Assassin — Scissor Seven

“You’re building a lawsuit. Move.”

His vest buzzed. The voice of his manager, Dai Bo, crackled through a hidden speaker. “Seven. You’ve been a fern for twenty minutes. Kill him or come home. The electricity bill is due.”

Outside, the moon rose over Chicken Island. Somewhere, a phone rang. A woman in white picked up. scissor seven assassin

Seven sighed, shed the fern costume, and walked toward Old Chen, who was feeding stray cats by the dumpster.

“I’m building dramatic tension,” Seven whispered back. “You’re building a lawsuit

Dai Bo sighed. “We’re never making rent.”

Seven grabbed the old man’s wrist. “Run.” shed the fern costume

The old man laughed—a wheezy, smoker’s laugh. Then he stopped. “Do it quick. My back hurts anyway.”