"Putain!"

He quickly unlocks his harness and tries to open the pod's door, but it's designed to open towards the outside, and the pressure difference is already big enough that it just won't open.

He tries some percussive maintenance on the handle - "Putain! De bordel! De merde!" - but it doesn't budge.

He makes sure the distress beacon is still active. Not that it would help if he gets too far down, but if the other have seen him splash maybe the rescuers will try and find him, right?

Right?

He doesn't really have anything to do now, and out of habit he just straps back and... waits.

He sinks.

Outside, the gradient has turned from friendly to impersonally cold blue. Water keeps swirling past the window.

He sinks.

The display shows the distress beacon continually wasting energy to shout several tens of meters in each direction. The landing sequence seems confused, and is waiting for the pod to resurface. They are built to take shrapnel or land in water.

He sinks.

The light from the porthole dims slowly as the distance to the surface increases. The cold blue gradually turns to a dread-filled black. Soon only dim interior lights grant the eyes respite from the darkness.

He sinks.

The hull of the pod creaks and then sets. The shells are built to survive a core overload, and that translates to a somewhat absurd degree of pressure tolerance. He'll die of hunger or cold, not from water pressure.

He sinks.

After 20 minutes, there are no more changes. The pod stays upright, because it's built to be heavier on the bottom, and he can walk around if he wants. The water cushions the descent so there's little shaking. A dark continuous sound of metal clumsily cleaving water is all that comes from the outside.

He sinks.

A damned man in a metal container.

He sinks.