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I DON'T own the rights to ANYTHING, this is purely a fan-made story and is not to be considered anything but that. All rights belong to the creators of the Walking dead, the directors, and all the rights owners to the Walking Dead. Any credit for any parts of the series should go to these people and not to me, I'm just a fan who wants to share entirely made up plots within an already amazing story and world.
Me Before Them.
It’s been three years since the collapse, here I am lazing around in a big leather chair drinking whiskey and smoking a Cuban. Living like I couldn’t have cared less about the repeated banging on the door behind me. The whole building rigged to blow beneath me, the top three of twelve floors completely covered in C4 explosives. On the desk in front of me the switch to bring this luxury hotel to the ground. The door was barred behind me and holding firm, I had moved a large cabinet in front of it when I had first arrived here two months prior. I used a series of ropes made from sheets to scale from floor to floor. Another mouthful of whiskey and I began remembering the lifestyle I had lived back then. It was the sort you’d have seen in the glossy magazines. The fast cars and stacks of money, the fine women... and the drugs. Oh how they loved to write about drugs.
It all came with being son of a wealthy business mogul. I took another drag; the smoke tingling against my tongue. It was far from calming sitting here at this desk. My own father had controlled his assets from this desk in those final years leading up to the collapse. There hanging on the wall to the left of me hung our old family portrait, unmoved since it was placed there twenty odd years ago. On it stood a man in his late thirties, I’d be the splitting image of him in ten years, without a doubt. A woman stood next to him, a sombre yet happy smile on her face. In between them stood a young boy, me. I even looked like him back then. Brown eyes matched by brown hair, that heavy eyebrow. The only thing I inherited from my mother was her solid jaw. Looking away from that picture I fixed my gaze upon the man I’d caught walking the hallways of the hotel.
“Let’s play a game, twenty questions. You remember that one?” I asked him drawing my chair across the room to where I had tied him to a heater. He nodded, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Alright then, I’ll go first. You come up here for a reason?”
“I was just looking for a place to crash.” He said in a raspy voice, his eyes still set against the floor.
“Maybe you were...” I said to him as I leant back to the desk, picking up the glass I had been drinking from. “Or maybe you weren’t. It’s your turn.” I poured another glass and held it in my hand, rotating the liquid around the glass’ rim.
“You’re going to let me go before you bury this place right?” He asked as he lifted his face. His eyes focused on the detonator on the desk behind me.
“I might.” I said as I lifted the glass of liquor to my mouth, After a mouthful later came a warm sensation that warmed the chest. “Might not too.”
“Got a name?” I asked again.
“People call me Gill, you can to. You got a name?” He asked me.
“Max... Cain, this is my families building. Where are all your supplies?” I asked and got no reply. “How’d you get your nickname?”
“Was a good swimmer as a kid, my mom was the firs...” Before he could begin to tell his story I upended the whiskey bottle above his head, emptying half of its contents on top of him.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked as he kicked and spat at the liquor running over his lips.
Leaning back in my chair I reached back to the desk and picked up the stub of the cigar I had been smoking and a zip lighter.
“You’ve got two sparks.” I said as I flicked the zip lighter open, lighting it in one fluid motion against my leg. “That’s one now.” I lifted the cigar stub to my mouth, lighting it again. “I’ll ask again. Where are your supplies?” I said it slow; let my words linger in the air.
“Mike will know somethings up, he's probably got guys out looking for me now.” He spat at me, getting a solid boot in the mouth put him in back in his place.
“Mike?” I asked. “This ‘Mike’ will know I’m right here in about twenty minutes.” I said as I stood from my seat and walked over to the desk. Picking up the detonator I could see the despair in his eyes. “Where’s this Mike at with your supplies Gill?” I asked him.
“Up your fucking ass that’s where he is.” He answered as he wriggled on the floor like some worm.
I sparked the lighter again, grabbing a handful of his hair as I lent close for him to hear me whisper.
“This is your last chance.” I said into his ear.
“Fuck you, I’m not saying shit.” As the words left his mouth, the flames began moving up the strands of his hair towards his face.
As I walked out onto the deck I heard him pleading for mercy, in between his shrieking I heard him scream. “They’re on the ship! They’re on the fucking ship!”