You never were much for fancy galas like these. Not even the sun setting over the bow of this 1,000-foot military yacht is enough to take your mind away from world security.
Still, everyone else is having such a great time, and it is a state function featuring every single head of every single U.S. State and world nation. Best just to blend in, and blending in is what you do best.
You stomp over to a group of tuxedo-clad senators. You feel quite certain that the thermo-regulation field combat suit you wore will be quite the icebreaker.
"Snake, good to see you boy! Cigar?" asks a senator, holding out a box of Cubans with one hand and slapping you on the back with the other.
"I don't smoke international stuff," you reply, "anyone could have poisoned it. I wouldn't wish that on my dog." Casually, you pluck a leaf from a nearby plant and roll a wad of tobacco into it.
You flick your lighter. As the butane ignites, sending a small flame upwards, an explosion rocks the cabin, sending a much larger flame shooting into the sky. Gas spreads throughout the room, and tuxedo-clad leaders erupt in a fit of coughing. This is why you wear your gas mask to all social functions. It certainly comes in handy, here, as you have the ability to breathe casually. However, loud footsteps and shouting in a foreign language portend the arrival of some force, most certainly hostile.
Hide in the closet?
Fall down on the floor, coughing, and pretend you're unconscious?