Night Smoke Strike

The tails of my red bandana fluttered behind me as I landed soundlessly on the soot-stained rim of an old brick chimney. A discarded tin sardine can sat balanced on the narrow ledge, catching the cold amber glow of the streetlamps below. Perfect for target work. I drew my left sai in a seamless arc, pivoting low on the balls of my feet. With a lethal snap of my wrist, the tapered prong pierced straight through the center of the metal lid, pinning it flat into the crumbling mortar without a whisper. Clean, decisive, and deadly.