The Revenant pulled around to the side of the ship, Tibulus calmly setting everything in place for the ship's cargo bay to properly be able to store the containers without screwing up and shooting everything and everyone inside into the vacuum of space. He was around 70% sure that nobody could survive that if they were out there, whether it be because of the temperature or the lack of any breathable substance. He'd been fooled once before, though. How John survived the nothingness for so long was beyond Tibulus' reasonable ideas, but regardless he did it.

The funganoid checked his cigar stash as he waited for his cue to leave. Down to 10 total. That wasn't the best, not at all. He'd have to pick up a few others before he started piloting again. Okay, maybe he didn't, but dammit did cigars help keep him looking cool. He didn't even have a reason to smoke, he just did for no reason. It didn't relax him or anything, and he was immune to lung cancer due to a lack of lungs, so he seriously didn't have a reason to smoke. He just did. Probably because it was a habit at this point in his life. He had spent a lot of his actual life smoking until the day he died, and even then he wanted a cigar as soon as he saw the guy that turned him into a funganoid. Maybe that was the real reason?

Tibulus didn't care. He just needed more smokes.