" I think you're more afraid of dying than you put on. " ; @intoshards
the machine lies motionless at the bottom of the ocean, the only noise being the sound of the camera when simon bumps his head against it for a bit of light. everything is still. so when the speaker had crackled to life, words echoing into the painful silence of the sub, simon had jolted so hard he'd heard something pop in his neck. biting back a shout, he presses one hand to his neck, the other sliding up to rub at the deluge of pain threatening to overtake his skull. ( is the burgeoning headache from loss of oxygen? radiation poisoning? starvation? it's getting to the point where it's hard to tell. )
he glances up towards the speaker, its light still dark. the words reverberate in his mind, striking deep into his chest with sharp blades of panic. he's going to die down here; his heart already knows it, thumping as it tries to escape his chest. and yet, his limbs stubbornly refuse to kick into action, as if they've already accepted their fate.
he forces out a scoff, which turns into a half - hearted cough. " am not. " nice, simon. really classy. not petty at all. " besides, who are you to care? " he mutters, rolling over. one arm slides up to press the button on the wall behind him. squinting through the flash, there's no silhouette in sight. at least, not that he can see. where the fuck is it coming from? " i shouldn't even . . . i gotta turn the sub back on. why are you . . . ? " the question trails off, hoping his words were enough of a point. his train of thought keeps derailing, thoughts vanishing into the aether. his headache's getting worse.
