I sat in the cockpit, my hands hovering over the controls.
Fifteen days of surviving on borrowed time, of scavenging through the wreckage of those who came before me. Of fixing a ship that had no right to fly.
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 climbed out of the cockpit for the last time, my breath steady, measured, calm in a way it shouldn't be.
Fifteen days of hell. Fifteen days of fighting against death itself.
It all came down to this.
The Martian horizon stretched endlessly before me, 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.
But this planet was never meant to be my home.
My fingers curled into fists.
I turned back toward my ship, boots kicking up loose dust as I approached the thruster section. The angled metal hull loomed before me, 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 stepped back, gaze tracing the full frame of my ship one last time. The metal gleamed under the weak sunlight, a testament to every ounce of effort, every moment of struggle that had led me here.
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 moment a thousand times in his head.
Every button press, every switch flip—it was second nature now. Muscle memory 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.
Right booster—Error. Lag detected.
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 slammed my hand against the console. "Come on, come on."
No time for diagnostics. No time 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 frame. It wasn't steady, but it was there.
It would have to be enough.
I swallowed hard, my grip tightening around the throttle.
The moment between death and escape. Between Mars and Earth.
My heartbeat slammed against my ribs as I reached the final command.
Then, I pressed the ignition.
The ship shuddered violently.
The left booster roared to life.
The right booster—nothing.
A cold wave of terror shot through me.
I slammed my hand against the emergency ignition, my voice a snarl of desperation.
"COME ON, YOU PIECE OF—"
The right booster flared alive in a violent surge, the force nearly tearing me 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.
The force crushed me into my seat as the ship twisted, the hill's angle sending me 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.
I could hear the metal 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.
"Come on—HOLD TOGETHER!"
I yanked the controls, shifting power distribution, balancing the thrust.
The nose tilted. The trajectory corrected.
The red planet shrank beneath me, the thin atmosphere fighting me for every inch.
The ship rattled like a dying beast, but it held together.
Mars' gravity dragged at me, but it was losing.
A deafening, perfect silence.
I sucked in a ragged breath, a moment of disbelief settling into my chest.
A sound built in my throat.
Then a full-blown scream of exhilaration.
I threw my head back, laughing like a madman.
And the whole damn universe had to watch me now.
"GRAVITY BE DAMNED!" I roared, slamming a fist against the console.
And there wasn't a single thing the bastards who sent me here could do to stop me.