This couldn't possibly be a bad idea
Suspended tenderly as a raindrop on the end of thread, swaying side to side in the inky blue and crushing emptiness around it. A tender collaboration of steel, brass and a pupil of glass out of which glances a serious entity hinting at childish glee.
A cable, wound and split into three. With a tiny imperfection of callous ineptitude, above the split, is screaming. Fibres of steel have their atoms wrenched asunder and in a fraction of a moment the sphere is free.
The man’s features snap just as instantaneously, confusion and panic. He fumbles his dials, barometer rising, orientation shifting. He is dropping.
The actions of pure panic, the man glances, he shouts, he rechecks the dials and there is no doubt. Finally a forlorn look towards the metal hatch.
There’s nothing to be done now, the end comes quick. A glancing blow on a chance outcrop of rock and a thousand atmospheres do the rest.