Police work had been grim lately. Agent Scott Denton's last case (one involving men turned into livestock for the simple purposes of smuggling) had been a particular horror show, and so he rather felt he'd earned the month-long, all-expenses-paid vacation in Colombia, testing the defences of the airport's new ParaSight system.

The TFPD's finest surgeons had furnished him with a tight little Colombian body for the job, and they’d even booked him into five-star accommodation by the terminal, letting him live like a pampered jet-setter on the Department’s credit card.

Every few days, duty required him to take a trip through El Dorado International Customs. All he had to do was pass through unnoticed. So far, security had been pitiful. Not once had they flagged him. He’d fly out to the States, writing up another scathing report on the return flight. First Class, naturally.

He held a low opinion of ParaSight. It was no substitute for genuine police intuition and only encouraged laziness. The AI was designed to flag discrepancies between a traveler’s declared identity and their apparent behavior, but that meant it could be fooled simply by playing to stereotype. If he spent his time in the airport acting flagrantly female, trying on lingerie in the duty free, stuffing his suitcase with designer brands, and charging it all to “daddy’s” card, the system chalked him up as just another spoiled socialite passing through. As soon as the cartel smugglers figured that out, the system would be worse than useless.

Today, Scott was enjoying the First Class Lounge, nestled in the lap of luxury, and almost in the lap of an eager, older businessman. Scott was usually straight, but there was enough estrogen and champagne in his bloodstream to blur things, such that he rather enjoyed being flirted at, even with the man's hand creeping up his thigh.

“This was meant for my fiancée,” the man slurred, pulling a necklace from his duty free bag. “But I think it’d look even better on you.”

I should refuse, he thought. But the heavy gold chain felt wonderfully snug between his breasts. He especially liked the way the man's eyes lingered on it.

The tannoy dinged. Final boarding call.

Scott spat champagne, leaping to his heels.

"Bollocks, that's me. Gotta fly! Thanks for the bling, man, and say hi to your fiance for me," he grinned, slapping the man's arm and wobbling for the exit. Ten minutes to make it to the gate before it left without him. "Eugh, I gotta piss like a racehorse too."

Every CCTV camera in the terminal swivelled to track him. Two guards stepped towards him, fiddling with their electronic ParaSight goggles. They appeared not to want to look him below the waist.

"May we help you, um... ma'am?" asked one.

So the system had finally detected him.

"Oh my god, yes!" he cooed girlishly, making a show of struggling with his luggage. "This is just, like, so heavy! Could one of you big, strong men please help me lift it?"

The monitoring system reevaluated. Cameras turned away. The men relaxed as their vision updated. He clung to their arm as they guided him across the airport.

"These stupid goggles don't give anything but false readings," one guard muttered to the other.

On that, they could all agree.