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.
The target’s name was Old Chen, a retired noodle vendor who had witnessed something he shouldn’t have: a shadow trade of illegal chi-enhancement pills beneath the floating pier of Chicken Island.
They ran through Chicken Island’s back alleys—past laundry lines, screaming vendors, and a confused duck. Seven tripped twice. Old Chen threw a wok at a pursuer. Somehow, they escaped into the basement of Seven’s hair salon.
He lowered the scissors.
“No,” Seven panted.
“Yes. That’s me.” Seven bowed. “I’ve been hired to kill you.”
