He arrived at the docks just before midnight. The air was thick with the scent of salt and diesel. A single figure stood beneath the dim glow of a flickering lamppost.
As he approached, the figure turned. It was the detective from the warehouse.
"You're late," she said coolly.
Before he could respond, she tossed something at his feet. A file, thick with papers and photographs.
He picked it up with shaky hands and flipped through the pages. Images of him - caught on surveillance, walking into the warehouse. A picture of the crime boss, alive. Another one - his own face, staring blankly back at him.
The final page made his blood turn to ice.
A psychiatric report.
Subject: Alex Carter. Diagnosis: Dissociative Identity Disorder.
The words blurred as his mind reeled.
"You were hired to kill him, Alex. But you didn't," the detective said, stepping closer. "Instead, your other personality did."
His head throbbed. The missing pieces fell into place. He wasn't just the hitman.
He was also the witness.
And the next target.