Year of the Pig held his bag close to himself. Year of the Pig hoped he was not sweating. An old man snored next to him. The man had passed out on contact with the chair. Year of the Pig couldn’t even imagine sleeping. How could you sit still and just sleep? His teeth ground. Do not sweat he thought. Hold the bag close and try to not to look clingy. Year of the Pig waited for his cue.
Sirius clutched her ticket stub in her hand. Her bag kept feeling like it was going to slip from her shoulders. Was that man watching her movements? She pushed her sunglasses firmly onto her face and hoped he was not. There is no way he is watching her. Why is he walking this way? Don’t stare at him. Keep walking. Three serious looking men with dark sunglasses elbow past her. Did they try and reach for her bag? No. but she still stops to inspect them. They walk without glancing back to the baggage claim. One grabs his bag. They next one grabs his. Then the third gets his. Sirius sees that they are pulling weapons out their bags. Sirius wonders who else decided to hit the airport the same day. Or maybe it is a hit squad aiming for them? When she sees one of the men start spraying the crowd with bullets from his machine rifle gouging chunks out of surprised and soon screaming commuters, she dismisses this thought. She runs out of the room followed by screams, shots, and then explosions.
The lady taking her ticket seemed like she was trying to figure out a math problem in her head.
What’s that sound? Is that like fireworks?
Yeah, probably just some kids messing around.
Kids, seem to always have their way these days. That is a lot of racket, I should probably call someone. Could you hold on for a second?
Sirius reached into her bag and pulled out the smoke bomb. Plan B was its name. Plan B hit the ground with a snap, enveloping the ticket desk in a thick blast of smoke.