Joe smiled widely. "Fantastic! Don't worry about the soldiers. They don't have gas masks. First things first, though, we need the stuff. I can handle the supply gathering, so there's no problems with that. I meed your help in spreading the chaos. Sound good? As soon as I leave, lock this door. Don't open it until I slide... uh... this Starbucks card under the door. Alright? Good. Be right back."

Joe twisted the deadbolt and slid right between the door and frame. As if God were saying that everything would go according to plan, a map of the terminal lay on the floor. Joe picked it up and identified his hotspots. It would have to be tear gas first, to open them up for the assault on their senses that was flash grenades.

The security room only contained two personnel. Joe supposed that the rest were tending to the chaos in the terminal. A quick glance around told him that no one was watching, let alone caring what he was doing. He tapped on the security room door. A young hispanic man answered, and Joe's elbow strike went high and caught the fellow in the throat. Joe spun and grabbed the incapacitated man's belt, using him like a shield, lest the other guard draw his gun. Then, using the choking man like a battering ram, Joe rushed the other guard, who swung his taser up and fired into his coworker's back, to no avail. His colleague hit him like a convulsing train, smashing him into a whiteboard, hanging on the only solid wall in the room. Joe dropped the hispanic man, and coiled his fingers into the standing man's hair, before smashing his head into the cement behind him until his eyeballs rolled into his head, and he lost consciousness. Joe then turned the hispanic man on his face, and dropped his heel onto the back of the guard's head. 

He stepped up from the near-silent carnage he'd just created, and examined the room. He needed a bag. A bag... a bag... He spotted one. It looked like a confiscated piece of luggage. It was a dark red suitcase, adorned with two peace sign buttons, a Bob Marley, and a sticker that read "I reserve my right to refuse a search, officer". "Doesn't work for planes, idiot", Joe muttered as he unzipped it, to find it empty. Then, he accessed the secure room at the back of the security station. It was little more than a dead-end hallway covered over with a metal grate. Inside was a goldmine, however. Joe dumped a box of flash grenades and tear gas into the suitcase, 19 in all, 9 flashbangs, 10 gas grenades, as well as a taser, and nine-millimeter ammunition, he assumed for the guards' pistols. The pistols. He'd forgotten about those. So, he ran back to the unconscious guards, and secured their belts, taking with him more of everything, as well as two flashlights, two nine-millimeter Springfield XD handguns, and two new batons.

His suitcase was bulging when he left, but it was shut securely, and no one was giving him funny looks. Those were all good signs. Upon reaching his restroom, he pulled out his wallet, and slipped the Starbucks Rewards card under the door, just as he and Myztii had agreed. Suddenly, he wished he had his jacket, as a bit of the hispanic guard's blood was spattered onto his white dress shirt. It hadn't been noticed from afar, because of his red tie, but Myztii, up close and personal, would see it. And then he'd have explaning to do. Then, he had an idea. He turned toward the door, and smashed his mouth against the frame. The pain was blinding at first, and Joe's legs quavered, but he achieved what he wanted. His mouth bled, and his lower lip was already starting to swell. He'd even dripped some overtop of the guard's blood on his shirt. 

Crisis averted.