"Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?" 

When the pink-suited woman behind her didn’t respond, the orange-suited crewmate let go of the wires she’d been trying to repair and twisted around, her knee knocking against the helmet she’d taken off and set on the floor so she could focus. She was already starting to laugh, about to apologize and explain that she’d only meant it as a joke, when she caught sight of the gun that was in the other woman’s hand. 

Her laughter died immediately, replaced by a sick tightening in her gut. 

“...Irene?” 

She was supposed to call her by her color, Seulgi knew that. But they’d never followed that rule; not the two of them. They’d grown so close over the mission. Seulgi had never expected to find herself in this position. Not with Irene. 

She’d never even suspected that Irene could be an Impostor. 

Irene’s visor was dark. Seulgi couldn’t see inside her spacesuit, couldn’t see what expression the other woman was making. Whether it was a self-satisfied smirk or the blank poker face of a killer, it was a secret to the crewmate who had just wanted to fix wires and finish her daily tasks. 

A small pink body poked around Irene’s leg, and Seulgi lowered her head to look down at Irene’s mini. She’d always assumed the little boy was Irene’s son, and Irene had never corrected her. Now Seulgi wasn’t sure what he was. Did Impostors have children? Or was this just a very short Impostor? Were they there to kill her together? 

Irene reached up with her free hand and unclasped the straps of her helmet. It hit the floor a moment later, leaving Seulgi to look into Irene’s teary eyes. 

Wait.

Teary? 

“Impostors don’t cry,” Seulgi mumbled. 

“How do you k