle's defiance had done more than save his life. It had bought them time, created chaos, and planted seeds of doubt.
Rick saw the opening immediately.
He lifted his head and locked eyes with the leader standing on his platform. The man's expression was still calm.
"We are innocent."
The arguing stopped and heads turned.
Rick's voice rose, filling the factory.
"WE ARE INNOCENT!"
The fire spread.
Lori was crying, but she lifted her head. "We are innocent!"
Carl echoed her. "We are innocent!"
Shane raised his head. "Damn right we are."
Morales joined in, followed by T-Dog and Jacqui. One after another, their voices merged.
"We are innocent! We are innocent!"
The believers were wavering now. Rick could see the doubt spreading across their faces.
Then Jim moved.
He had been kneeling on the ground this entire time. Slowly, he raised his head.
His eyes were empty.
But he was smiling.
"You were born in the Lord's mercy... And you shall... die in His wrath!"