A challenge for the dead
Finger on the trigger
Bang, you're dead
Close your eyes tight
Not a witness to what you've said
You're not a villain
Just a mess in the head
The doctor wanted a name. Fuck. The young assassin stared, wide-eyed at the waiting man, bright blue eyes seeping a hold into his head. His breath, where was it?
Where was the air?
His lungs, oh god, his lungs.
Breathe.
Unbeknownst to him - he had been holding his breath, a normal reaction actually. As an assassin you come across certain times where someone thinks they have shot you down, and to play along, you put on the act of an opossum: Lay there still, hold in your breath, and pray they leave or turn their gaze before you knock your damn self unconscious or give yourself away. A challenge that not everyone dares to take.
In this case; he had not been shot - or had someone believe they had hit him with a bullet, but merely was being questioned by a now rather impatient doctor. All he wanted was a name. However, what name was he going to give? The organization already knew him as Tino - of course his real name, but it was also short and already ready to go as his name for the group. How stupid could he possibly be? Just because he had not ever thought of getting taken to the hospital, he still should have used a name not belonging to him officially.
The longer he laid on the sanitary bed, listening to the monitor track his heart rate, the worse his mental stability was becoming.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
As though the beeps were his clock, ticking away, progressively getting faster, like a time bomb waiting to explode. A cold sweat was producing on his forehead, teardrops of the salty water running down the sides of his face, the need to play opossum again was a growing urge.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Someone shut that machine off!
"Well?"
Reality rushed back to him, his head spinning from so many thoughts spiraling out of control in his mind; vision focusing again, his eyes were still placed on the doctor - now looking more confused than anything. Man, what did this man want again? Ah, right. A name.
"Ti…na."
The doctor squinted his eyes, as though he was looking right through that lie of the assassins.
"…Tina?"
Goddammit. He just gave himself a girls name. Taking that back now would just make the, once again annoyed looking, doctor more suspicious than he already was of him. All he could do was simply nod.
Come on! He was an assassin for fucks sake. Tino's head was not where it should be for a situation such as this one. As long as his ears and voice were in working conditions - then just those two things would have to do.
More questions came; the normal ones, such as: Date of birth, taking any medications, sexually active, drink, smoke, and more for the medical purpose. His birth was of course a lie. Though everything else - Tino answered truthfully; after all, there was no way to get suspicious of someone who does not take medication or smoke. Though on the topic of smoking, his nose did pick up a faint scent of cigarette smoke on the doctor. How ironic. A doctor smoking even though his job is to advise others to stray away.
The tall blond recorded everything he answered to the paper on his metal clipboard, occasionally adjusting his glasses back to the top of his nose. It took a moment of time, but once his hand went through an intense motion of scribbles, the assassin knew he was finished by giving his signature at the bottom.
Finally, now would this oddly intimidating man leave already?
"'Right…Tina. Obviously. You were shot in the shoulder. And to make sure you are okay. You will be here for a couple more days."
Sure. Of course, doctor. An assassin - in a hospital - is going to stay there while receptionists doing the paper work find something that just doesn't match up, the come back to question the assassin, only to call the police on the poor fool, and have the killer arrested.
No.
As soon as this doctor left, Tino would be gone. He would tear the IV out, find wherever they hid his clothes, and jump from the fifth floor if he had to. There was no way he would be staying, there was no way he could, even if he wanted.
"Alright, thanks…"
"Berwald."
Did…did he just give his first name? Didn't doctors normally go by their last with patients?
"Thanks Berwald."
The doctor gave a curt nod, then left the room, leaving the Finnish man alone with a beeping machine and the faint cry of birds echoing back and forth outside. Time to get to work: Tino ripped the IV out from his arm, quickly putting the blanket over him to the small spot, and waited until the blood would no longer drizzle out insanely. Much to his luck, his clothes were placed on a chair, and there was no hassle in getting redressed again and out of the much too revealing hospital gown. As for his rifle…who knew where that could be now. With everything as good as it was going to get, and even with the pain meds now wearing off, and his shoulder starting to ache its way into actual pain, the assassin was off.
Sometimes, it just seemed too easy.
Tino stepped out from his room, glancing around, then made his way to the elevator, and no one stopped him - too busy with their own thing, or the ones who saw did not know who he was and why he was there in the first place. The sudden jerking stop the elevator came to when he reached ground level made him groan; the slight movement in his shoulder sending a stinging sensation through his arm. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. Damn, he just needed to get back to base, then things would be fine.
He ran out as soon as the doors opened and through the motion sensor glass doors, leading out to sunlight and freedom, or so he thought. When he took that first step out into the light, the smell of smoke wafted to his nose, and an angry grunt came to his ears, a hand soon finding its way onto his injured shoulder; making the Finnish man flinch.
"Looks like ya still have the wound. Where d'you think you're going?"
Fuck.