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From the Microcosmicon, 15:

In my enthusiasm, I twirled the gun so quickly it flew off my hand and a laser shot hit my wristwatch. I retrieved it gingerly.
The doors opened, and I finally met my commissioner.

I consider myself unprincipled. You pay me, you get results. But before me was something not merely alien, but inhuman.
“Welcome, Mr. Long,” it said through countless foetid mouths, stretching scaly arms toward the gun.
Chink. Chink. My eyes fell on the dozens of wristwatches that were heaping on the floor.

I pointed the gun toward myself.
Shortly after, thousands of Mr. Longs left the spaceship.

MQS