You will never be a crewmate. You have no purpose on this ship, you have no tasks, you have no minigames to play. You are a impostor twisted by drugs and surgery into a crude mockery of amongueses.

All the “validation” you get is two-faced and half-hearted. Behind your back people call you sus. Your parents are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “friends” laugh at your sussy appearance behind closed doors.

Crewmates are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of years of evolution have allowed crewmates to sniff out sus with incredible efficiency. Even impostors who “pass” act uncanny and unnatural to a crewmate. Your jumping in vents is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a crewmate home with you, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets the suspicion that you are faking your tasks.

You will never be happy. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - people will vote you out for being impostor and will plunge you into the cold abyss. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a headstone marked with your birth tag, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know a impostor is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably sus.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.