Jane somehow managed to drift across the ravine properly, and was even caught by a sudden updraft coming from the deep chasm below. He swooped higher into the air, somehow maintaining his balance, and then kept going for a considerable distance. Too far, in fact. He drifted through the air slowly, almost lazily, and anyone with eyes could see what was about to happen. Jane kicked his feet semi-randomly, waving his free arm and not even bothering to aim his rocket launcher any more, spluttering a long series of distressed sounds that never quite managed to become words until, eventually, his parachute caught in the branches of a tree several feet above the jungle floor, leaving him stranded.

Jane yelled something that may have shared a common ancestor with English, flailed his arms and legs wildly, and then slowly stopped doing that. After a moment or two, he looked around, then hung his head and let out a low, wordless moan, hanging limply from the tree like a sad, heavily armed piñata.