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Tension is always a difficult thing to grasp with. White’s stomach has a knot in it that they can’t quite free themselves from.
Sitting on the floor against a cold, hard wall isn’t like them. They can’t believe they’d stoop this low. Still, in a situation such as this one, it almost feels fitting— backed into a corner, quivering, shaken. Circumstances they’ve never had to deal with before. The music on the radio is subtly consolatory, at least.
A small voice echoes through their head, playing with White’s mind, telling them they very well deserve this for putting up such a low effort to survive. They mustn’t pity themselves, not now, not when they are this close to their untimely end.
Still, they are unsure of what to do, if anything. Is anyone even coming to save them? Oh, shake those thoughts away. Ten crewmates, one of them is bound to notice their absence. Someone will come. Someone will come.
Before their eyes there are dark stripes, almost like window blinds’ shadows leaving only certain areas illuminated by rays of light. They’re not sure what was causing it. There is nothing in this hallway that could possibly be casting this sort of obstruction.
Just what is happening?
A cold sweat washes over them; a shiver runs down their spine as they could have sworn something has swayed in what little lighting was left. They blink twice, thrice in succession, but it is as if every time they are about to shut their eyes, something dances in the shadows. It provokes them to reopen, and yet, not even an instant later, it’s gone. An apparition. In their stress, the music is only getting louder.
Distraught, White rethinks everything, vigilantly checking the room repeatedly for anything that could possibly be the cause of this.
They’re panicked, they’re unable to bear this awful reality forming. They’re even more horrified at the stray thoughts telling them that this is not their truth.
Nothing is there; that’s the thing. White is sure nothing could be creating this, they would notice. Is their imagination playing tricks on them? Are they seeing things?
It’s useless, there won’t be anything left of them to fight with if their head kills them first. Never have they felt the need to prove themselves before, though will to live cannot be equated to one’s desire to prevail successful.
What with everything handed to them on a silver platter throughout their entire life, however, it’s difficult for them not to expect an impromptu saviour. They can daydream about it for eternity. A comforting thought amidst a sea of deranged ones.
Despite it all, if this is the only time White will keep their head on a swivel, so be it. May they finally demonstrate their (limited) capabilities. Surviving this, everyone will gawk at them further. They will all adore them. Determination prevails even in this disgustingly horrifying moment, even if the only thing carrying it through is a selfish desire for adoration.
That is, of course, until they hear something. They flinch. It’s not the radio, it’s far too out of place, and close. Scraping sounds, mimicking those of claws tearing at metal. White is almost entirely sure it’s a distraction, or perhaps a hallucination. It’s not coming from the bright bands in front of them, therefore it is obsolete. White’s focus remains entirely on the anomalous lighting.
Then, they get an idea. Cautiously they extend an arm overhead, and, sure enough, the shadows don’t bend above it. Unnatural, disruptive. An involuntary gasp escapes them as they remark the abnormality. Their fatal mistake.
The strips of light swerve, skew, extending until a figure could undoubtedly be seen beneath it. A window to a completely different reality. An oddity.
White pushes their sunglasses over their eyes, grasping at a futile attempt in shielding themselves.
“Can– hear me?–
I don’t– where I–”
White, horrified, is no longer sure who spoke the words: them, or the figure? The radio’s music has distorted into an unsettling muffled glitching. After all, it seemed as if the phrase was pronounced on an entirely different wavelength.
“White!” the figure exclaims from the other side, their voice disturbingly familiar. Disturbingly comforting.
They can feel themselves slipping. Something nags at their legs and arms. Rough and scraping them. Yes, that noise they heard earlier, they’re sure this is it.
But their flesh is hardly metal, meaning, of course, that it isn’t the surface being grazed that provokes the noise: the object grazing it is.
Mortified, they can’t pull away, they’re petrified, not of their own volition. Like an invisible chain keeping them down, unmoving.
White can see the person between the bars of light clearly now, all too clearly. A friendly hand extending out toward them, Green’s hand, the one’s White misses holding all too much. They can’t reach for it, not while being pulled, but they would kill just for one last touch.
A pained series of sobs echoes through the hall. It isn’t the pain of being torn apart. Their throat feels like it is being slit from the inside. They still can’t see what’s in front of them.
Memories of their beloved Green race through their mind, destructive.
And yet, Green’s profile below the shadows appears to flicker. It’s ghastly faded. White is still unwaveringly sure it’s them, they are real, not a trip.
But… if they’re a ghost, they can’t be dead, can they? Last they saw them—
A piercing pain courses through White, the last call, and they can finally see it.
Fleshy tentacles wrapping around them. One of them is stuck midway through their throat. Dozens of razors line each one, the one scratching their insides not an exception. It is then that they look below and see the blood staining their expensive clothes. Their head is sliced clean off, only a thin red line separating the two halves of their body.
They want to reach upwards with their hands, stop the bleeding best they can, but they are immobilized. All they can do is glance up, not even being able to move their head anymore. Tears prick further at their eyes as they notice Green’s body upon the alien, they are its puppet.
Green wouldn’t do this of their own choosing, Green wouldn’t, they wouldn’t! It’s denial, White will never believe it, they’re sure.
Green reverts to their regular form as White breaks down. They can’t find the words to tell them off. Thousands of questions race through their head, but none can be adequately described.
Green wickedly smiles and skips off. They leave White to die, to rot. Though at least White will die with the certainty that their Green would never murder them in cold blood.
They get up onto their shaky feet and follow them out into the main lobby, determined to reveal everything. Green’s death will not be in vain, White’s death will not be in vain. Or so they blissfully believe.