~Skill~
Under normal circumstances he would speak his mind, but, with a gun against his head, his brother's attempts to employ discretion seemed sensible. Not that he'd ever concede the point. The gang banger chuckled, secure in his power over his enemy, and completely unaware of his own vulnerability. The man's finger instinctively tightened on the trigger, too late. The gun spun away through the air, parted from its owner's fingers with a quick, neatly-placed punch. The man shrieked, clutching his hand, but his fingers were intact. Cleaning blood from the leather wraps on the pommels of the sai took ages. He preferred to avoid the chore. A second punch, and the screeching stopped mid-howl, the man dropping to the pavement like a sack of wet cement.
A quick search found the gun. Cradling it in his palm, he marveled that such a small thing could be the source of so much misplaced bravado. His father's oft-repeated wisdom held that a weapon, in unskilled hands, is dangerous only to the wielder. He agreed, and pondered that a weapon in pieces is useless as well, as he disassembled the firing mechanism. Sensei was right, as always. Skill really was the best weapon.
A/N: The first 15 words made up the prompt.
34, Reasons, was from Leonardo's POV. I think this one will be a bit easier to guess.
I'm not entirely certain I'm happy with this one, but in the interests of getting back on the fiction horse, I'm posting and moving forward.