Tony reels back a step as the platform they are in jolts down that few inches, clasping his hand over still bleeding gash drawn through his arm. This is all distinctly stupid, a thought that skips like a stone off wooziness and giddiness and the spark-crackle of adrenaline.

But hey, something happened.

'They should really provide some OJ at these things,' is not a good enough quip to bother shouting, but spoken anyway into the silence. "Watch your feet," is worth the shout, anyway, as uses his foot to try and turn the middle-most disc so that its notch lines up with the fixed inner circle's notch.