Armstrong doesn't really get on well with cops, what with being a wanted criminal and all, but what neither of them know won't hurt them. And he wouldn't turn down a helping hand anyway. Not if he still wanted to walk around, not making accordion noises with every step.

He moves out smoothly, practically gliding like he's been greased, but that restrained groan as he stands up again probably tells a truer story. His muscles are still screaming, telling him that he needs to go limp and just relax, but he's not about to just collapse. He will, though, walk in a small circle, pressing both fists into the small of his back.

It's about the fourth or fifth circle that he finally stops with a sigh and shakes his head, rolling his shoulders. Okay. Almost got crushed to death. Feeling better. Armstrong turns and, with a grateful little smile, nods his head. "Thank you. Not sure what quite went wrong there, but that was going to be..." He pauses, watching the press return to normal. "...Messy."