+
Another pause in his sentence, his mind is racing on what to say. He hasn't seen another face in what feels like. . decades. Time feels so odd to him, like it's moving slowly, but so quickly at the same time. For all he knows, it could simply be hours or years.
"It's an execution. That's all."
"You know, I. ."
The ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ scoffs, thinking of anything to really say. He doesn't truly know what to describe this hell. This supposed freedom he was promised, just to be snatched away from him in the blink of an eye. All he wants is to live, all he want is freedom.
"I truly don't. ."
+
The convict glances down to look at her, not noticing anything wrong yet, as he's been seeing shit all. . day? Has it been a day? A week? A month? A year? He doesn't even know. Nor does he really want to ask any questions right now.
". .Simon."
"Yeah, I. ."
The convict stares up at the ceiling, not caring who he's speaking to at the moment.
"I just need a minute."
". . ."
"Well yeah, but I don't wanna wait ๐๐๐๐ long!"
Simon groans, before noticing the glowing crystal.
". .What's that?"
"AN HOUR??"
He groans, head in his hands.
"I can't wait that long!"
"I just wanna live. Is that so wrong?"
He gives a small nod, clearly telling that he's listening.
"Nice so. . how long does this usually take?"
He attempts to speak again, but he physically can't. He's hurting too much.
He wants to live. But he wants to live freely.
A brief flash engulfs the backside of the ship. To the right of Simon is a photo. The button is a camera, taking a picture of whatever's in front of him.
The output is nothing more than, well, as Simon describes it, 'alien tubes'.
He manages to give a slight smile, before it quickly vanishes. He sits back in his chair, glancing between the map he was provided, and his controls.
He moves the ship forward slightly, before pushing out of the chair and moving to the back of the sub.
He pushes the button on the back of the sub.
Simon ponders for a moment, before glancing at them.
"Sure. I guess some help wouldn't hurt. Just. ."
He kneels down to her level, locking eyes.
"Just be careful."
// simply just testing things here.
"Well, I. . I don't know. I truly don't. They didn't tell me SHIT about any of this. Only thing I was told is that I need to find some fucking sample."
He groans, kicking his chair.
"But. . I know there's something alive down here."
What.
"Why does my left arm hurt so fucking much?"
"To be honest, no I can't."
He chuckles softly, before sighing. Glaring at the intercom within the sub.
"But you do need to get out of here."
"You think I can--"
A sharp pain hits his head, has it always been hurting. He grips his temple with his one arm, wanting this pain to just. .
. .leave him alone.
He crosses his arms, letting her speak.
After she's done, he raises a finger to his temple, pondering.
"So. . so you mean to tell me. . you were like. . in a prison of some sorts?"
Simon pauses for a moment, glancing around at the cramped sub.
"I relate to that."
He gives a garbled thank you, before puking out more.
Yikes.
He's about to say something, but he stops himself.
"Yeah, you're right."
"Oh, Simon. Yours?"
He gently extends out his hand, grinning softly.
"What the fuck does that mean Anthony."
Simon, I get that.
"What the fuck. . what the the fuck are you DOING?"
Simon attempts to scurry away, but something. . stops him. He stops himself.
". .What do you mean?"
He gasps, sitting back up. His left arm is still gone however.
"How did you. . what the. ."
"That actually isn't a bad idea. ."
Simon.
"Well, you're in a fucking rust bucket, at the bottom of a BLOOD OCEAN."
Thanks for helping, Simon.
Do NOT look at me. I mean, uh.
"It's hard not to. It's a habit."
Not a GOOD one.
"I ask myself that question each day. ."
