My brief career as an international terrorist

Escorted into a tiny room with bright white lights, I was strip searched, then interrogated by three men wearing black police uniforms. The entire contents of my luggage was emptied onto a big metal table in the center of the room and they proceeded to dig through every item I had, including personal items like my lubricant and a dildo or two, used for the occasional masturbatory thrill ride. They didn't seem to know what the buttplug was or what it was used for, so they confiscated it for further inspection later.

I sat there uncomfortably in my underwear until a very hairy man wearing a brown suit entered, carrying a black briefcase with gold rims. He sat down at the table opposite from me and opened up the briefcase, shuffling papers inside it. I fidgeted a little, the lack of clothing making me a bit cold and very uncomfortable. He proceeded to ask me a couple questions: Who I was, where I was going, why I was going there, etc. They presented a black metal box to me and asked me what it was.

I calmly explained to them that it was my camera box and they kind of looked at me funny. I told them I could open it and show them and they pulled their guns on me so fast, I'm pretty sure my nuts instantly shrank a full inch in diameter. They handcuffed me and put my hands behind the chair, telling me to sit still and keep my mouth shut.

Three hours later, they had the box x-rayed and found a Canon camera inside, only used three times in my entire life, which I had brought to take a picture of my family because it very well could have been my grandmother's last Thanksgiving.

I guess one could consider this whole experience my brief career as an international terrorist. I never got my buttplug back.

Nodeshell rescue.