Unstable and sweating, Slippy reared up, the thing copied, and he struck. The piece of jagged metal in his hand slashed the things right eye. Out of reflex more than fear, he tore at the left, cutting wildly, insanely almost, vengeful. His eyes almost glowed with rage as he attacked the thing, cutting through everything he could, splattering blood on himself like thick green ketchup.
When Slippy was sure that the thing was dead, he cut it up a few more times, then stumbled out of the room, in shock. He raced down the hall, having to manually find his teammates. He searched everywhere that they might be. Absolutely everywhere. They were not in the hangar, not in the galley. Nor were they in the library or the entertainment room. There was no sign of them in either the power or fuel junctions.
Just when Slippy began to lose hope, when he was sure that the thing had gotten them too, he saw them.
Puzzled looks on their faces, Peppy and Falco gazed about.
"Guys! You ran off! What's your problem, playin' like four year olds!" Slippy screamed at the top of his little lungs.
"I'm just as worried as you," Falco said.
"Yeah," added Peppy, "it's like a dead spot."
"Well, hurry up. There's a certain nasty thing that we need to flush out the airlock," Slippy said, smirking.
And, so they drug the body of the thing out to the only functioning external airlock. All three entered, dragging the lifeless corpse.
Suddenly, the thing's eyes blinked open…