“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. scissor seven assassin
Seven stood across the street, disguised as a potted fern. His scissors hung from a strap around his neck, glinting under the setting sun. “No,” Seven panted
Seven grabbed the old man’s wrist. “Run.” scissor seven assassin