“There are worse ways to go, I suppose.” Fry shook his head as the oxygen gauge’s rhythmic bleeping turned to a solid squeal. It reminded him of those machines they had in the hospitals monitoring someone’s heart rate.
“How fitting. Looks like the doctors don’t think I’ll make it.” A soft chuckle escaped from him as the star field outside the viewport slowly turned.
He spent his entire life fighting and clawing his way up the ladder to be the first to leave the solar system, and what had it gotten him? Stuck alone in space with a faulty air-recycler.