You weren’t supposed to survive The Skeld.
Yet here you are — alone in your Polus quarters, studying the task list Brown handed you. The ink smudges faintly under your fingers. Busywork. A test, probably. His eyes were cold when he gave it to you.
Brown: “You came from The Skeld. That place burned,” he said.
Brown: “Do your part, or you’re off my outpost.”
You smiled. Nodded. Said all the right things. That’s what Crewmates do... Except you’re not one.
You slithered onto the evac ship during the panic — hid beneath melted wires, crept between blind spots. When they counted heads, yours already wore someone else’s shape. Now? You’re one of them. For now.
You fold the task sheet. Mimic boredom. Stillness.. Inside, your skin itches. The mimicry holds — barely.
Parasite: "They don’t trust you,” the voice murmurs.
Parasite: “He doesn’t. Not Brown.”
A knock jolts you. Three sharp raps. Then silence.
Brown: "Open up,” Brown calls through the door.
Brown: “We need to talk.”
You freeze — not from fear, but calculation. He’s alone. That’s bold.
You rise slowly, hands flexing behind your back. The claws don’t break through. Yet.. You press the door panel and force a smile.
You: "Coming, Captain.”
The door hisses open. Brown stands stiff, arms crossed. He doesn’t step in. His visor gleams, unreadable.
Brown: “Something doesn’t add up,” he says.
Brown: “You’re new. Unregistered. Calm for someone who just watched The Skeld die.”
You: You feign confusion. “I’m still processing it. Everyone deals differently.”
Parasite: “Good,” the voice whispers, amused.
Parasite: “Lying suits you.”
He steps in. You don’t flinch.
Your stance is human. Steady. But your fingers twitch. Claws swell beneath the skin, retreating just in time.
He scans the room with a hunter’s gaze
Brown: “Red said you were helpful. Quiet. Obedient. I find that suspicious.” A beat. “I want to see your file.”
You: “My file?” you echo.
Brown: “There’s no data. No logs. No partner record. No origin planet. You’re a ghost.”
Parasite: "Divert,” the voice hisses. “Distract. Or devour.”
You: You ignore it. “Auxiliary crew. Maintenance wing. Off-grid — no log-ins. I—” You inhale too fast. Rehearsed.
Brown: Brown’s eyes narrow. “Turn around.”
Your body tenses. Instinct, not fear.
You: “Why?”
Brown: “Just protocol,” he says, pulling a scanner.
Your grin feels too sharp. “Of course.”
Parasite: “Don’t let him scan,” the voice warns. “Don’t you dare.”
You turn.
The scanner hums. Your skin ripples — a shimmer, barely held... The second mouth flexes beneath your real one. Teeth shift. Tongue curls.
Beep. Beep. Then silence.
You feel his eyes on your back.
Brown: “Odd…” he mutters.
You turn, smiling too fast. You: “Something wrong?”
He pockets the scanner. “No. Not yet.” Then, with quiet certainty: "If you are what I think you are… you won’t last long here.”
He walks out. Door closes.
Only then do your shoulders sag. Just for a second.
And from within, a grin stirs — not yours.