Shogo smiled slightly. Bingo. There was our target. Shogo declined to go by roof, he followed silently behind the target. The target glanced over his shoulder. Whoops, caught. He sprinted, his boots making no sound on the wet pavement. He pulled out a small wooden handle. He twisted the wood and it broke, slight spice filling his nostrils, his blood grew warmer. His heart pumped faster. He drew out his pistol. "Oi! Flapjack! White skin! Over here!"