He didn't know when this habit began. He just knew that he never missed a target. Ever. Idly sitting along the street, tossing one small knife after the next, it was an easy way to pass the time. But what was the most fun, was scaring the pants off of anyone who happened to be passing by. He'd never actually hit anyone before. The blades just passed close enough to make their lives flash before their eyes, that's all.
But then on one unfortunate day, he hit something he wasn't aiming for at all. After letting the blade dance across his fingertips for a moment, he flung the knife at the nearest stop sign as a car, a 1964 Lincoln Continental to be exact, sped right on past the sign. He winced as the knife scratched a small groove along the top of the car, and the driver came to an abrupt stop. Oh shit. He'd better run for it. But he hadn't managed to make it away, and that was when he met them.