The Amateur stumbled from the Shamal looking for a means of escaping this wretched city. His minivan had apparently started the long journey home without him and his money was still in his room. Sighing resignedly, he stuck out a thumb in the time-honoured fashion of the hitch-hiker. A car immediately stopped next to him. The Amateur dived in to find the driver separated by an opaque partition.

“You’re the only one left now 47…”, began a familiar, hated voice

“I’m not 47! I want out of t-”

“…all our agents are dead by now…” continued the voice

“Good! Assassination is not a game!”

“…we don’t know if this mission is a set-up but it’s sure to be crawling with enemy agents…”

“Are you even listening to me?!”

The Amateur shot a couple of nails through the forbidding plexiglass. Peering through the holes, he could see nothing but a tape-recorder on the driver’s seat.

“…good luck 47. It’s been quite a ride.”

*click*

The Amateur tensed in anticipation of the thing self-destructing but it turns out that only happens in a certain genre of movie. Retrieving it and flipping it open, he found this design on either side of the cassette.

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