[ Denial is strong.

Reality is, eventually, stronger.

Rhys is facing the camera, set just a little bit back. Enough to see a few things wrong with the picture, with the most glaringly obvious being the glow of his left eye visible through a couple layers of bandages. He's trying to muster up a glare of his own, uphold his pride, though it's obviously a struggle. ]

Okay. I m-might -- might be considering that this is all actually, really happening. Except if it is, I-I'm pretty convinced it must actually be hell, not limbo. There's no food -- [ that he likes ] - freezing would feel balmy right now, a-and...

[ The shoulders slump. He lights a cigarette with Dumpy's overturned thrusters, a slow and clumsy process that barely works. He isn't a smoker, but what else does he have to calm his nerves? ]

What am I supposed to be doing?

[ A puff, a cough. The robot hand holding the cigarette is lined with red, certainly something that SHOULD NOT be happening on inorganic matter. Yet there it is, plain as all the other pit divers. ]

...I burned my tie.