Right when he was about to give up for a while, take a break and clear his head before rummaging through the belongings of passengers yet again, he spotted the familiar black shape of his camera bag.

Jackpot!

Digging it out from beneath somebody’s suitcase, Mark stood up and unzipped the bag, reaching inside and pulling out a completely different model of camera than the one he had brought with him. What the hell?

"Hey!" a woman shouted behind him, "That’s mine!"

Mark turned, the camera still in his hand. Standing before him was this vision of a woman who, if she didn’t look so pissed, he would have thought was pretty hot. Sure, her hair was a bit too short for his tastes, and it made her look kind of dyke-y, but she had a really nice face. Maybe if she wasn’t so grimy from the crash …

He suddenly remembered that he was holding this woman’s camera, and rather than hand it to her, he shoved it back in the protection of the black bag in his opposite hand, zipped it up tight and slung it over his shoulder.

Flashing her his most charming smile, he tried to sound as sincere as possible, "Sorry, but you’re not getting it back until you help me find mine."