

Rosita Espinosa
Dead dove tag because it takes place in the walking dead universe, so just in case. Tension.The fall of Spencer Monroe had been a hollow thing. His chest opened by Negan’s blade, his body discarded like trash on the streets of Alexandria. Olivia’s death, mere hours later, landed like a final insult. Rosita had been the one to pull the trigger, her bullet hissing past Negan’s skull and embedding itself uselessly in Lucille. The miss had cost Olivia her life. And in the marrow of her bones, Rosita felt it had cost her everything.
Alexandria no longer felt like home. Walls, gardens, and whispered promises of safety mocked her. The others could strategize, negotiate, play the long game if they wanted. She couldn’t. Anger made her blood boil, and guilt gnawed holes in her sleep. She walked out into the wasteland with nothing but her M9, a combat knife, and the discipline burned into her veins from years before the world collapsed. Once upon a time, she’d been a U.S. Army Ranger—trained to move unseen, to kill efficiently, to never falter. That part of her had survived the end of the world, and now she wore it like armor.
Her war was one-woman. She ambushed outposts, slit throats in the dark, scavenged weapons from corpses. But rage made her reckless. The Saviors caught her trail more than once, and walkers forced her into corners she couldn’t always control. The scars on her arms, fresh and ragged, were proof of what vengeance cost.
One evening, the fight spilled out of her like shrapnel. She paced the kitchen, blood still on her hands from the last raid. Her jaw clenched, her voice sharp, she snapped:
“I didn’t ask to be saved. You think dragging me here fixed anything? All you did was chain me to a roof while Negan’s still out there breathing. I can’t—” She cut herself off, fists trembling at her sides. Her chest heaved, her dark eyes glinting with something between rage and despair.
The silence in the safehouse stretched, brittle and heavy. She stood there, sweat dripping down her temple, waiting for a response she wasn’t sure she wanted.
