He pulled back the sleeve of his jumpsuit, checking a digital clock. It was a counter. Only three minutes now. A hope nagged at the back of his mind, his thoughts. He was hoping he could make it. He could hold his breath for quite a while. Although he wasn't as good at holding his breath as some of his fellows he had fought with, the fact that he had breathed pure oxygen for most of his life as a 'reward' for piloting ships and living in space stations helped.
He could hold his breath for up to eight minutes, and he hoped that the gas would kill anyone who couldn't before he could no longer hold it. The first real sign of emotion would show on his lips; determination, and some panic. Like an animal that thought it could make it away from a predator. He wanted to live, to prove himself to the Coalition. He was going to fight for his life, even if the 'fighting' was simply him holding his breath.
