Chapter Text
i sit lonely
it's dark and hopeless
will my body still be useful
i'm ashamed of all I am now
make me cry until it's painful
He really can't believe he let them do this to him.
Well, okay. That's a lie in and of itself. Not even a sentence in and we're lying, great job. Phil didn't let them do anything to him--they forcefully sealed him into the submarine, much against his incredibly verbal wishes. But, then again, when have they ever listened to him?
He sits in the chair, gaze darting around as he takes in everything that's currently at his disposal as they prepare the vessel for its descent. Unfortunately, for once, he's got nothing. All he can do is spin around and glare at the loose panel he's already checked a hundred times like it's committing a personal offense against him by having nothing he can use.
Maybe it's the lack of sustenance getting to him. After all, he hasn't had a proper meal in who knows how long. Whatever it is, he's either not feeling creative or there is literally nothing feasibly possible.
Does it even matter, though? He might be a self-proclaimed professional escape artist; there's a reason he was able to slip away from law enforcement so easily. But here, he's surrounded on all sides. Even if, by some miracle, he does make it out of this submarine? They'll catch him and put him right back.
He'd already tried it, once. He escaped the containment cell they'd locked him in previously using simple hygiene products; a toothpick, toothpaste, and some dental floss. The result of that was that he's now been stripped of everything but his clothes, and, as much as he hates to say it, there's not exactly much a guy can do with that.
"You could at least give me something to eat or drink," Phil glares pointedly out the window, towards the woman polishing the exterior of the submarine. "If you're so desperate for information, you'll probably want me to be alive long enough to get it to you."
The woman on the other side of the window barely pays him any mind, not even sparing him a glance.
"You can't be trusted with anything anymore. You lost a lot of privileges last week, convict."
"Wow, so living is a privilege now?" Phil crosses his arms, leaning against the rust-colored wall.
"With the way things are going now? Yeah. You're lucky they haven't shot you dead yet."
Phil scoffs, rolling his eyes and leaning against the control panel.
"All of this over a meal. Those snobs had more than enough to spare, I was only trying to feed my--"
"Quiet. You should know the laws well by now, convict."
"You should know well that "convict" is not my name!"
"Your name isn't important information to our research. Vessel is prepared for descent, just make sure you touch up the camera," she calls out, turning her back to him much like everyone else has over the last few weeks.
Phil suddenly perks up, scrambling closer to the window and banging a fist against the vessel wall.
"You can't do this! This is--what did I even--this is inhumane! You're just gonna send me down to my imminent demise? What's even the point of putting me on a suicide mission? You just want me dead! What are you going to get out of this? Information? What's exploring a moon's ocean going to tell you about the disappearance of stars and planets?!"
"Stop that! Do you want the submarine to hold up down there or not?" The woman snaps back, not answering any of his questions. "They're putting extra bolts on the camera for security. And remember you need to use it sparsely! It is not a toy, it is a tool that uses energy." Then she disappears from his view.
"Acting like I'm five, the lot of you," he mutters, stomping deeper into the Iron Lung. Then, in a fit of long-bottled-up anger, he slams his fist against the blinking button on the wall. His recoil, however, is instantaneous when he hears screaming erupt from somewhere he can't see. After a long moment, an image appears on the screen to his side of a human skeleton, jaw opened like they had noticed the camera clicking on.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" The woman runs back in front of the window, already shouting at him before he's even processed the situation. "That thing is an X-ray, you idiot! It runs on radiation!"
Phil shrinks back, eyebrows raising in shock. His hands fall limp on either side of his body.
"I- what? What? No. No, no. I wasn't... wh-why wouldn't you tell me that?!" Phil attempts to divert the blame, but the guilt is already pooling in his stomach. Through the window, he can see the few medics on the station carrying someone away. His gaze trails along with their movement, and he's only barely able to tear his eyes away. He can't even digest her words properly, feeling suddenly sick to his stomach.
"Send him down," she commands somebody, still tense and clearly seething with anger. "Now. And, convict, if you don't listen to us down there, a lot worse consequences will be waiting for you when you get pulled back up."
Before Phil can blink, the window--his only vision outside the vessel--is drenched in a deep crimson. He stumbles as he's lowered into the blood ocean, the thick liquid sending the submarine rocking unevenly back and forth, back and forth. He latches onto the chair, barely able to drag himself onto it, and clutches the control panel for dear life.
Lacking any smidge of control for the first time in his life, all he can do now is watch helplessly as the depth meter lowers into the negatives and the light that had poured through the window now plummets him into darkness.