“No point being a good man when you’re a dead one.” I think to myself as I scrape the blood off of my walls. And I’ll stand by that philosophy from now until the day I die.

You see that’s all that matters in this life. Survival. Everything else is just an added bonus. That was basically true back when the world was normal, but nowadays it’s quite literally a fact. It doesn’t matter who you were before the mist came. The mist doesn’t care if you were the biggest baddest CEO in all of the corporate world who lived a lifetime of utter dominance, it will still hurry your old ass to your deathbed. The mist doesn’t care if you were a school prefect choir girl of excellent moral standing, it will still corrupt you into doing heinously violent things. Eventually. The only thing the mist cares about is whether you are a survivor or not. And I am. I’m constantly doing what’s needed of me to live on, no matter how ‘awful’ it may be, if it puts me in the best position to survive then I will do it. Now, what will put me in the best position is to find a group of people similar to me, a group of fighters who can eat whatever this shithole land can serve them. I’ve always considered myself a lone wolf, but the lone wolf dies alone. And  I don’t plan on dying at all.

There’s one group I’ve had my eye on as of late. They have a couple of weak links but from what I’ve seen they’re a fucking force of nature. And they’ll only get better once I join up with them. They have weapons gallor and seem incredibly capable of using them.

 I first observed their leader - Khalil. A bit too white-knighty and  self-righteous for my taste, but he’s very strong and that’s all that matters. Very intelligent and knows his way around a gun a little too well. Quite aware of his surroundings, which is why I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed me tracking them for the past few days. Maybe I’m just that good. I only slipped up once, when I was watching them in the cannibal forest. The black girl -  Isabelle I believe her name is, almost caught me running around. She probably clocked that someone was following them. She's a clever one. Oh and there was the time I scared the rich blonde one by pointing a gun through their window, but that doesn’t count it was intentional - and too funny not to do. The look on her face was hilarious. 

Yep, this is definitely the group for me. If anyone is getting Dubois’ cure it’ll be them, I’m betting my money on it. I want my hands on that cure so badly and they’re going to lead me right to it. In fact. I think today’s the day I finally make myself known to them. 

I finish scraping the blood off of the wall. Jesus, why’s human blood so hard to get out of things? You’d think I would’ve gotten used to it by now, but it still a fucking hassle everytime I do it. I think I should just stop bothering to clean it, let it crust over. Or maybe I should just get into less altercations? Nah, that’s ridiculous. I hear the sound of footsteps coming from another room. Fuck. I forgot he was still here. The footsteps grow closer and closer. 

Walking into the room is…I don’t remember his name. Not like it matters anyway. He’s one level above a thorn in my side as far as I’m concerned. 

“Sorry for letting myself in like this.” he drivels. “I thought I’d check up on you.”

“I don’t require checking up on.” I assure him.

 “But you do require company.” he says back, in a flirtatious tone. 

Smartass prick. Don’t remind me of last night's mistakes. 

“I hope you know last night was a one-time thing.” I tell him. 

“What’s stopping it from being a two time thing?” 

“That means fuck off.” I hiss at him. 

His face turns sour, the shitty coy smile finally fading away. 

“You know, Michael. It’d do you a lot more good making friends than enemies during times like this.” he whines. 

He crosses his arms and storms out of the room. Yeah that’s right, get the fuck out of my house. The last thing I need is ‘friends’, especially if they’re like him. I’ve already made it clear what type of people I wish to surround myself with and he doesn’t exactly fit the bill. 

Now that I’ve cleaned the wall and the trash that was that guy has done me the favour of taking himself out, it’s time to get rid of another smell. 

I drag out a dead body from underneath my bed. A tall, slender but slightly muscled man who no longer has a face. He made the mistake of trying to break into and ransack this house the other day. No one does that to Michael Brandwood. I’ve done quite well for myself considering the amount of people who are gunning for my head. I owe it all to the other Brandwoods. Years of trying to hold my own with Brandon, Jacob and Oliver forced me to be like this. But I’m glad that’s how I grew up. It’s character building. But who I really owe all of my skills to is my Mum. She was a real fighter. Paranoid, bipolar, deranged -  but a fighter nonetheless. She was always worried that something was going to happen, that her sons were going to be in danger. We needed to make sure we could ‘kill anyone before they had the chance to kill us’. Her words, not mine. Who would’ve thought I’d end up living in a time where I would actually need all of that shit? Funny how things work. I drag the body out of the house, cutting through the living room. 

“Speak of the devil.” I mutter to myself as I stumble across Mum’s wheelchair. I’ve been meaning to throw that away for a while. I don’t know why I keep it around. I guess it makes me feel as if I’m still connected to her now that she's gone. But in a way I’m happy she wasted away at just the right time. I’d hate for her to have to live through all of this.

I take the body outside and into my backyard. I dump it on a pile of six other bodies from my other recent altercations. Using a match and a lighter I set the pile of bodies on fire, watching in intrigue as they slowly burn. This is more honourable of a ‘funeral’ than any of these cunts deserved. Now that that’s over and done with, I think it’s time I meet my new group.

I attach my bag of weapons to the back of my motorcycle and hit the road. Well, what’s left of it at least. Where was the last place I saw them? I think they were heading toward Western Menoa, probably in an effort to ransack those houses that have recently flooded, or maybe to fight at the Arena’s. I know that’s the type of risky shit I’d do and they’re a group of action. So that’s a good place to start. 

As I drive through The Land I can’t help but marvel at the views. Ignoring the murderous and debaucherous actions you see about and it’s actually kind of beautiful. I’m not sure if it’s the mist or the lack of infrastructure being built but the world seems greener in a way. Like it’s healing from the effects of human nature. What better time for the Earth to heal itself when we’re too busy killing each other off. 

I eventually arrive at Western Minoa, pulling up next to the swamp houses. None of them are there to be seen. Where could they be? I look up towards a hill in the distance to see a series of half-clothed warriors marching up it. How much do you want to bet that whatever is going on up there is something to do with them? I pick out my only gun with a telescopic sight on it. A sniper would be more useful but snipers don’t grow on trees, so this will do. I take my gun and find myself a hiding spot in a bush, surrounded by a collection of other bushes and trees, adjacent to the hill. Right, let’s see what’s going on here then. I peer through the scope of my gun and look over the scenario. I was right, it’s the group I’ve been seeking. Seems like Khalil and co. are in deep shit with…Ryan McKeown? Fucking hell they’ve really done it now!

“What could he possibly want with them?” I whisper to myself. 

My attention is grasped by the blonde girl that I scared earlier. Holy shit, that’s Lysandra Devon! How did I not notice that before? No wonder McKeown wants to kill them. I better do something quick or I can kiss my new group and Dubois’ cure goodbye. 

Before Ryan and his people can cut them down, I start letting off a series of shots at the shirtless cultists. My aim’s not exactly perfect so I missed a lot, but enough hit them to startle Ryan. Khalil ducks down to avoid any potential gunfire and the rest of the group follows suit. Smart boys and girls. I manage to kill enough of Ryan’s men for him to leave Khalil and co. and fall back. Mission accomplished. But instead of leaving the area entirely they run in the direction of gunshots. The direction of me. Not good. I crawl through the bush and hide behind a tree. 

“Relax Michael, they won’t find you.” I assure myself as I climb up the back of the tree and conceal myself amongst the treetops and leaves. 

I see Ryan and his followers approach my area of tall trees and bushery. None of them have spotted me in the tree yet. 

“The gunshots came from here.” I hear Ryan say. “Find the shooter, we’ll deal with the Devon later.”

The group wade through the bushes and trees, walking further and further in trying to find me. Fucking dumbasses. As soon as McKeown’s out of the picture, I climb out the tree, recollect my gun and approach the group on the hill. They’re too busy arguing amongst each other to initially notice me approaching them. I’m only a few metres away when Khalil finally decides to take notice. He gives me a stern and serious look, taking up an alpha stance to protect the others. He’s so hilariously predictable.

“You’re welcome for that, by the way.” I tell them. 

Khalil takes one look at my face then at the rifle in my hands. He slowly pulls a gun out of the back of his trousers and points it at me. The short ginger girl follows suit. Nevermind Lysandra Devon, how have I  not noticed her before? Goddamn is she fine. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love the way she points that gun at me. She’d definitely make a more interesting partner than what’s his name from last night. 

“Hello there.” I greet, flashing the most winning smile I can manage. “What’s your name?”

“Grace.” she answers, nonchalantly.

“Looking good, Grace.” I flirt. “I’m Michael”

 She smirks back at me. Oh yes, this is how it starts. 

“I’m sorry, do we know you?” asks Isabelle. 

“Not yet.” I tell them.They don’t look like they’re satisfied with that answer.

 Lysandra cowers behind Khalil who continues to wave that stupid gun in my direction. Isabelle crosses her arms and glares at me. Grace seems to be the least repulsed by my sheer presence, thankfully. The tall timid one, who I really need to learn the name of, tries his best to look intimidating. He’s failing. 

“Listen, I just risked my own life attacking McKeown and all of them.” I explain to them. “I’m not asking you to suck my dick, but a little appreciation would go a long way.”

“How do we know you’re not going to attack us as well?” asks the tall timid one. 

“Because I want to join you dumbass.”

The five of them are taken aback by this revelation. Why are they all acting this way? Am I really that scary?

“Why?” interrogates Khalil. I lower my gun down and clear my throat. Feel like I’m back in school. Except instead of explaining why I think the headteacher shouldn’t expel me, I’m explaining why these two shouldn’t blow my brains out. 

“Simple. I want to join Dubois' race for the cure. I need a group and from the way you guys handle yourselves I can’t think of anyone better for me to join.” I explain to them.  “I saw you guys during the riots at Devon Manor. Such a small group causing so much damage and making it out alive? Good stuff.”

The five exchanges looks between one another. What, is this like their voting process or something? Khalil puts away his gun, but maintains a stern glare in my direction. 

“That’s very flattering, Michael.” starts Khalil. “But we don’t want you with us.”

“Oh but you want her?” I protest as I point towards Lysandra. “Her Dad’s company might be the ones responsible for all of this you know?”

Lysandra looks down to the floor, ashamed. Yeah that’s right. I got you there. Khalil on the other hand, remains unfaltering. 

“Might.” repeats Khalil. “We know nothing yet, and if she says her father didn’t do anything then we might as well take her word for it.”

“Thank you.” mutters Lysandra. Khalil places a supporting hand on her shoulder. The two grind the conversation to a halt,  making silent googly eyes at each other. They can’t be fucking serious.

“You’re not exactly in a good position here!” I remind them. “You’ve got both Declan O’Gallagher and Ryan McKeown gangs gunning for you, and that’s only the ones I know of.”

Khalil scoffs and shakes his head at me.

 “None of that is any of your business. We’ll deal with it ourselves.”

Jesus Christ, these people are difficult. I’m offering them an extra pair of hands here! They should be jumping at this opportunity!

“I could see why you’d think we’d want someone to join us. But why don’t you give us one good reason as to why we’d want you specifically  to join us?” poses Isabelle. 

Fair enough. That should be easy.

“I can give you several.” I begin. Time to lay it all down for them. “Reason one, money, I can pool my resources with yours, help you reach that five thousand goal. Reason two, a home. I have a home in a secluded area of the county. And reason three, weapons, I have a shit tonne of weapons and I’m very good at using them. You should already know that though, I did just save you from McKeown.”

Isabelle raises her head as she listens, slightly impressed. 

“All in all. You’re a group of survivors, and I’m the best survivor out there. We can dominate together.” I conclude. “With me on your team, that cure is as good as yours.”

The group stares at me in contemplation. They form a slight huddle as they discuss. They’re talking about it, that’s a good sign. The group look back towards me. Look at the looks on their faces. They know they’ve got no other choice but pick me up. I think I’ve swung the group vote in my favour. 

Moments later I find myself back on my motorcycle, driving them towards my home as they follow me in their car. I figured it’s best to travel this way. With me in front, they could run me over or shoot me in the back of the head at any given moment if they felt I was untrustworthy. I think that makes them feel safer, though in reality, I’d never let that happen. 

I arrive back at the infamous Brandwood bungalow. King of all childhood homes. I urge my guests to enter my home and pack all of their belongings into it. They seem very apprehensive, especially Khalil. But I don’t necessarily blame them. I hope none of them go into the bloodstained wall room. 

“Feel free to make yourselves at home.” I say to them as they bring in bags, crates and all their other shite. 

Isabelle walks past me as she holds her crate. She gives me a piercing look as she passes, as if to say ‘I’m keeping my eye on you.’ Don't worry, Isabelle, I’m keeping an eye on you two. Lysandra on the other hand completely avoids eye contact with me as she walks by. Might be because of my comment on her Dad, might be out of sheer fear. I don’t care either way.  

 

I join the men in the kitchen as they unload a box full of their rations. Most of which have past their expiration date and would be unfit for consumption under normal circumstances. The tall timid one takes out a loaf of unsliced bread, smelling it. I’ ve still not learnt his name. 

“What’s your name again?” I ask him. 

“Oh, it’s Cameron,” he says to me. 

He offers his hands out for a handshake to which I accept. The handshake is limp, cold and lifeless. I’m not letting the height and gruff facial hair deceive me, this handshake tells me all I need to know already -  Cameron’s hardly a man at all…

“Nice to meet you Cameron.” I greet. 

We continue to shake hands. Cameron looks me in the eye awkwardly and chuckles. I look back at him with the evilest smirk I can manage. I stop the handshake by squeezing his hand, crushing it underneath mine until the skin goes red. Cameron yelps in pain but is unable to release himself from my grasp. See? What did I say?

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” grills Khalil as he pushes me off of him. 

I laugh at the two of them, who give me confused glares. God, no one knows how to take a joke anymore. 

I leave the kitchen and go into my room. I’m surprised to see Grace sitting on my bed, legs crossed and head tapping against what was previously the backboard of my bed. Interesting…

“Can I help you?” I ponder.

“Not really.”

“Then why are you in my room?”

Grace shrugs,  a sly smirk firmly placed on her cute face. 

“You’re part of the group now aren’t you?” 

“I’d assume so, yeah.”

Grace slaps the space on the bed next to her.

 “Then we should properly get to know each other.” she suggests. I like the sound of that. I join Grace in sitting on the bed. I stare into her pretty blue eyes. One of them is heavily bruised, I wonder how that happened. She notices me staring at the bruise and rubs her eye with her hand.

“I usually look better than this.” she laughs as she uses her frizzy red hair to cover up the mark. 

“I don’t mind what I see.” I remark. 

Grace blushes, moving her hair away from blocking her eye. She flips her hair to the side and gives me a mischievous look, 

“You said you had money and weapons.” recalls Grace. 

“I do.” I insist. “More than I have any use for.”

“Good, then you’re useful to us.” she comments with a smirk. 

“I’d like nothing more than to be useful to you.” say in the most sensually deep voice I can manage as I stare her deep in the eyes.

Grace looks me in the eyes and then my lips. I like where this is going.  I slowly caress her face and lean in for a kiss. Grace puts her lips over mine for a few seconds, then lunges in initiating the kiss before I can. It’s not long until the two of us are fully making out.  I really like where this is going. I try to take things a step further but my wandering hands are brought to a stop. Grace pulls away from me and gets up from the bed. 

“You’ll get some more once you prove you’re really useful to us.” she teases. 

I scoff at her, attempting to hide the massive grin on my face. She winks at me and leaves the room.

I knew joining this group would be a good idea. I should’ve given up the lone wolf shit ages ago!