Chapter Text
The ten minute mark of the voyage was always the worst.
Ten minutes was when the Skeld reached the limit of communication range. Ten minutes was when any call for help would go unanswered. MIRA didn’t give much money to communication support.
At the start of the journey, a crew of ten would sit around in the cafeteria, staring at one another at the center table. The table where, inexplicably, the emergency button was located. With pizza grease and crumbs worked into the button systems, it only worked about fifty percent of the time. MIRA gave even less resources to basic repairs than communications.
Sometimes a crew would sit around the table, putting off leaving to work on the ship. They would give each other suspicious looks and accusatory glances, but nobody would speak. Stares would turn into glares, but before anything could get out of hand, the crew would be pulled away, one by one, for various tasks.
Sometimes a crew would chat, make friends, and socialize in general. These crews always received a shock when an imposter was detected, but usually stayed friendly and cheery, even when ejecting the killer (or innocents) out the airlock. There was no on between. Crews were either very friendly, or distrusting and gloomy.
Either way, sitting around the table for the first ten minutes was a tradition on every MIRA ship, not because it was required, but because the crews themselves never wanted to skip it. Nobody wanted to be the first to go off alone, and nobody wanted to die either. Either that or the crew wanted to chat and play cards. The however, even among the nice crews, the first ten minutes had a tense and scary feeling. The ten minute mark was still a terrible part of the journey.
The worst part about the ten minute mark is that, by then, the imposter scan would be received. Due to the lack of funding (like everything else) in the scan technology, it was extremely outdated. This meant that by the time a crew received their results, they would be just about to leave comms range. No crew ever had time to send a distress signal, although MIRA would likely not respond anyway.
The scan worked this way because, due to the dated technology, it could only scan so many people at once. A MIRA base or launch facility had too many people, so the scan taken once the ship was already launched (and the autopilot locked in).
Crew #88 was lucky, in a sense (numbered that way due to the fact that MIRA started a new count each year to make the job seem slightly less deadly). They had managed to make it to the ten minute mark without the ship malfunctioning in any way, meaning they were still all at the table. This meant that they were all together when the scan was received.
Orange was feeling good. Not only was 8 his lucky number, he had a inexplicable good feeling about this crew. Maybe he would get a rare treat and have a nice, friendly crew. He turned to look at the colored suits of the crew. Green, Yellow, Black, White, Brown, Cyan, Purple, Red, and Lime, who was sitting to his right.
“Maybe this’ll finally be the time I get a crew without a single imposter!” he said to Lime, in the friendliest tone he could muster.
Many were suspicious when meeting Orange, usually because he was so cheerful. They found weird that he had encountered so many imposters and so much death, and was still friendly to everyone he met. They were also suspicious that he had survived every mission he had ever been on, every single one having two or more imposters. He had come close to the airlock more than once.
Lime simply nodded, and didn’t speak past a grunt in agreement. Orange sighed. He had tried to converse with every single member of the crew, but even more than usual, this crew was not very social. Still, Orange had to try.
“How many missions is this for you?” he asked, nudging Lime with his elbow. Lime stared at him for a long moment before replying. Although their visors hid their faces, the tone of voice Orange used made it clear he was smiling, and Line seemed to dislike this. “This is my fourth. I’m hoping it will be as successful as the last three.”
”Hey, just like me!” Orange mentioned. “Although I’ve been on lots more missions than four! I could tell you about the time I nearly got ejected! Twice! Or the time-“
Orange turned back to see that Lime wasn’t listening, but was instead conversing with Red and Purple. In fact, as the trip neared the ten minute mark, the crew had formed small groups, talking or playing cards. Other than Lime, Red, and Purple, Green, Yellow, and Black were chatting quietly. White, Brown, and Cyan were the ones playing cards. Everyone had a group except for Orange, which made him sad and a bit scared. The ones without friends always went first, either murdered or ejected. Orange elected to stare down at the table, defeated.
Suddenly, an annoying yet considerably pathetic alarm went off, alerting the crew that the results of the scan were arriving. The crew all watched the large screen at one end of the cafeteria, waiting for the text to finished slowly spelling out the results.
There are 9 imposters among us.
Orange froze, and he wasn’t the only one. Every single member of the crew was obviously shocked or confused. Then all hell broken loose.
In a sudden motion, the cafeteria table was as flipped, sending everybody sprawling, with the table its self landing button side up, although it likely wouldn’t have triggered if it had landed face down and been pressed. Not one person was down for more than a second however, and the scene that Orange found as he leaped up and opened his eyes was absurd.
Lime, Red, and Purple had guns drawn and knives in hand, rapidly switching sim from person to person. Green, Yellow and Black had revealed massive stomach mouths, and their spiked tongues whipped around dangerously. White, Brown and Cyan now had glowing red eyes, with the tell-tale glow of a charging laser. Interestingly, not one of these weapons were aimed at Orange. Maybe they didn’t see him as a threat, at least compared to the others.
The aliens, the ones with the stomach mouthed, had been the first imposters. For years, everyone had feared the shape-shifters, despite them being rare. However, the killing hadn’t been fast enough to satisfy the aliens, so they built robots. Predictably, the milder robots decided to split off and become their own faction. Inspired by these two groups, a third brand of imposters, who were just bloodthirsty humans, was born. This third group was especially deadly, as, although the scan was supposed to detect contraband and weapons, it sometimes missed them.
The aliens still considered the human imposters as enemies to be eliminated, and both the humans and aliens hated the robots for various reasons. However, it was usually a case to case basis. Sometimes, imposters of different factions worked together. Other times, a crew got lucky, with the imposters killing one another and leaving the crew alive. Orange could only hope these imposters were the kind to fight, although they were all already calming down.
None of the imposters, however, noticed Orange creep out of the room.