The Hitman

In an alley a few blocks from Detective Sihn's aparment, a man sat, collapsed from near exhaustion. He was a large man, very intimidating, wearing a very expensive tailored suit. He bent over his large frame heaving as he coughed and vomited out his lunch onto the filthy floor of the alleyway.

"Shit," Gabriel muttered. Cloning himself always took a lot out of him. Not only was his consciousness split between the clones, but he felt everything they did. Every bump, every blow, every god damn miserable bullet. And when they died, he felt it. He felt the cold, clammy hand of **** around his throat every time one of his clones bit it. Although he was strong and tough, no man could truly withstand the touch of ****. Even those that cheat it don't come away the same.

Gabriel wiped at his pale, sweaty face, taking deep lungfulls of breath. Tonight had been especially bad for him, as he had to clone himself numerous multiple times. Not only that, but he had to go up against not only a woman who could heal her wounds but a freaking invincible cop as well. That just didn't seem fair to him.

But the worst part for the hitman was having to call his employer and explain his failure. Mr. Easton was not a man who took failure lightly. Gabriel remembered the last guy who let Easton down; in fact, he could still smell the roasting flesh even after six months.

Gathering both his stomach and his courage, Gabriel stood up. His suit was now a mess, stained from both the alley floor and the vomit he'd chucked up. He wondered what he should tell Easton. He thought about sending some more clones to the apartment, but he knew it would be pointless. With that detective there, they'd just get killed again. Not to mention that the place would probably be filled with cops by now.

No, he had to bite the bullet and tell Easton about his failure. He just hoped the bastard would give him a second chance. If not, he knew his ass would be toast.

Literally.