memento mori [DNF]

Chapter 5

He studied the picture drawing intensely knowing that he wouldn't wake up with the file on him. The false body only wakes up with the clothes that were on the real body when it falls asleep. This meant for every new mission, Clay had to acquire knives or food on his own, which most of the time meant stealing it. The false body couldn't die from hunger or dehydration as far as Clay knew, but then again he had never been on an assignment for more than a day. He would still feel hungry, but neglected the pain most of the time, unless there was easy access to food. The only difficult part was having to memorize the picture that was provided. Sometimes people had changed their appearance or name, but most of the people who were targets were too dumb, or too cocky to do so. Sometimes the drawing was not accurate to the person, although that was rare as the artists got paid a substantial amount, and they'd be killed if the drawing was reported to not be accurate.

He folded up the piece of paper and stuck it in his pocket, as the doctor was walking back over. He held a long needled syringe in one hand and a small bottle in the other. The liquid in the syringe was tinted slightly red as it had the blood of the target in it.

"All right. Ready?" Art looked up at Clay, who held his glance steady. Determination was written all over his face. "I suppose that means you are." Before Clay could brace himself, the needle was stabbed into his upper arm and sent hot pressure throughout his body. He groaned but managed to keep himself from falling to his knees. It was worse than he remembered, but maybe the serum was different. The needle was removed, but the pain didn't subside.

"Here." The doctors hand was outstretched towards Clay with a small glass bottle in his palm. Inside there were pink tablets. The serum was apparently what produced the false body and moved the assassin to where the target was, and the pills were the sedative.

"There's four?" His vision had already started to blur and move around on it's own, but he could clearly tell that there was more than one pill. His voice was shaky due to his increased heart rate, but he tried his best to hide it.

"Yes. Since you'll be out for longer, you'll need more than one sedative."

"Is it safe?"

"Better to take your chances with it now rather than dying here." The doctor made a fine point. To be fair, if Clay was anyone else he might've already been killed for talking back or talking to much in general, but he was a vet and they did need him for this mission.

He grabbed the pills out of the doctors hand and took them one at a time. His mouth was too dry to attempt to swallow all four at once. The pills had to be taken while still in the presence of the doctors to make sure that nobody tried to sell them off. Also clay was unsure what would happen to him if he only took the injection and not the sedative.

"I'll assume that you'll want to go back home and not stay here? Even though we'll keep your body alive and well?" Clay looked back and gave his answer, "I can't stay here for a month."

"In that case, better hurry home. You have about an hour until those take over."

He took only a second to compose himself before turning and heading towards the stairwell. "Good luck." Clay turned back towards the doctor who held a genuine concerned look on his face. He could never get a read off him. Doctors were ruthless people, but maybe, maybe he was different. That's what he liked to believe, but then he'd just be playing into their game. He offered a small nod back before starting the descension.

The way home could be completed in an hour if he ran, and he had done it many times before, but never in this state, and never with four sedatives. He was still feeling immense pressure in his arm and was feeling woozy. If it wasn't for the expensive fare, he might've considered staying in a cot as to not risk him collapsing on the way home. He'd be killed for sure if his body was found unconscious in the middle of the road. Especially near the warehouse. As much as his head was pounding and his legs were threatening to give out, he started running as soon as he hit the last step. Weaving his way through the people scattered throughout the bottom level.

Summer had just passed, but the heat had stuck around. Sweat was dripping from his brow into his eyes, blurring his vision even more. He truly felt like he was going to faint. The air was hot, which meant his long inhales offered no relief in his lungs. He felt claustrophobic and anxious, but he knew that he had to at least make it back home. He was worried about what Nick would do when he woke back up. He smiled a bit thinking about being scared of Nick. He was younger than Clay after all, and he was staying in their house, but he figured he would be pretty upset with being forced to watch over Levy again. Clay thought that might've been his top priority when he forced Clay to stop doing runs. Nick was self sufficient and didn't care for looking after people who were any less than, even though at one point he was the one being cared for. He did love Levy, and Clay knew that, but Clay was the caretaker and Nick was the friend. With Clay gone, Nick's roles were forced to change.

He tried to forget his intrusive thoughts since, after all, he wasn't planning on being away for more than a few days. But the twelve previous assassins were worrisome, and the fact that two of them never even found him made it worse. Clay was far better off dealing with skilled fighters, rather than the elusive types, as tracking wasn't his strong suit. He was also unsure if the twelve previous people had a month or only a day, but he couldn't assume any less than a month. Underestimating the target and being confident in his own skills were two different things. He was confident, but if he underestimates George, he's already lost.

He was finally closing in on their house. The sun had still yet to set, but he hoped that at least one of them was home so he could explain himself. Although if they found his body there unconscious and saw the ever growing red lump on his arm, they would know.

His stamina was shot. He couldn't feel anything and wondered if he was even moving at all anymore. His body was running on autopilot off of pure adrenaline. He was starting to feel woozy, and knew the sedatives were starting to work. It was impossible to fight of the sedatives for more than ten minutes or so after they kick in. Even if he was still running, his body would just give out, and he would collapse without even realizing it. But he couldn't allow that to happen, he had to keep pushing. Through the sweat in his eyes and the hazy overcast, he saw their house. He could see a light coming from inside and felt relief, knowing that somebody was home.

He was close to the porch steps and let out an ungodly noise, because that's all he could muster. Normally they'd announce themselves before entering to avoid causing panic to the others that were home, but his mind couldn't find the right words to say. He noticed a darkened figure appear at the door, but he had already dropped to his knees, and his head had fallen. He had one hand on the bannister, but he couldn't pull himself back up.

"Clay?" It was Levy, he knew that much. She started talking and asking him questions. He responded, but he truly didn't even know what he was saying. His body was trying to hold its ground within the conversation, but his mind truly wasn't there. He was tired. He just wanted to close his eyes, but he wanted to make it inside first so that Levy wouldn't have to drag him in.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't get his body to move for him. His eyes closed on their own despite him fighting to keep them open. Right before his mind drifted into sleep, for the first time since he returned, he understood something Levy had said. "Just don't fucking die. Okay?"

That was all the needed to hear really. He knew he wouldn't die and he knew that Levy, despite how mad she must've been, believed in him and wanted him back. The feeling of the stairs digging into his side and the splintered bannister in his hand slowly started to dissipate.

_____

He shot up, gasping for air and clenching his throat, waking up in the false body was always traumatizing, but it was far better than what he had been feeling for the past hour. His head was still pounding, but he was trying to stabilize his breathing. He opened his eyes and was almost blinded by the setting sun. His eyes shot back closed and he decided it best to wait a moment before trying to open them again. His breathing and heart rate had slowed down quite a bit and he started to listen to his surroundings. He couldn't hear anything except for the slight breeze zipping past his ears. He put his hands down beside him and was startled enough to open his eyes. He looked at the ground and then at his surroundings, still squinting to avoid the sunlight.

No fucking way.

He was in the middle of the desert.