You are a British secret agent secretly following an American spy on a overbooked United flight. Suddenly the flight crew tells the passengers that one person will be randomly selected to give up their seat. They randomly pick you.

Michael was a rather unassuming young man. More muscular than average, his arms stretched the sleeves of his shirt, but the way he hunched his shoulders indicated a lack of confidence. Or at least that’s what he tried to project- if he stood out in a crowd, he wouldn’t be a very good secret agent, now, would he? The flight he was on was packed, and he was bracketed by an elderly lady with knitting needles and a bespectacled teen reading from his phone. Across the aisle was Michael’s target: a stern looking woman in a business suit. From overhead, a voice rang throughout the plane. “We’re very sorry, but several seats on this flight were double booked. Would the passengers in 7D and 18B please make your way off the plane?” That was extremely unfortunate, considering that it was of vital important that Michael not lose his target and he was the one in 18B. Luckily, he had more special talents than just his strength. The lady to his left looked at him sympathetically as he let shock read all over his features. “Wait, no,” he said, injecting panic and desperation into his voice. He stood, fidgeting with his hands. “Please, is there- is there someone I could talk to, I can’t-“ He could feel pressure behind his eyes, the beginnings of tears, and he waited a second too long to blink so that they would form. He blinked. A tear ran down his cheek. “Is there a flight attendant- I really can’t miss this flight, is there-” he choked off his words and brought one meaty hand to his mouth, as if to stifle a sob. “Honey,” the lady said. “Is everything alright?” He looked at her with wide, wet eyes and forced out, “My mother- her funeral is, is right after I land, and-“ “Oh, no, darling, you are not missing this flight,” she said firmly, swayed by the injustice of his fabricated situation. “You sit back down, and I’ll take care of everything.” She got up to go speak to a flight attendant, or perhaps to the pilot. Whatever she was doing, it was singlehandedly saving the mission. Thank God for nice old ladies. And his peers had dismissed his ability to cry on command. If only they knew how much it came in handy.