Escape pods.
A guarantee of safety installed onto the UES Contact Light, he suspects, to contemptibly follow laws and guidelines rather than to satisfy a genuine regard towards the crew's safety. If they could, those in the upper seats, they'd get escape pods for the cargo, leaving every single one of their employees to rot. Meat and muscles are replaceable, goods not.
Now, these 'safety' pods are nothing but a smothering prison that will only prolong his suffering and postpone an inevitable death. The ship is no more, lost in a whirlwind of fire and floating debris forever wandering in the silent vacuum of space. His mates are no more, annihilated and ravaged by monsters and wraiths he isn't sure his panicked mind hallucinated.
He is alone. He'll die alone.
The seat belts of the pods keep him in place. The padding preserves him from the outward vibrations as the capsule engages a mad descent. Nothing can screen out the neverending scream that escapes his throat.