Dai Bo looked up from his magazine. “Did you kill him?”
Seven smiled—small, tired, genuine.
And smiled.
“No,” Seven panted.
He threw a scissor blade like a boomerang. It sliced the first assassin’s gun in half. The second lunged—Seven spun, kicked a trash can lid into his face, then used the second scissor blade to pin the third’s sleeve to a wooden crate.
Old Chen squinted. “You’re the assassin everyone laughs at.”
Outside, the moon rose over Chicken Island. Somewhere, a phone rang. A woman in white picked up.
Dai Bo looked up from his magazine. “Did you kill him?”
Seven smiled—small, tired, genuine.
And smiled.
“No,” Seven panted.
He threw a scissor blade like a boomerang. It sliced the first assassin’s gun in half. The second lunged—Seven spun, kicked a trash can lid into his face, then used the second scissor blade to pin the third’s sleeve to a wooden crate.
Old Chen squinted. “You’re the assassin everyone laughs at.”
Outside, the moon rose over Chicken Island. Somewhere, a phone rang. A woman in white picked up.