As you turn to the west to face the cliffs far above the azure blue waters of the Ionian Sea, the scorching summer sun sets before you in a cascade of golden flame. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you glance around surreptitiously before closing the trunk of your rental car — force of habit, you think to yourself, as there's no one within hailing distance. You're over 300 kilometers west of Athens, but not far from a modestly small Greek city by the name of Pyrgos.
Your task complete, you get back into your dusty and slightly dented rental and turn the key. As the engine sputters to life, you quickly check your gas gauge. Silently, you curse yourself for letting it run nearly dry — you're supposed to be a professional, goddamnit, but the distractions you've had to endure over the course of the last twenty-four hours have been nearly unbearable. You might be able to make it back to Pyrgos. However, the prospect of being stuck in the middle of the night on a nearly deserted coastal road is not enticing in the least.
Rummaging through your glovebox, you find what you're looking for and slip it into the rear waistband of your pants. It's mostly concealed by your baggy shirt, and shouldn't be noticeable. You look around and notice a small farm off in the distance to the east. There's always a chance they might be able to help you out. Of course, maybe you could just help yourself.