“Over here!” Thinking of the orientation of things, he reconsidered. “Up here!”
These words were mostly muffled, spoken by a drunk into his own bicep and the wall that was now the floor. A large secretary desk, now smashed into several large pieces, pinned Aman the rascal to the floor.

“Aman! We have zeroed your location.” A voice echoes in his masked head. Encumbered by ample liquor and debris, along with the disorientation of the ship’s crash and the wall switching places with the floor, Aman struggled to figure out the voice. He flexed and twisted his torso against the weight.

“Where are you? Who are you?” Aman asked and successfully slipped his new arm out from beneath his head. At last, he found himself exerting leverage.

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