memento mori [DNF]

Chapter 7

This was the first time in a while that someone had managed to sneak up on Clay. he was normally uncannily aware of his surroundings. Maybe his own heartbeat was drowning out the noise around him, or maybe his anxious thoughts were too loud.

The hand was warm, but not clammy like his own. It was also smaller than his, but not small enough to be considered frail. Was he source of the light in the building? Could it be George? Although if it was George, Clay assumed he would've been on the ground already. George obviously wasn't stupid and probably wouldn't risk losing his advantage like this. But who else could it be? His pencil contraption was holstered on his free hand side, meaning that he could easily pull it out, turn, and stab. But was that the best option? This person hadn't attacked him. Maybe there were people that lived in this area and it was just a local. Clay didn't enjoy killing, and he especially despised killing people he wasn't ordered to. So the decision came down to protecting his own life, or protecting the life of a potentially innocent person. Not more than a second had passed since the stranger spoke, but Clay's mind was racing a million miles a minute. He decided his best option was to not immediately attack, but to be prepared to if he had to. If it wasn't George he didn't want to kill him, and would also need to get information out of him. Stabbing him right now was too risky when he didn't know their identity. He was going to slowly turn around so as not to spook them, but subtly place his hand at his side, so that he could grab his weapon if he needed to. As he turned his hand fell out of the grip of the strangers and dangled down by his side. He unhooked his leg from the top of the window sill and finally came face to face with the stranger.

It was George.

His hair was a bit longer than the picture of him, and he was a bit taller than what Clay expected, but it had to be him. Even in the dim light and the torn up clothes, he could tell.

Without hesitation, his arm flew upward, weapon in hand, aiming for his chest. However, without even blinking, George's arm did the same, catching Clay's hand right before it reached his chest. This caught Clay off guard, but not enough to cause him to falter. George didn't appear weak, but he was stronger than he looked. He was steadily keeping Clay's weapons at a safe distance from his chest. It became apparent to Clay that he may not be able to win in a sheer battle of strength, so he pulled his arm back in an attempt to over power him with momentum again. However, George caught his arm again, this time at an earlier position than last time, and used that distance to step closer and push Clay's arm downward.

The pencils landed directly in Clay's thigh. He screamed out in pain, but without missing a beat, tried to pull the weapon out of his own leg and continue the fight. He had the pencils about halfway out, when George knocked his hand away, causing the apparatus to turn inside of Clay's leg and break off. He screamed out once again and dropped the weapon, hands flying down to his leg. Despite the pain, and after only a second, he released one of his hands from the tight grip on his leg, and sent it straight up, hitting George right in the jaw.

Clay considered himself to be strong and a good fighter, but he was now realizing that maybe all of his previous opponents were just incompetent.

"Ow. You made me bite my tongue." Clay looked up, bewildered. The boy was standing still, frowning at him. Was this a joke to him? He wasn't sure if George was acting this way on purpose or not, but either way it was throwing him off. He truly had never fought someone so aloof. But was he though? He did manage to get the jump on Clay and even turn his own weapon against him. He truly wasn't sure what to do now. He was bleeding badly out of his leg, and his weapon was gone. But this guy seemed like he had no intentions of fighting. He had never attacked Clay, only counter attacked. He could try and kill him with his hands, but with the pain in his leg starting to set in he feared that George would just end up winning. But he couldn't give up by any means, he needed to get back home.

Right as Clay was moving into his next punch, Georges lips started moving as if he was about to say something. This caused Clay to rethink his punch and stop, but it was already too late. George had already moved in for the counter attack. He grabbed Clay's head on either side and slammed it backwards into the concrete building behind him, knocking Clay out.

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George stood there staring at the crumpled body on the ground, holding his jaw. There was blood in his mouth which he elected to spit out, narrowly missing Clay's unconscious body. He didn't even see that punch coming. He thought for sure that the boy would give up after an injury like that. He figured they must've been sending better trained assassins after him, but he never thought that meant it'd be somebody around his age. But the boy interested him. Despite being in pain, he never once had the glimmer of fear in his eyes that everybody else had. George couldn't help but feel like they were similar in a way, which caused him to feel hesitation about killing him. So, rather than leaving him here and running away, or killing him, he decided to take him back home, much like a small injured puppy. He didn't know if he would wake up before his false body dissipated, but on the off chance that he did, he wanted to talk to him.

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"God that didn't take long." George was lying in the sand next to the boys body, panting heavily. "Why is this guy so fucking dense." He had already exhausted himself trying to carry Clay's body back. George was strong but his stamina was below average. The sand didn't help either. It was demanding terrain as is, but carrying an extra nearly 200 pounds made everything much more difficult. Each step caused him to sink into the sand. Dragging the boys body behind him wasn't much easier either and left blood in the sand which could be tracked if a storm didn't cover it up.

He was heading further down the line of buildings, stopping every few minutes to take a break. He had retreated to this desert once he failed the mission, knowing that assassins would have a hard time catching him here. He truthfully didn't know what the light was in the other building, but it wasn't him, and after watching the boy, it appeared that it wasn't him either. Which scared George. He had been alone for the entire time he'd been here save the assassins who came after him. He traveled to the building after he saw the light thinking that it was an assassin, but it looked like the boy travelled there thinking it was him. If other people came here that was an issue. George didn't particularly enjoy being alone, but he had gotten used to it and didn't really want other people here. But then why, he wondered, why am I dragging this boy back home? Am I really that lonely. Did he interest me that much? Maybe he just looked interesting. He shook his head as he couldn't answer the question he had posed to himself. Whatever the answer, it was too late to turn back and he was too close to his home to leave the boy's body here, especially with the addition of new people in the area.