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It must be a fallacy, a disgusting blunder, or a miserable lapse in judgement on the impostor’s part. That’s what White thinks.
To keep themselves from the much more logical explanation that the reason they’re still here is, in fact, because they are such easy prey?
The impostor could snap their neck at a moment’s notice. It’s that simple and unquestionable, unless your name is White. In which case you retain yourself more important than the rest of your crew, even unknowingly so, and conclude that that must be the reason you are still here.
No hard work is involved on White’s part that keeps them alive, they are just too self-absorbed to realise this. They will never notice that life is not served to them on a silver platter, unlike the vast majority of their achievements. They even go as far as to consider themselves skilled enough to effortlessly survive alien killings. Unbelievable!
Still, having seen so many of their crewmates get slaughtered, all their “exertions” may be sent to hell after all. Death is not something that they can stomach easily. Certainly nothing they ever been faced with on such a large scale before. If merely getting their blood drawn makes them lightheaded, imagine how bad it is seeing everyone in their own pools of crimson, shining blood.
There are only five of them left, counting the impostor. Five of the original crew of eleven. Miserable. And while three of those make a continuous strain in order to keep their heads, White is a sure outlier. They’re only a final kill, someone whose life is so easy to end that at this point they’re just being played with. They pose no threat and are therefore obsolete.
Well, there is an ulterior reason: they are being used as an alibi, since they will always vouch for the impostor. Without knowing it, of course, them and the impostor have grown close friends. Their differences are many, and the impostor would go as far as to describe the bond they share as selfish on White’s part, but one thing is for certain: they make a damn good pawn.
White spends a lot of time with each of their remaining crewmates with the simple goal in mind of feeling less lonely, and less isolated for the impostor to kill.
The obvious issue that brings along is that they are inevitably also staying near the marauder themselves. That can’t be good for their psyche, but they’re willing to undermine it if it means keeping their sanity intact for just a while longer.
Well, it’s not like it’s working. They should have guessed it wouldn’t. The paranoia only grows stronger each passing hour. With a pit in their gut and the constant fears they are faced with, there is only one last thought circling around their head. It’s not pretty, it’s not like them, it’s so absurd it must be beneath them.
Yet still, it keeps budding, growing fiercer and more intense. It’s strong and they can’t ignore it; it might practically pierce through their visor with how powerful and present it is.
This façade they put up might be something they’ve truly convinced themselves of for the better part of their life, but despite that… they’re slowly starting to catch onto the lies they’ve been telling themselves.
The realisation has been coming leisurely for a long while by now, taking its time, a slow-acting poison. As such, it pierces through White every step of the way. It’s an ache they can’t rid themselves of, but not one that dissipates after the worst of it is over. It lingers at its peak as an uncontrollable pain.
They start doubting their worth and all their accomplishments. It’s been a long time coming. With everything crashing atop them, they too come tumbling down. The high pedestal they’ve been putting themselves on implodes on itself, leading to a catastrophic fall.
With everything taking a gross toll on them, that thought from earlier comes into play. It’s a little seed setting everything into motion. If the impostor hasn’t killed them yet, they now know it’s out of pity.
White still thinks they deserve all the pity this world has to offer.
Their head is killing them, but with a decisiveness they choose to fight through it. Not from a newfound appreciation for life, but because they’ve become aware that soon enough there won’t be anything worth fighting for.
They take their time passing through the halls leading to MedBay. Their breath is shaky. Their steps are wavering. Their hands sway by their sides as they attempt to ground themselves in a routinely gesture.
They make an honest attempt at noticing all the little things lining every corner of the spacecraft. Hey, they’ve always been good at noticing things, haven’t they? They feel like they know everyone on the ship so well, making each of their deaths more personal. Getting close to a heap of people they barely know was a bad idea.
Adding one more death to the roster won’t change a thing, though, will it?
The sympathy White’s suicide would cause makes their head spin with wanton pleasure. The thought is extremely relieving. All the words they would hear, grieving them… it’s a pity they won’t be there to experience it.
They laugh to themselves a little as they enter MedBay, Blue’s sanctuary, White’s last relief.
“Spirits are high, aren’t they?” Blue greets them with a smile. They stop what they’re doing to look at White. They were sorting papers. Ones that might as well be burned immediately, as they know there might not be anyone left to deliver them to Mira by the time the impostor’s done with them.
“Not at all.” Hearing that, Blue shifts uncomfortably. It’s not that White didn’t take the joke well, Blue’s sure, but that only means they’re here to consult them with a serious issue.
“Don’t you think that it’s odd? How Green, Red, Purple and you are always at the edge of your seats, the impostor’s keeping you all on your toes, and I’m here completely unbothered and unscathed?”
Blue’s not an irritable person, but— endearing as it is— the constant manner in which White praises themselves has really started to get to them. It makes them wonder one thing, though: White might be the impostor after all.
They’re fairly certain the mastermind killer would be a little brighter than them, but it’s not stopping them from pouring over some tranquilizer liquid into a syringe.
“What’s that for?” White remarks.
“Refilling something. It’s baseline medicine, good to have on standby. Anything could happen at any time.”
In this way, they could make proof of a few things. If White objects, they’re cleverer than they let on, and if they don’t, Blue can be sure they’re not the impostor. That is, unless they anticipate that and play dumb.
“And as for your question, I figured you must have something in you, if you’ve made it this long. No offense intended.”
“None taken, but that’s exactly what I’ve realised. It’s all dumb luck, my survival, I mean. It’s why I’ve come to you. I need help with something, if you’re willing to take such… drastic measures.” Now White is really starting to worry them. They could never deny an ill patient treatment; their health is of utmost importance and Blue’s unwavering priority, but with such ominous wording, they can’t help but feel concerned.
“You ever look at these deaths and realise they’re all grizzly and gruesome? Err… I don’t want to die like that,” White continues. Yes, Blue could have figured as much.
“If you’d like something to alleviate your paranoia–”
“I’m done with fearing everything and especially with pretending I even want to make it out alive. Euthanasia, Blue, can you give me it?”
“I–Is this decision recent?” Maintaining a calm is difficult, cue Blue’s stammering. They’re shocked at hearing it, almost personally hurt. White’s answer won’t change anything, though they asked it just to know if anything could have been done sooner to prevent their thoughts from culminating into suicidal ideations.
“I’ve been feeling like it since the first death on here…”
Not the answer Blue was hoping for. A shiver goes down their spine. They can’t possibly kill someone; it’s the polar opposite of what they advocate for. The lone idea makes their stomach churn.
A firm denial is exactly what they reply with, but White seems to mistake their voice shaking as a sign of uncertainty.
“Are you sure? Really? I thought you helped people. You can’t watch me rot away! You can’t stand to see me lose myself and go insane!
You’re scared of disappointing me. You want to do it. You know this will just end my suffering, yet you’re still too scared to act on it.”
White’s insisting causes an ever so slight ripple. They’re observant, some of what they’re saying is true. The part about not being able to stomach a crewmate of theirs being driven to madness. And euthanasia is definitely better than that.
Euthanasia is definitely better than that…
“Oh, doctor…” White falls onto a chair with feigned dramatics, and something about it makes Blue soften up. They’ve been suppressing it, since it’s beyond unprofessional. White makes Blue understand how everyone swoons for them, and they can’t help it, but it’s a gross thing.
The idea they consider because of it is even worse, unprecedented, selfish and utterly disgusting. For an actual, real moment, they imagined what it would be like to euthanise them just to rid themselves of their troubling secret. Their skin crawls. Whoever thought that, it wasn’t them.
The whole thing makes them consider simply euthanising themselves instead, a tell-tale sign of how far they’ve crossed any rational line of thinking.
It’s oddly comforting.
White starts pressing further: “I know you prioritise all of our safeties, but really think about which is worse: slowly watching me melt into madness, or mercifully end my misery?”
Blue’s had a pounding headache these past few days. With so much work to be done, they are really stressed out. A difficult moral question is not something they’re able to properly think about.
“Just help a friend out. Please.” Those words a mere excerpt from the long tirades White would go on, maniacally trying to convince Blue to go through with it.
Just euthanise them, if for no other reason than to get them to shut up.
What?
“White! I’m not doing it, that’s final. Stop pushing. If you need paranoia medication, that you can have, but please leave my office. You’re a detriment to the both of us.”
White drags themselves out of the office.
Alone now, Blue can’t help but contemplate what they’ve done. It was impossible to see White in so much distress. The mission, the killings, everything driving them to this point. No matter the choice, Blue would still end up feeling guilty. The only deciding factor was upholding their morals.
White comes up in electrical, a cup of water in their hands. Blue was the one to have handed them it in an attempt to calm them down. In the end, White respects the decision they’ve made. They nervously take a gulp.
Red had handed them a task earlier to fix the faulty wirings. It’s not difficult, the wires are colour coded. They always wondered, though, what if they were to mess it up? It was a subconscious doubt in the back of their mind, irrationally scared of failing and of it costing them their life.
All these cables…
In an act of desperation, they trip themselves on purpose, spilling the water over some exposed wires. Strangely convenient, wouldn’t you agree?
They tumble forward, and as they place a trembling palm on the afflicted wiring, the lights aggressively flicker and a horrific jolt is sent through White’s body. They emit a continuous shriek, muffled into the deafening mechanical crackling. Things are falling out of place. Lighting is disturbed. The pain is alike thousands of needles stabbing their skin.
For many agonising seconds, they’re viciously electrocuted, unable to move away.
This is what they wanted! Drawing a final breath, their body keels over dead with the wires still in their dislocated hand.
Euthanasia would have been an easier, more carefree way to die way to die.