So we're aboard Oceanic Flight 815, and ... sorry. We're aboard Glatterflug Airways Flight 627, and ... no, wait, sorry.
We are on some totally different flight, and up in first class, I think the extras have been told to "act like you're in an airline company commercial." They're just that pleased to receive the drinks from the smiling flight attendant. Seated in the middle next to an older woman is a guy scribbling something in a notebook, including such words as "technology" and "the." Also "imperative" and "avoid capture." And "e underst" and "ems dangero."
All of a sudden, his nose starts dripping blood on the paper, just a few drops, and then a few more. He reaches for a tissue.
"You should put keys on your back," his seatmate tells him, calling it an "old wives' tale." He smiles politely while trying to stanch the flow of blood. "Actually, I tried it once. It doesn't work. It's all bull," she says. He excuses himself to go to the washroom. But you know, lady, feel free to offer any more remedies that you ALREADY KNOW DON'T WORK.
In the bathroom, the man examines himself in the mirror, and grips his teeth, looking like he's trying to see how firm they are. With his hands shaking, he unzips a little black case and pulls out a vial of clear fluid and a cotton swab. He swabs around in his mouth and then puts the Q-tip in the vial, swirling around. After a moment, the liquid turns bright red. This makes him audibly gasp.
And then he's out of the bathroom and down the aisle to talk to a stewardess who's attending to a passenger. He says he needs to talk to her, and she tells him she'll be with him in a moment. "No, now!" he barks, and she, slightly perturbed, motions him up to the flight attendant station, where a steward is putting away glassware.
She asks him what the problem is, and he tells her that there's something happening to him that he has neither the "time nor the permission" to explain to her, but she needs to go to the other passengers and collect whatever sedatives they might have. "OK, sir, I need you to take a deep breath," she says, and he snaps, "This isn't a panic attack! This is real!" Then, because he thinks this might help get some co-operation, says, "We will die, all of us, if you don't do what I say." This is when the steward steps in to point out that a threat like that is an FAA violation. "Does it look to you like I care about that?" says the man, whose nose has started to bleed again, just a little more profusely. He gets a little more urgent, and asks the attendants what weapons they have on board. The steward tells the stewardess to call the captain, and then tells Bloody Nose that there's a Taser in the cockpit that will be used on him if he doesn't calm down. "No, a Taser won't do anything, it'll just piss me off," mutters Bloody Nose. Meanwhile, the stewardess, Melissa, is on the phone to the captain, explaining that the guy wants drugs, "but it looks like he's already on something."