Chapter Text
The gas hisses. In the cryopod, it’s oddly quiet. Then again, sound has been made new and strange by the explosion that tore Curly's ears off his skull. Even months later. It feels like hearing someone else's memories.
Who knows what his 20-year coffin actually sounds like.
He wishes he could say he was calm. But as the mist starts solidifying, there is only animal fear in his heart. Of decades in emptiness. Of no hope for rescue. Of his dripping leg, its remains pared open by Jimmy's knife, pulsing agony into his overburdened system. Of tipping helplessly forward. Ever-open eye pressed against the glass, seeing his old friend's blood draw mandalas in the tubing.
Of having his suffering prolonged.
Nobody in Curly's position - as much as he is sure there has never been another - deserved this. He'd thought there was enough penance.
Let it stop, he thinks.
God, let me die
His vision clouds. When Curly opens his eyes, there are eyelids to part around them, and the ceiling of his captain's quarters to behold.