T-minus 6 Hours
I sat in the cockpit, my hands hovering over the controls.
This was it.
My last day on Mars.
Fifteen days of surviving on borrowed ti, of scavenging through the wreckage of those who ca before . Of fixing a ship that had no right to fly.
And yet—
I was here.
I exhaled sharply, running through the final pre-flight check.
✔ Navigation System – Operational
✔ Oxygen Levels – Stable
✔ Life Support – Functioning (Barely)
✔ Fuel Reserves – Sufficient for Takeoff
✔ Hull Integrity – Reinforced
Then my eyes flicked to the most crucial part of the list.
❔ Right Booster – Unverified
I tightened my grip on the console.
The right booster was my biggest gamble. A patchwork of scavenged parts, salvaged thrusters, and reinforced plating. It shouldn't work. But it had to.
Because if it didn't—
I wasn't leaving.
T-minus 2 Hours
I climbed out of the cockpit for the last ti, my breath steady, asured, calm in a way it shouldn't be.
This was it.
Fifteen days of hell. Fifteen days of fighting against death itself.
And now—
It all ca down to this.
The Martian horizon stretched endlessly before , a vast ocean of red dust and jagged rock under an empty, lifeless sky. The sun hung small and distant, casting a weak, burnt-orange glow across the barren land. No wind. No sound. Just silence.
I had walked across this wasteland, wandered through storms that could bury mountains, scavenged from the bones of the dead in a graveyard of forgotten ambition. I had fought against Mars itself.
And I had won.
But this planet was never ant to be my ho.
Earth was.
My fingers curled into fists.
Sienna. Camille.
They were waiting.
I turned back toward my ship, boots kicking up loose dust as I approached the thruster section. The angled tal hull lood before , streaked with soot and scars from the crash. The ship was a patchwork of survival, held together by desperation and sheer force of will.
And yet, despite everything—despite the odds, despite the failures—it stood.
The right booster—my last gamble—stood tall, bolted to the hull with salvaged parts and reinforced plating. It shouldn't have worked. No real engineer would look at this and think it was flight-ready.
But I wasn't just any engineer.
I ran a final scan, my system's database flashing lines of data across my vision.
✔ Fuel flow—Stable.✔ Ignition sequence—Operational.✔ Structural integrity—Holding.
I exhaled.
All systems ready.
I stepped back, gaze tracing the full fra of my ship one last ti. The tal glead under the weak sunlight, a testant to every ounce of effort, every mont of struggle that had led here.
This was it.
It would work.
It had to.
T-minus 10 Minutes
I strapped myself in, the harness tightening across my chest as I settled into the pilot's seat. The fabric felt stiff against my suit, the buckles digging into my shoulders—but I barely noticed.
My fingers moved across the control panel with the precision of a man who had rehearsed this mont a thousand tis in his head.
Every button press, every switch flip—it was second nature now. Muscle mory fused with pure survival instinct.
The console flickered to life, its dim glow casting eerie shadows across the cockpit.
I exhaled sharply. So far, so good.
But then—
Right booster—Error. Lag detected.
I clenched my teeth.
No. No, no, no. Not now.
The right booster was my gamble, a Frankenstein creation of salvaged parts and raw desperation. It wasn't supposed to be perfect. But right now, I needed it to work.
The error flashed again. Not responding.
I slamd my hand against the console. "Co on, co on."
No ti for diagnostics. No ti for hesitation.
I flicked a switch. Manual override engaged.
The system groaned, struggling against my command, but I forced it through.
The booster coughed to life, a low, uneven hum vibrating through the ship's fra. It wasn't steady, but it was there.
It would have to be enough.
I swallowed hard, my grip tightening around the throttle.
This was it.
The mont between death and escape. Between Mars and Earth.
My heartbeat slamd against my ribs as I reached the final command.
I inhaled.
Then, I pressed the ignition.
T-minus 0
The ship shuddered violently.
The left booster roared to life.
The right booster—nothing.
A cold wave of terror shot through .
No.
I slamd my hand against the ergency ignition, my voice a snarl of desperation.
"CO ON, YOU PIECE OF—"
BOOM.
The right booster flared alive in a violent surge, the force nearly tearing out of my seat as the ship lurched.
The incline of the sand hill tilted my trajectory.
I wasn't going straight up.
I was going sideways.
Spinning.
The force crushed into my seat as the ship twisted, the hill's angle sending into an uncontrolled arc.
Red sand burst into the air, a storm of dust swallowing the base of my launch site.
I could feel the ship fighting itself, every joint and bolt rattling under the stress of the intense heat.
The right booster wasn't calibrated properly.
It was too strong.
I could hear the tal strain, feel the ship veering off-course, the world outside my window a blur of red and black.
I gritted my teeth, fighting against the G-forces.
"Co on—HOLD TOGETHER!"
I yanked the controls, shifting power distribution, balancing the thrust.
The spin slowed.
The ship groaned.
And then—
I felt it.
The nose tilted. The trajectory corrected.
I was going up.
Not sideways.
Not spinning.
Up.
The red planet shrank beneath , the thin atmosphere fighting for every inch.
The ship rattled like a dying beast, but it held together.
Mars' gravity dragged at , but it was losing.
I was winning.
And then—
Silence.
A deafening, perfect silence.
I was in space.
Mars was below .
The sky was black.
And I was free.
I sucked in a ragged breath, a mont of disbelief settling into my chest.
I did it.
I actually—
A sound built in my throat.
A laugh.
Then a chuckle.
Then a full-blown scream of exhilaration.
"HAHAHAHAHA!"
I threw my head back, laughing like a madman.
I was alive.
I had escaped.
And the whole damn universe had to watch now.
"GRAVITY BE DAMNED!" I roared, slamming a fist against the console.
I was going ho.
And there wasn't a single thing the bastards who sent here could do to stop .
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