[ WP ] Make me side with a serial killer from the perspective of one of his victims .

Clever piece of meat. Probably the cleverest of the million or so that are left. Why could n't they all be this good? If they had been, we would have had much more fun. 
 
 The pressure on my thorax became almost too much to bear. My carapace squealed as it began to buckle. I saw my captor tightening some sort of lever that pulled the central strap still trighter. Creeaaakk. This was a horribly inefficient way to kill me. But trial-and-error is such a sloppy business. 
 
 The first billion were dead in a day. Their soft, pink-to-brown bodies melted away as their own clouds, saturated with our poison, sprinkled their death. They said that the acid burned so efficiently through their sinews that large drops could be seen passing through their extremeties, barely slowing before completing their passage to the ground, much redder, of course. 
 
 I saw him tightening, tightening through the corner of my compound eye, so that only 7 or 8 eye lenses contained his image. I was no expert on their emotions, but I knew enough to look at the face and those stupid, single-lensed eyes. The eyebrows were n't elevated like when they're trying to survive. The lips were curled down, like when one of them first sees his partially dissolved parents. My mandible flexed as I contemplated what sort of emotion this could be. 
 
 He could n't tighten it any further, and my exoskeleton held. Maybe he was n't so clever after all. He had already removed 2 of my limbs by flexing them far beyond their range of motion, so my death was inevitable, but it would n't directly kill me. Maybe he did n't want me dead, though I ca n't imagine how that would help him in his aims. But what were his aims; his kind did n't even have a queen to feed! Perhaps she was already dead, and that is why they barely put up a fight. These creatures make no sense. 
 
 No, this one was clever. He made me hear the voice of the Queen. No, not her voice, but one very like hers. He could speak her tones, but not her language. I had to go find out what was going on, I literally had no choice but to fly toward the noise and understand it. But there was no Queen. Just that box. That obscene square with circles, that spoke blashphemy in the voice of Her. And by the time I began to understand, I was bound, and my wings were shredded. It made me think about the strange faces and noises they made when we damaged their parts. As if their arms and legs were their queen -- its as if they felt pain when their joints were separated. As if a queen could be contained in an elbow. 
 
 Now he was getting somewhere. A stick or something was under my neck; I never saw it. Pointing toward my antennae from the base of my head. Wiggle, wiggle, it was finding the gap, and it would certainly find it. Then it would be a simple matter to force the implement into my head, and scramble a bit. I would be done, just a black shell. But my hive would live on. Much more than I can say for these poor, soft lumps of meat. Soon they would be all dead, unless they all had this queen-voice box. No, they would have used it already. 
 
 They'll die, like me. Only without my joy, the joy of knowing my Queen had a new nest, on this warm, wet rock fairly near to a star. 
 
 The stick found its way in. Moments were all I had. They should all have been so clever, to set their traps and kill us, one by one, while there were still enough of them to matter. By the smell, I knew I was not the only one of us to die in this room. There were probably dozens like me. And maybe there will be dozens more. We die nobly, having heeded the call, though false, of a queen in distress. 
 
 But these humans, these rarely-clever lumps of inedible flesh, they will just die. All of them. Soon.
