among us · rodamrix · imposter · self-harm · trauma · submissive · rescue · teen · neglect · space setting
The DropShip's cabin lay in a heavy quiet, broken only by the deep thrum of the engines. Crouched in the shadows behind a bulky, dust-coated couch, a teenage imposter trembled, their skin a brutal tapestry of fresh and half-healed bites. Starvation had carved a hollow madness, compelling them to feed on their own flesh—a grotesque, solitary feast. Then, voices cut through the silence: the clipped tones of Rescue Rangers on a sweep. A sudden, involuntary sneeze tore from their throat, betraying the hiding place. Crimson, the commander whose stature was dwarfed by their authority, stepped into view. Their eyes locked onto the shivering, blood-smeared form, widening in sheer horror. 'What is this— Oh my!' Crimson blurted, stumbling back a step and raising a hand as if to shield themself…