T-60 Minutes to Landing
Fifteen minutes. That was the delay for my message to reach Earth. Another fifteen minutes for their response to return. Thirty minutes of silence, of drifting in weightlessness, of waiting for confirmation that my voice would soon be heard by billions.
Thirty minutes alone with my thoughts.
I leaned back, exhaling as I adjusted my position. The months of solitude in this metal cocoon had forced me into a strict routine—exercise, maintenance, meal rations, sleep—but communication had always been limited to prerecorded messages. No real conversations, no live exchanges.
What if my voice had rusted in the silence?
I flexed my fingers, then rolled my shoulders, taking slow, deliberate breaths. My voice was another tool, just like my body, and like any tool, it needed sharpening.
I opened my mouth, letting my voice hum low in my throat. A vibration, a test.
Then, softly, I began to speak.
"Testing. Testing. Mr. Angel, speaking."
My own voice echoed back at me through the suit's internal audio. It was steady, controlled, untouched by the weight of six months in isolation. That was good.
I cleared my throat and tried again, this time forming actual sentences.
"The stars remain as distant as ever. The void is endless, and yet, for the first time, I am nearing my destination."
"T-minus fifteen minutes until my voice is heard by the world. I wonder if they still whisper my name?"
The thought amused me.
Months ago, I was an unknown—a nameless figure outside of my homeland, an enigma even in my own country. Now? Mr. Angel was a name that carried weight, a name that would soon be spoken in every corner of the world.
Fifteen minutes turned to twenty.
Twenty became twenty-five.
A blinking light on my dashboard.
I pressed the receiver, and the voice of mission control—distant yet clear—finally reached me.
"Mr. Angel, this is Mission Control. You are live."
On Earth—The World Watches
Across continents, across oceans, across time zones—billions of people turned their attention toward their screens.
In North America, news anchors spoke rapidly, their voices filled with anticipation.
"This is a historic moment, the first manned mission to Mars, and Mr. Angel—an astronaut who was originally ranked C-Rank—has defied all odds to be the one to take this step!"
In Europe, people gathered in public squares, massive screens displaying the live feed.
"A lone astronaut, chosen not by reputation but by pure ability, now stands at the precipice of history!"
In Asia, news stations reported in stunned tones, relaying the facts over and over.
"The identity of Mr. Angel is still shrouded in mystery, but one thing is clear—he is about to make history."
In his home country, the energy was palpable. The man who once walked among them, unknown, was now a legend before their very eyes.
And in a quiet apartment, two women sat together, their hands gripping each other tightly.
Sienna exhaled softly, relief washing over her at the sight of him.
Camille smirked slightly. "He's fine."
"Of course he is," Sienna murmured.
But beneath her relief, beneath her composure, a deep unease lingered.
And something in her gut told her that this journey was far from over.
T-15 Minutes to Landing
Back in the cockpit, I remained calm.
Mars was beneath me, stretching endlessly in shades of crimson and ochre, its thin atmosphere barely capable of shielding its surface from the void beyond. The descent sequence was set. My trajectory was flawless.
This was the final step.
A new notification appeared on my internal HUD.
Not from mission control.
A cold, calculated line of text.
[EVENT QUEST: Rank Up Opportunity – S-Rank Astronaut]
Your journey has reached a critical moment. The risks of space travel have manifested into an immediate survival challenge, testing both your skills and resolve.
- Survive the spacecraft's descent despite critical system failures.
- Adapt and execute emergency procedures under extreme conditions.
- Successfully land on Mars and establish first contact with the surface.
Rank Upgrade: Astronaut (C) → Astronaut (S)
I had done every system check. Every precaution had been taken. There was no indication of failure—
A sudden, sharp beep tore through the silence.
A flashing red light on the control panel.
FUEL LEAK DETECTED IN RIGHT BOOSTER SECTOR.
A split second later—
AUTOMATIC IGNITION SEQUENCE FAILED—MISFIRE DETECTED.
A violent explosion rocked the ship, the right side of my view consumed by fire and debris.
Alarms screamed through the cabin.
The spacecraft lurched violently, my body yanking hard against the restraints as the world spiraled out of control.
Warning lights flashed across the dashboard.
SPINNING. LOSS OF CONTROL. TRAJECTORY COMPROMISED.
I had mere seconds to act.
The system's words echoed in my head.