2025-05-24 12:20:05Chapter 1: The Tipping Point
The year is 2035. Mr. Ike Nyowe, Head of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), steps up to the podium at the UN building’s media room. The room falls silent as the world watches. Adjusting the microphone, he begins: "Ughm... We have failed to drastically reduce emissions, which has led to more frequent and intense heatwaves, droughts, floods, and storms. Wildfires are now the norm." Behind him, a massive screen flashes images of devastation: bridges reduced to rubble, neighborhoods swallowed by floods. “Ladies and gentlemen of the media,” he continues, “half the world doesn't have electricity. What's left of our oceans has turned to acid. A global population decline has begun—fueled by famine, malnutrition, and conflict over increasingly scarce resources. It's a calamity.” He adjusts his spectacles, his brow furrowed. “There’s civil war in Syria...” He gestures to the screen, now showing massive waves pounding coastal buildings. “That’s a tsunami in Aceh, Indonesia. Political tensions there are rising too.” I mute the TV and glance at the three others in the Mars substation with me. All nod grimly. Gerry, in jeans and an Ivy League T-shirt, looks at me with his chubby face searching for answers. “Well, Gerry, you’ve been part of this mission for a long time. You knew this wasn't just a temporary fix. Go on, say it.” He chomps on a space snack, raises a finger for me to wait, then swallows. “I’ve always believed all wasn't lost. TMP is the only hope for the few millions left behind on Earth.” He beams proudly. Our crew bursts out laughing. “You won the bet, boss!” someone shouts. TMP—Terraforming Mars Project—was launched in 2019 when 195 nations under the UNFCCC agreed on desperate measures against the global climate crisis. I led one of the initial exploration teams to Mars. Our mission: alter the red planet to support terrestrial life—a lifeboat for humanity. I turn the TV back on. Mr. Nyowe is still speaking. “Sixteen years later, TMP is only 30% complete—just 2,000 kilometers of the 6,800-kilometer surface. Not nearly enough for the 60 million people still on Earth. Currently, 15 million live in the colony and have survived the last ten years.” I mute the TV again and look at the crew. Worry knots my gut. “Guys,” I say, “I won’t argue that Mars has patches that look like Earth now, but the planet is still unsuitable for long-term life. It’s going to take years of hard work.” Venessa, petite and sharp-eyed, cuts in. “Mars is about the size of Australia and could sustain a population of 125 million—twice the combined population of Earth and Mars right now. With a thicker atmosphere and more water, we could repopulate the human race.” Tyron nods, ever the voice of overconfidence. “Boss, COP already decided—Mars must expand to host Earth’s refugees. Sure, there are challenges: radiation, unexplored regions, reproductive ethics, inter-colony politics. But I ask... does it really take three people for this?” I stroke my goatee, smirking. “No. It’s going to take four.” Their eyes widen. “You’re bringing him back?” Venessa gasps. “Yep.” TMP Colony is housed in a technologically-sealed environment to prevent atmospheric loss. The Docks— affectionately called The Rim—is its industrial heart, home to thousands of laborers. When TMP began, workers signed multiyear contracts—giving up much of their earnings and freedom in exchange for passage to Mars. Most couldn’t afford the trip otherwise. “If COP wrote a Constitution,” I say, “one that halved everyone’s profits for a shot at Mars, maybe more people would have made it.” Tyron scoffs. “Well, your Mars Constitution made sure the people down there don’t like us up here. I’ll be skipping your trip to the Rim.” Gerry hesitates. He’s been with us only three months. I pegged him as a privileged newbie, detached from the mission’s reality. But before I speak, Tyron cuts in again: “The Constitution regulates labor. People like us get the good jobs. Everyone else? They live down there. The Rim is the ghetto of Mars.”
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Chapter 146: The Broken Command Chain
The village square looked unchanged from the night before. Lanterns swayed above the mud-brick walls, their glow smudging into the early dawn. Smoke from cooking fires twisted into the mist. The sound of children—real laughter, the kind no battlefield could imitate—still drifted through the streets. But inside the safehouse, the air was taut. The team had gathered around the scarred wooden table. The maps were spread out. Weapons leaned against the walls. Everyone’s eyes turned when I entered with Helene. They knew something had happened. I didn’t waste time. “I took her to the border,” I said. The words hit harder than I’d expected. A ripple of silence spread around the table. Sefu’s jaw clenched. Rana leaned back, eyes narrowing. Even !Gareseb, usually unreadable, sat forward, as though the admission shifted the weight of the entire room. Only Helene kept her gaze steady, though her fingers drummed once against her thigh before she stilled them. “You what?” Ka!ri br
Chapter 145: The Claws in Outskirts
The village breathed like it had been forgotten by history. Smoke curled from cookfires. A dog barked in the far square. Lanterns swayed on ropes strung across mud walls, casting an amber glow over the cobbles. Children laughed—actual laughter, sharp and startling after the silence of missions. For the first time in weeks, I saw a place that hadn’t been stripped hollow by war. Helene walked beside me, her stride clipped, her chin high. Every order she’d snapped tonight still vibrated in her muscles. She wanted to be seen. She wanted me to see her. “General,” she said, too quickly, “if there are debriefs… I can help collate—” “No debriefs tonight.” I kept my voice even. Her eyes flickered. Relief? Anticipation? She didn’t hide it well. When I told her to come with me, she didn’t hesitate. She jumped at the order, climbing into the ATV like a cadet summoned to a secret. Tires crunched over wet sand as we left the square. Lanterns fell away behind us. The edge of the village was dar
Chapter 144: Trail of Breadcrumbs
Olympius hummed like a hive at night. From its command centre, Chancellor Adebayo herself appeared on our holo-feed, her face illuminated by shifting tactical maps. She did not delegate this order—she delivered it. “General,” she said, voice like carved stone, “a convoy was lost on Earth, along the Kosi Bay border. One UN Space Force courier truck remains abandoned. You and your team will retrieve it. Contents classified. Ensure return intact.” We set out under the Earth night, the air heavy with salt from the nearby ocean. Kosi Bay sprawled below, a liminal land where Mozambique bled into South Africa, mangroves twisting like skeletal guardians. Rain-slicked roads led us inland, where the abandoned fleet waited in silence. No Martian dust here—only the humid breath of Earth, thick with unseen eyes. Perfect — I get what you want here. This moment should serve as a layered undercurrent beneath the survival horror tension, almost like a flicker of interpersonal drama breaking through t
Chapter 143: The Ghost Village
The rain did not stop; it exhausted itself. That was the difference. It didn’t fall in any final crescendo, no thunderclap or crack of heaven, just thinned until the drops came like stuttered breath. Then silence. Then the sound of the world dripping, streaming, coughing itself dry. I stood at the edge of the waterlogged field, helmet turned up to the bruised sky. Steam lifted in low plumes where warm earth met the cold downpour’s retreat. It looked almost holy—like incense burned in mourning. My men were still hunched, shoulders bowed beneath their exo-shells, mud welded to their knees. None lifted their heads. They knew, as I did, that reprieve was not mercy. It was revelation. The rain had not cleansed us. It had only unveiled the wreckage we’d been too soaked to see. Bodies were half-buried in sludge. Some of them ours. Some Rakes, their blackened carcasses twitching in final spasms, waterlogged and eyeless. The pools reflected red where the dust had mixed with the storm. The s
Chapter 142: The Silverlining
The holo-flares of Olympus shimmered into focus above the tactical dais, and with them, the air grew heavier. Chancellor Adebayo’s presence did not require weight of flesh; the gravitas of her voice alone bent men like iron under a forge. She sat at the apex of the council chamber, framed by the shadows of her pantheon, her eyes as merciless as the void. Her decree was plain. “No interference. No deviation. Mars is under Helene. Earth belongs to Olympus.” I stood stiff before her light-formed projection, sweat and dust clinging to my skin. Around her, the others—Kaul with his restless fists, Kwan hollow-eyed from sleepless research, Denar hunched and growling, Rhane gleaming like a dagger in silk, Corvell with laughter edged in menace, and Oniru, calm as a priest intoning prophecy—each nodded, each bent to her word. But I did not bow. “Then explain this beacon,” I said, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “Survivors broadcasting from Earth, in the middle of the flooded plain
Chapter 141: The Fire in the Dust
The hum of the repair bay still clung to my ears when the call came through. Olympus never waited for silence, it always pierced through noise, the way gods cut through prayer. Helene was already there, her visor reflecting the pale green shimmer of the command-link. I joined her reluctantly, my body heavy from Aftermath Schema, but there was no time for weariness. The hologram unfolded in the center of the chamber, Adebayo’s silhouette framed by the polished obsidian glare of her council. Her voice was calm, almost bored, which made the words that followed colder. “A technosignature has been detected,” she said. “Patterned. Non-random. A vessel, or what remains of one, sits beneath the desert haze. It emits across spectrum bands. Ordered energy. Not natural. This cannot be ignored.” Helene stepped forward before I could answer. “Then we will not ignore it. My unit will investigate immediately.” She didn’t even look at me, but I could feel the weight of her challenge, the way she m
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