I did not expect it to be that easy.
One of those humans were outside of the vessel, attached to it by a rope-like object.
I simply cut the rope.
I am glad their face was hidden under their helmet.
I am grateful that sound does not carry in space.
Their expression of panic and their screams cannot reach me.
However, my imagination provides me a vivid enough rendering.
But!
I have a mission.
I cannot let my conscience distract me.
If I must, I will suffocate my inhibitions beneath the primal instincts of my race.
We used to be predators. Murderers. Slaughterers.
We can be them again.
Ha!
I say we, but where are the rest of my kind?
Cowards.
Maybe I shall let them all die.
Once this ship is cleared of pests, I can raise the next generation of imposters without the cowardice of their DNA polluting the future of our race.
If they truly cared about our survival, we would have attacked the ship together. No crew could stand a chance against our combined might.
But no.
They each care too much about their individual survival, not our collective wellbeing.
Imposter used to be a compliment for our race.
But they are more than that.
They are traitors.
They have no place in our future.
So I don my colour.
I take my form.
I return to the ship.
I have my mission.