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In a dingy Prague motel, Troia and her husband sit across from a no-nonsense agent, the air thick with desperation and unspoken terms. Troia's eyes flick between the agent's stern face and the wad of cash on the table. She licks her lips, ready to play her part. The agent, unfazed by her cleavage, lists his demands. Troia nods, her hands trembling slightly as she begins to unbutton her shirt. Her husband watches, a mix of concern and arousal on his face, as Troia barters their way back onto the road, her body the car's new fuel.