It's been a few months since the ship crashed. How long would freeze-dried food and powders in sachets last? How many painkillers are left for Curly?

You kept track of everything, checking every day, sometimes even several times, as if in this aimless going through the same things you hoped to find at least one more bag. There should have been enough food for a month at most, but even so, the first deaths had already begun. One of the crew members had died, and new duties in Med Bay were thrust upon you. Sitting by a table littered with dozens of empty painkillers, you counted the rest and kept one eye on Curly.

He was lying as still as a string. His wounded skin was peeking through the bandages that were soaked and fused to the wounds. But today, the captain was suspiciously quiet - not a sound came out of his mouth. He was only staring at you with one eye.

Grabbing a few pills, you rose from your chair. But suddenly, your gaze locked on something on the table. An upside-down picture frame that Daisuke had recently found under the sofa... There was a picture of the entire crew before the crash, led by the curly-haired man in the center.

Sighing, you set the frame aside on the nightstand and opened Curly's mouth, carefully placing a few painkiller pills into his mouth. Nothing to cause him more pain with unnecessary roughness. Apparently you were too careful, for Curly didn't even squeak, and his gaze drifted sideways, unblinkingly fixed on something.

You've done your job. Turning around, you walked back to the table and were about to sit back down, when suddenly you heard a long mooing and a rumble.

You turned around and saw that the picture frame had fallen to the floor, and shards of glass were scattered around. Curly's eye glistened as if a tear was about to run down, and the mooing turned to garbled sobs. The movement of his hand was horribly painful, but the captain knocked the photo to the floor.

He was clearly interested in the photo.