V : Suburban Warfare

The Amateur was pleased to find in his shreddies, once he had finished choking on it, a free gift containing the new mission. He was only slightly peeved that this took the place of the token he needed three more of to get a skateboard, so compromised and ordered the additional remote bomb. The Amateur will never get that damn skateboard.

The next target for The Amateur’s awesome fusion of assassination and (thus far underused) jazz trip-hop apparently hates his life in the suburbs, which could serve to make The Amateur’s job easier. The Amateur is also amused by the concept of a tiny film.

Suburban II

Anyway, The Amateur returns to his suburban roots, and is overcome with nostalgia. The trade vans, the pet mortuaries, the heavily-armed, heavily-surveyed crime lord mansions, the freakish-lookin’ hedge-trimmin’ bastards who won’t stop telling The Amateur he oughtn’t go into the pet mortuary…

Suburban III

It’s just like every American’s childhood. The Amateur spots a clown unloading his van. The Amateur loves clowns!

Suburban IV

Especially ones that invest in doors that entirely screen them from view when they unload their vans!

Suburban V

Patriotic-lookin’, eh? The Amateur then takes inspiration from the children he is to entertain and goes into that mortuary anyway. And you know how he goes in? THROUGH THE GODDAMN WINDOW.

Suburban VI

Anyway, after swiping the mortuary’s supplies of chloroform, painkillers, tranquilisers, and, uh, sausages, The Amateur continues to explore, finding a man with a recycling emblem on his back and disposing of him in the appropriate trash receptacle.

Suburban VII

The Amateur assumes those crunching, grinding, burning noises indicate the man is perfectly fine. Time for The Amateur’s interview for the big party!

Suburban VIII

Okay so maybe he doesn’t like my act. The Amateur heads off to try and put some tricks together and impress his way to the gig. First he finds an easily-impressed woman who beckons him forth into the house.

Suburban IX

Probably wants The Amateur to explain the magic behind the acts. Or is that magicians…no matter, The Amateur will not break his silence for his colleagues. He follows her into the house while she tells him he’s funny and he looks as brooding as a clown can look.

Suburban X

Eventually she gets bored before heading back out. She thinks she isn’t going to get a trick, but The Amateur plans ahead. He’s secretly replaced the barbeque’s charcoal with lighter fluid, which should light-en the mood? Eh? The Amateur sees how she reacts through his hidden binocu-cameras.

Suburban XI
Suburban XII
Suburban XIII

Quite some trick, though the audience is a bit dead. The Amateur scoops his fee out of the blackened water – some kind of tiny films. Odd. As men in black suits, and not the good kind of black suits, start to pour into the back garden, The Amateur decides to avoid the rush and heads through a side route. The boy is crap at skimming the debris out of the pool, by the way. Anyway, side route.

Suburban XIV

AAH! The Amateur now performs a sleepy-dog trick with a sausage full of love and barbiturates, and proceeds on his merry way, down to the basement. A man in a suit looks distinctly unimpressed but is won over by The Amateur’s newly-acquired nailgun trick.

Suburban XV

The Amateur then proceeds upwards in a new, more serious clown outfit to finally win over the employer, who seems a serious kind of man. He delivers his catering box holding two fireworks for a spectacular finalé (The Amateur was beginning to feel that just one firework would show lack of imagination, and the employer seems an imaginative kind of man).

Suburban XVI

Whistling, The Amateur walks away, confident that the gig is his and he need only turn up on the day to collect his cheque for one new skateboard. He almost forgets to set off the trick, but addresses that as he walks out.

Suburban XVII

Meanwhile, in The Amateur’s redirected news…

Suburban XVIII

Let us hope the fair-skinned menace can be eliminated before it is too late. Bald isn’t albino, right?


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