There were many reasons Theodore Butlins found himself in the air conditioning shaft of the Grand Hotel Circa Bar & Casino, all of them entirely legitimate.

You see, on this particular Saturday evening, Theodore was seeking a place to rest his weary head, having broken down at the side of the road some miles outside of town. The Grand Hotel Circa Bar & Casino (which was in truth not all that grand), promised rooms at affordable rates in bright neon letters, and Theodore, having very few options left to him, gratefully accepted.

Later, upon attempting to leave the small confines of his en-suite, however, Theodore discovered that his luck had not taken the miraculous turn he’d hoped for. The lock was jammed, and despite his best attempts to free himself, he was bereft of his liberty.

It was at this point, sitting on the stained linoleum floor, becoming resigned to his fate, that Theodore had an idea; the ceiling was thankfully as un-Grand as the doorknob, and its tiles easily lifted to allow him an escape.

His liberation was looking promising until he got the sudden impression, trapped in the dark metal tunnel that he occupied, that his entire body was hurtling toward the Earth’s surface at an alarmingly accelerated rate. _Crash_, came his confirmation, as his bones met metal.

The screams could barely register over the cacophony of breaking wood and glasses. “Everybody stay calm!” one voice rang out above the din, “the situation’s in hand.”

Theodore - who had unwittingly become ‘the situation’ - climbed sore and confused from the remains of the air conditioning shaft, to find himself amidst a sea of destruction, with the remnants of casino games thrown asunder.

What was of greater concern, however, was the stocky group of men who now observed him with obvious disdain, as shocked guests filed from the room.

“Who are you?” Asked a gruff voice. “How did you get in here? How did you get past security?”

“I couldn’t possibly tell you…”