#~~starter

He’s been tossing and turning like clothes in a fuckin’ washing machine. Ugly as all hell, too. And those noises…Jesus Christ.

Curly’s stomach twisted as he stared down at his ‘friend’. Swansea’s voice was merely background noise to him at this point.

“You need me to feed him his pills again?”

The hell do you think, Captain? Damn fool is using all of his strength to shut his jaw when I try. Stubborn—that’s how you know it’s Jimmy.

Curly’s throat tightened, and he managed to turn just enough to grab the medicine. Oxycodone—brand name, OxyContin. Strongest stuff they had. His hand was shaky as he popped open the pill bottle. But even as he fumbled with the cap, his gaze kept drifting back, unable to fully pull away from the sight of Jimmy’s burnt and deformed body. The scars, raw and jagged, seemed to burn into Curly’s memory, refusing to fade. They spoke of unimaginable pain and suffering—a story etched into every line of charred skin.

“Leave us, Swansea.”

And he did. And then the two pilots were alone.

“Are you…gonna cooperate? The easier this is, the less it’ll hurt. I can promise that.”