Annndddd we're back!

Let's get to it, shall we?

*I do not own The Walking Dead. It belongs to its rightful owner.*

"This is a place where I don't feel alone.

This is a place where I feel at home."

~ The Cinematic Orchestra: To Build a Home

Prologue:

The man paces back in forth between these four walls, the heels of his boots clicking on the hard floor with each step. The sound echoes, bounces, until it is swallowed up. I watch his worn boots as he goes; my blood-filled mouth is open as labored breaths of air travel in and out of it. My face stings, my eyes feel wet, and a blood droplet falls down from my cheek and stains the floor.

The boots still and so does my heart for a moment, but I refuse to look up. You would think someone would want to know what their killer looks like, but no, not me. This man doesn't deserve any words from my lips, much less my eyes.

"We're done playing games." he says, but I don't think I am. I'm pretty sure I could go for another round of hide and seek. I hide the information everyone is so desperately searching for and they try to seek it – drag it out of me – little do they know I'll never tell . . .

The boots are back to moving and this time they come for me. His shadow looms over my crumpled form, swallowing me up like this room swallows his footfalls after a brief hesitation. His fingers find my chin and they force my stiff head up.

I stare death in the face, green on green, and then the man opens his mouth to speak once more, "Now, you're gonna give up where your camp's at."

My eyes move over his shoulder to the two people behind him – his people – with their smug looks and deadly weapons. They would die for this man right here, I know that, and I will die for my family back home, too.

Lazily, my gaze slides back over to the person gripping me with his cold stare. "No can do . . . mister." I spit, my tongue gliding over the blood that has settled in my mouth and I taste the metallic liquid there.

He lets go of me, backs up a few feet, and then his gun is out; a shiny revolver. Quickly, he takes three strides forward and closes the distance between us. The revolver presses against my forehead, it feels cool against my burning skin, and I realize that this is the first time I've ever looked down the barrel of a fully loaded gun.

The gun clicks. "So unwise . . ." the man mutters to me.

This is where I will die.

I will die in a smothering room with a man I don't know and in a place I'm unfamiliar with. Bruised and bloody, I will go out quickly like turning off a light. Alone – I will die alone even though there are others in here with me.

You always face death alone.

I think about my family back at that safe haven I never gave up as the man pulls the trigger.

The Last of Us soundtrack causes me to write stuff like this, I'm sorry.

I know this wasn't very home-like – such as the title of this fanfic expresses – but it was just a little preview of what's to come.

It'll all make sense in time.

~ Rainy