The knot in Lucien's chest finally loosened.
The door had opened, just like it had in the show. That meant the plan he had been preparing in his head would not be necessary after all.
The CDC was too important to lose. It was the only facility within reasonable distance that had the equipment he needed: proper testing labs, centrifuges, microscopes, and reagents. It was the kind of setup that could give him a definitive answer about how the walker infection functioned.
More importantly, it could tell him whether magic could do anything about it.
Miss this opportunity, and God knew where the next viable facility would be. Or if it would even still be intact. Or occupied by people who wouldn't shoot first and ask questions never.
He couldn't stake his life on other people's goodwill.
The group moved forward slowly, weapons still raised. Rick took point, Shane covering his right, and Daryl his left. The light pouring from inside was almost blinding after so long in the dim, ruined streets.
A figure stood at the base of the interior stairwell.
Mid-forties, grey t-shirt, jeans, holding a rifle. The man's face was gaunt, and unshaven. His eyes were wary, assessing them.
"Why are you here?" His voice was rough, like he hadn't used it in days. "What do you want?"
Rick lowered his weapon slightly. "A chance. That's all. Just a chance."
The man let out a bitter laugh. Lucien recognized him from the show. This had to be Dr. Edwin Jenner, though no one had introduced him yet.
"A chance." He shook his head. "That's a luxury these days. It probably always was."
"Maybe," Rick said. "But we're still asking."
Edwin's eyes shifted past Rick and moved over the group behind him. His rifle lowered fractionally.
"I need blood tests," he said. "Everyone. No exceptions. If you pass, you can come in."
"Done," Rick agreed without hesitation. "Whatever you need."
Edwin stepped aside, gesturing toward the interior. "Then get your gear inside." He paused, and something shifted in his expression. "When I close those doors, they won't open again."
The warning barely registered.
Everyone was already moving, rushing to retrieve packs and duffels from the vehicles outside. The relief of sanctuary, real sanctuary and not another temporary refuge that would crumble the moment the dead discovered it, drowned out everything else.
Lucien grabbed his trunk and moved with the crowd.
When I close those doors, they won't open again.
In the original timeline, that line had been literal. The CDC's blast doors had locked them in, and when Edwin revealed the building was set to self-destruct, they'd nearly all died trying to escape.
But there had to be conditions. The CDC staff had been able to leave. He had opened the door for them. So it wasn't always locked.
The door must only seal permanently once the facility entered some kind of emergency mode. Low power, maybe. Or after Edwin activated the self-destruct sequence.
Which meant Edwin hadn't just lost hope.
He'd made a decision.
He'd decided to die here, and when he said the door wouldn't open again, he meant he never intended to open it once more.
The man wasn't trying to hurt them. He believed the outside world was beyond saving. That staying here, dying cleanly in sterilizing fire, was kinder than facing whatever was left out there.
When the last person cleared the threshold, Edwin raised his voice.
"Vi, seal the main entrance."
"Yes, Dr. Jenner," a female voice responded from speakers hidden in the ceiling.
The blast door began its descent. The gap of light from outside narrowed, narrowed, and then disappeared as the locks engaged.
---
Edwin led them deeper into the facility, guiding them through security checkpoints that were somehow still operational despite the apocalypse outside. Each door opened at his authorization and sealed shut behind them.
The deeper they went, the more unreal the place felt.
The facility was eerily intact. Lights burned steadily in the corridors. The air circulation systems hummed. Everything was clean and organized. It felt like stepping into a sealed bubble of the old world, preserved in perfect stasis while everything beyond its walls rotted and died.
"Blood tests," he said, gesturing them into what looked like a medical processing area. "Roll up your sleeves."
The tests themselves were quick. He moved through the group, drawing blood samples and labeling vials. He barely spoke except to give instructions.
When he got to the children, Lori tensed up.
Carl was swaying on his feet, barely keeping his eyes open. Sophia wasn't much better. Even Lucien felt like he could sleep for a week.
"They're exhausted," Lori said. "They just need rest. We all do."
Edwin paused, looking at Carl's pale, drawn face. For a moment, something flickered in his expression.
"You're right," he said quietly. He set down the blood collection kit. "Follow me."
He led them through more corridors, past storage rooms and humming server racks. At the end of the hall, the final security door slid open.
The group stopped.
Warmth reached them first. It was not the suffocating heat of Atlanta's ruined streets, but gentle, regulated air from a functioning climate system. Then came the light, soft and even, bright without being harsh.
Only after that did they take in the room itself.
It was a communal living space, clearly intended for long-term habitation. Comfortable furniture was arranged in conversational clusters. A kitchenette lined one wall. In the center stood a long dining table set with real plates and polished silverware. Several bottles of wine stood upright along its length.
Carol's hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Oh my God," she whispered.
Dale had to grip the back of a chair to steady himself. Andrea simply stared, as though she could not trust her own eyes.
Edwin walked past them without acknowledging their shock and headed straight for the kitchen area. He opened what appeared to be a walk-in freezer. Cold air spilled out in rolling clouds of condensation.
When the fog thinned, it revealed food, mountains of it. Frozen meats stacked in neat rows. Vegetables sealed in clear packaging. Pre-packaged meals arranged with meticulous order. It looked less like a storage room and more like a survivalist's fantasy.
"The refrigeration is still working," Edwin said. "The pantry is stocked as well. Sit down. Before we discuss anything else, you should eat."
For a moment, no one moved.
They had been scavenging for weeks, surviving on expired cans and stale crackers. The sight of real food felt unreal.
Then Glenn surged forward like a man possessed, and the spell shattered.
---
The meal that followed was surreal.
Edwin cooked and laid out dishes that belonged to a life none of them could quite remember living. There were roasted vegetables, pasta with real sauce, bread that had not gone stale or moldy, and wine.
They ate like they were starving, and Lucien supposed they were. Not only physically, but spiritually. They were hungry for something normal, something that reminded them they were still human beings and not just prey animals running from one hiding place to the next.
As the food disappeared and the wine flowed, conversation began to loosen. Glenn launched into an increasingly embellished account of their escape from Atlanta. Morales followed with jokes that would have drawn groans before the world ended, but now earned laughter. Even Dale smiled.
Rick, with reluctance, allowed Carl to try a sip of wine. The boy's face immediately scrunched up in disgust.
"That's horrible," Carl muttered, pushing the glass away. He leaned toward Lucien, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Your potions taste way better than this."
Glenn overheard and burst out laughing. "He's got standards. Apocalypse wine doesn't measure up to Lucien's home remedies."
"It was just..." Lucien started, but Morales was already raising his glass in a mock toast.
"To Lucien! Better mixologist than French vintners!"
The table dissolved into laughter again. Lucien felt his face heat up and focused on his pasta.
But through the laughter and warmth, he noticed Edwin.
The doctor sat apart from the group, nursing a glass of wine at the far end of the table. He wasn't eating.
Rick noticed too. His cop instincts, maybe, or just basic human decency. He started to stand, probably to say something, to bring Edwin into the circle.
But Morales beat him to it. He raised his glass again, swaying slightly.
"Hey! We haven't even thanked our host! Come on, everyone. To Dr. Jenner! Our savior!"
The group raised their glasses. Edwin nodded slightly
Shane set his glass down.
"Speaking of which," he said, "when are you planning to tell us what the hell happened here?"
The room went quiet.
His eyes stayed locked on Edwin. "Where'd everyone go?"
Morales tried to smooth things over. "We just got here. Can we finish the wine before the interrogation? There's time for questions."
"It's fine." Edwin set his glass down and leaned back in his chair, staring at nothing in particular. "Most of them left when it started. They went to find their families."
"And the ones who didn't?" Andrea asked.
Edwin's fingers tightened slightly against the armrest. "The situation deteriorated. Military defenses collapsed. Supply lines failed. The ones who remained tried to keep working, but…" He paused, drawing in a slow breath. "Many of them couldn't face what was happening outside. They were locked in here while everyone they loved was…"
"They killed themselves," Andrea said quietly.
Edwin nodded. "Vi can show you the footage if you want. The security system recorded everything."
The table had gone silent now. Even Merle had stopped fidgeting.
Shane didn't push further. Rick looked like he wanted to say something comforting but couldn't find the words.
It was Andrea who finally spoke. "You stayed. Why?"
Edwin looked at her.
"Because I promised my wife I would. She worked here too. But she was infected in the early stages of the outbreak. And before she died, she asked me to stay and find an answer."
"Did you?" The question came from T-Dog.
"No. The virus is perfect. It hijacks the brain stem, reanimates basic motor functions, and preserves just enough neural activity to hunt. Everything else dies. There's no cure."
Silence.
Then Jim spoke.
He'd been quiet through the entire meal, sitting at the far edge of the table with his wine untouched. Now he lifted his glass, his hand shaking slightly.
"Never give up."
Everyone turned to look at him.
His eyes were unfocused, staring at something none of them could see.
"Never give up," he repeated, then his gaze fixed on Edwin. "That's what she would say, isn't it?"
Edwin went still.
"The deeper the despair, the clearer the future becomes."