“You have the worst business cards,” says Branwyn, examining it as they vault the wall.

“It’s not a business card,” says Ed.

“It’s got your contact information.” They land and scoot for the shadows.

“It’s a promotional mini chakra!”

“It doesn’t fit in my wallet,” hisses Branwyn as she peeks around the corner with a tiny mirror. “One bogey, your right.”

“No, no!” Ed groans. “I’m an assassin, it’s my trademark kill, Jesus!” He zings the little disc through a guard’s neck. “See?”

“Maybe you should cut out the middle, make it clearer–”

“But then it wouldn’t double as a coaster!”