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He wished he noticed. He really fucking did. If she'd just told him, Jambalaya would have been thrown out of the ship much earlier.
Alas, human error had its ways. She told the captain instead.
The blood was on his hands now. It stained his face, too. Thirteen years for nothing. No retirement, no sobriety, no nothing. Just him and three and a half other people on a speck of dust floating in space. It fucked with him, and it fucked with him bad.
Sunshine was useless here. He'd take matters into his own hands, even if it meant death.