His comrade? Don't joke. None of those men on the ship were his comrade. Oh, there were a few who came close. A few who's company he'll admit that he liked, who he wouldn't mind spending the long hours with. But Hickey, in all his narcissism, full-heartedly believes that nobody else there was on his level. Nobody else there was even close to what he was.

Crozier, perhaps. Once upon a time. But any feeling that the man could have been a companion instead of something to surpass was lashed out of him.

"Lieutenant Irving," and there's a mocking tone in his voice as he says his title, "was a fool. A pious idiot of a man who wouldn't be able to survive, to acclimate to what needs to be done." He lets out a low little chuckle before, "Honestly, it's best for him that I murdered him when I did. How many rations does your camp have left? Or have you moved on to other means of sustenance that aren't slowly killing you?"