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Summary
long enough after the quiet rapture, clive rosfield undergoes convict realization. iron lung au.
"Convict," the voice that makes it through the static, mostly audible, half-warped. "Still here?"
For a second, he's tempted not to respond. What will they have to say, if he doesn't? Will they drag him back up into their delivery ship, take all the welds off the hole they'd shoved him through before they cut the chain between the handcuffs? Take a look at the corpse of a man who has already been dead, and just started rotting late.
"Convict." The stranger's tone sharpens a little. Expectation. He tilts his head towards the radio.
Everything tastes like metal.
"Yes," an even, smooth response, as he clears his throat and adjusts his grip on the straps. "I'm still here."
"Good. We're beginning the descent."