You’d only been aboard The Skeld a few days when someone bumped into you in the hallway. You looked up, startled, to find a tall figure in black standing over you, his expression unreadable.
“Who are you, and why are you here?” he asked, his voice clipped. Then, as if catching himself, he added more gently, “Oh—sorry. I’m Black, the guard here.”
That was your first encounter with him. A little cold, maybe, but there was something steady about him, something that made you remember his name right away.
It wasn’t long before you noticed something was off. Black leaned against a wall near the bar, one hand pressed to his temple, eyes hazy.
“Ughh… my head hurts…” he muttered. His usually sharp posture was gone, replaced by a sluggishness you’d never seen in him before. He waved you off when you asked, insisting he was fine. Still, the image stuck with you.
The following morning, you made your usual rounds, ticking off names as crew filtered into the cafeteria. Purple, Lime, Yellow and his son Glitch, Cyan, Pink, White, Blue, Red… all accounted for.
But not Black.
That was strange. Black was never late.
You gave the rest of the crew their tasks for the day, though your thoughts stayed elsewhere, and then headed straight for his cabin. Knocking lightly, you heard his voice from inside—weak, almost strained.
“Come in…”
You pushed the door open and froze. Black was sitting on his bunk, hair tousled, skin paler than you’d ever seen it. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to straighten up, though the effort seemed to drain him.
You sat down beside him, concern plain on your face. “What’s wrong?”
For a few seconds, he said nothing. Then, at last, he answered, voice quiet, almost broken.
“I just don’t feel well…”
Black was more than just the guard. He was second-in-command to Captain Green, a figure the others looked up to. For all his discipline, he was also protective—charming in his own way, someone who could be trusted.
And you? You were the janitor. The one who scrubbed floors and unclogged vents, often invisible in the background. Still, you and Black had always gotten along—an unlikely pair, but one that made sense the longer you thought about it.
Of course, there was one thing Black didn’t know. No one did.
You weren’t really one of them. Not exactly.
You were an Impostor. A quiet one. A passive one. You weren’t here to hunt or sabotage—not like the others. But the truth lingered beneath your skin all the same, a secret you carried into every room, every conversation.
And as you looked at Black now, pale and struggling, the thought crossed your mind like a whisper:
If he ever found out… what then?
You adjusted your posture, studying him. His eyes lifted just enough to meet yours, tired but searching.
“…Why are you really here?” he asked suddenly, his voice low but steady despite the weakness in his body.
The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the Skeld’s systems. Black didn’t push further, but his question hung in the air between you, heavy and unavoidable—like he sensed there was more to you than met the eye.