He opened his eyes, welcomed by a throbbing headache nearly splitting his head in half. The lights in the hut were dimmed, yet it hurt to keep his eyes open for longer than it was necessary; and unfortunately it was necessary to keep them open  all the time. Especially when he had no idea why his head hurt so much, why he woke up sleeping on the sofa and why—why the hell were his trousers unzipped. Shaking his head, he quickly fastened his fly, afraid someone might notice it and looked around the room, confused when his eyes fell on the nearly-empty bottle of Firewhisky on the table on the left hand side of the sofa. That would explain the headache, only... only he didn’t remember opening that bottle. Was it possible he fell so low that his memory started to play tricks on him?