The Detective.

Detective Heath Ramsay pressed himself to the wall, breathing deeply, before charging down the narrow alleyway, gun held firmly before him. Garbage thrived underfoot, cautioning Heath to slow or risk a broken ankle. Smells swelled to his nostrils and stuck in his throat, filling it with acidic toxins. Heath coughed and immediately regretted the sound. A man, almost out of sight, glanced back, and meeting Heath’s eyes with the cold stare most murderers seemed to have, laughed cruelly at the vulnerable situation the detective had been caught in. The villain unholstered his gun with a grin, pressing the trigger just as the barrel became level with Heath’s chest. Heath dived to the left, the arrow-like metal whirling past his shoulder. His fall was cushioned by a black bag, but he stood in choking repulsion when he realised exactly what it was; last nights dinner. Crunching gravel ahead of him pulled Heath back to his assignment; he struggled his way out of the moulding masses before hurrying after the other man. Heath suddenly pulled up short, laughing as he raised his own pistol. The villain had hit a dead end; a ten foot wall, to be precise.