"Max! What are you doing? Let him go!" my father shouted from behind me. He grabbed my wrist and tried to pull me away, but I wouldn't budge.
"Max, let him go now! Why are you doing this?" His voice rose with alarm.
"Mother's missing," I snarled, refusing to release my grip. "I think he's involved. So he'd better speak—right now—or I'll kill him."
My father kept pulling, desperation in his eyes. "Calm yourself, boy. How's he supposed to talk if you're choking the life out of him?"
Rohan was gasping, his face flushing red. Realizing I was about to suffocate him, I let go.
"Speak!" I barked.
Rohan collapsed to his knees, coughing and clutching his chest. When he didn't answer, I lost control and punched him hard across the face.
"Speak—right now!"
Blood spattered my knuckles. Rohan's lip split and he fell sideways, dazed. My father rushed in and shoved me back, shielding him.
"Calm yourself!" he ordered, voice sharp and commanding. That tone—the one that demanded obedience—stopped me cold.
I stood there, shaking, trying to tamp down the rage burning in my chest. If he didn't talk soon, I knew I might really kill him.
"Do you know anything about Ava?" my father asked Rohan, who was still coughing.
"I don't know anything! Please, stop hurting me!" Rohan wheezed, backing away on his hands.
He tried to run, but before I could react my father shouted, "Stop! Look—your mother's over there!"
I spun. At the top of the stairs, Ava stood in the doorway of the siblings' room.
"Mom!" I shouted and sprinted toward her. Relief and guilt slammed into me at once. "Where were you? I called—I thought something happened!"
Ava looked shaken but unharmed. "I heard Rohan's sister crying," she said softly. Concern—and a trace of fear—shaded her face.
Seeing that fear twisted something inside me. She wasn't afraid of Rohan. She was afraid of me.
"Max," she said quietly but firmly, "that boy isn't bad. You acted without understanding the full picture—you hit him."
Her words cut deeper than any wound. I dropped my head. "I'm sorry," I murmured.
She crossed her arms. "Say it to him. You made a mistake—go apologize."
Her tone left no room for argument. I nodded and went downstairs.
As soon as I appeared, my father watched me with wary eyes. Rohan backed away the moment he saw me; fear flickered across his face.
I stopped a few steps away, keeping my distance. The apology lodged in my throat—why was it so hard to say?
Finally, I exhaled. "Rohan… I'm sorry for punching you. I thought you'd done something, but I was wrong. I'm sorry." I bowed my head.
Rohan glared through swollen eyes. "You almost killed me," he whispered, still shaking. "You bastard." Then he turned and walked away.
My father watched me for a long moment, then rested a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"Look at me, Max."
Reluctantly, I met his eyes.
"As a man, you need to control your anger," he said quietly. "Blind rage only brings destruction—to you and to everyone who cares about you. Learn that before it's too late."
He patted my shoulder once and walked away.
I realized I was getting more violent and less empathetic. I had almost ripped Rohan's throat out—I wasn't afraid to kill. It was surreal: a dead body used to terrify me, and now, less than a day later, I was numb enough to do it without blinking.
Maybe it was because I'm in Agent 47's body. He'd been engineered to be less empathetic—drugs, training, brainwashing to create an emotionless killer. Still, he kept some humanity—love, hatred—which I find strangely fascinating: how someone can remain human after all that.
In this Walking-Dead world, less empathy can be an asset. Still, I felt guilty for hitting Rohan without thinking. I needed to control my anger before it destroyed me.
Or maybe I didn't feel guilt at all. Maybe I only felt this because I saw my mother look at me with fear. That look tightened my chest—it hurt more than any wound. I was afraid she'd never look at me the same. The thought terrified me. Feelings are complicated; I didn't want to think about it anymore.
With that, I went upstairs to talk with Mom.
Ava sat on the sofa, lost in thought. I started to walk away so as not to disturb her, but she called me back.
"Wait, Max. Come here. I want to talk to you."
I walked slowly over and sat beside her with my head hanging low. My heart hammered with an inexplicable nervousness.
"You remind me of John—fiercely protective of what he loves, and cold to everyone else. I remember how you used to cry when an animal was hurt. I miss that, Max. He was always kind. But sometimes I think it's better to be like John in this world." She paused, then added softly, searching my face, "Never lose your humanity, even if everyone else has."
The silence that followed was heavier than her words. I didn't fully understand, but I nodded. She smiled; warmth in her eyes calmed me. Then she handed me a small packet of pills. "These are painkillers. Give them to Rohan, and apologize again."
I nodded and left the room. Relief swelled—she was still the mother I'd always known. As I walked down the hallway, I heard voices below: my father and uncle.
"…John, what are you thinking? You're being unusually… kind," Matthew said, watching him.
John's voice was low. "This place has running water, electricity, food—everything we need. I thought maybe we should get rid of the siblings and take it all. But I know you won't agree. The smarter move is to earn their trust. If they accept us, great; if not, I'll deal with them."
Matthew scoffed. "Heartless as ever. Even with the world in chaos, you still try to exploit people."
John put a hand on Matthew's shoulder. "If it comes down to choosing between us and those siblings, I'll pick us. Winter's coming—we need a safe place with food and water. This is perfect."
"What if something goes wrong? What's the plan if this motel becomes dangerous?" Matthew asked.
John answered calmly, "If it falls apart, we head for the savannah. Find a boat and try to reach Canada or a remote island. Wait there until someone invents a vaccine. That's the fallback."
They shifted to other topics. I felt a cold knot in my stomach. Hearing that from my father surprised me. I hadn't realized how far he might go. They stopped talking and began searching for a walkie-talkie. I knocked on the siblings' door.