...Everything slowly unblackens. Pete's eyes flicker open revealing a whitish haze with a black blob to one side. The scene slowly comes into focus -- he is staring straight up at ceiling lights, the gentle face of a young woman bent over him.
"Am I dead?"
Several more face bend over him.
"Nein," says a heavy Rheinlander voice. "I'm afraid you are still among ze living."
"Well, well, so he is!" says a smarmy Bret voice. "Junj, looks like I owe you a groat my son."
Pete tries to sit up, but slumps back in agony. "Strewth! God almighty, my head feels like its been cracked in half and glued back together the wrong way."
"Poor baby!" croons Fran, and she dabs a wet flannel on Pete's brow.
"What the hell happened?" says Pete. "Last thing I remember... oh. Hmmm."
"Hit the old turps a bit hard, guv" chuckles Mick. "Out like a light. That loooovely barmaid of yours called us in to scoop you into a bucket."
"Ja," says Hubert, "ve had to carry your carcass all ze vay back to ze ship."
Pete groans.
"I got it on video, if you wanna see!" says an excited, squeaky Nat. "I recorded it on my phone."
"Ja, vhen you could have been helping carry!" Hubert berates the youngster.
Before Pete could protest, a large wall monitor comes to life. There is blurry, shaky camera-work of three men and one woman carrying a fat man, who is in a semi-conscious state. They are straining under their tremendous burden. Pete watches in horror as he sees himself moaning, belching, blathering, slurring, farting, yelling at random passers-by, and lamenting someone named "Derek". At one point he whines for mummy. Fran giggles, both on-camera and off.
"Turn it off!" roars Pete, his hand wearily on his brow. "All of you, get out. Leave me the bloody hell in peace."
There is snickering from his crew as they file out.
