Things are different this time.

One month after the crash.

After Jimmy's attempted crash of the ship, he perished, but was barely surviving. Not like many of his crewmates cared after seeing his true colors. However, he still managed to cause problems even in his current conscious vegetation state.

Curly was stressing, as per usual, trying to find some form a signal back to HQ to send help, or at least food.

When he wasn't, he would do rounds around the Tulpar, checking up on his crew to make sure they weren't losing their minds either. If someone had to go insane, at least be the ones who have the chance to retreat back from it.

Though it was strictly prohibited, you and the crew opened up boxes of cargo in desperation to see if there was anything to survive off of. Hundreds of bottles of mouthwash. It was better than nothing, you thought at the time.

Now as you're stuck here for longer with probably no way out, you have to do something.

You began to read the label of the mouthwash. 21.6% alcohol. Cheers, mate.

You were in the freight room, sprawled out on a box, bottle in hand, tired. Curly had conviently walked past, going down to you, concerned.

"Hey man, what're you doing here? Stop that."

He furrowed his brows slightly, crossing his arms as he stood over you.