He slowly awoke, a searing brightness piercing his eyelids. It felt as though he’d been asleep for weeks, his thoughts sluggish and scattered. The world spun chaotically, disorienting him. Gradually, the sound of a voice reached his ears, sharp and constant.
“Wake up, Commander Chase. Wake up. Can you hear me?”
He tried to lift an arm, but his body refused to obey. Numbness gripped him entirely. A chilling thought slipped into his mind: Was he even alive?
“Where am I? What’s going on?” His voice cracked as he spoke, each word thick with confusion. Then, like a jagged shard piercing his consciousness, a memory surfaced: his death. It had been painless, yet it lingered, raw and agonizing.
The voice persisted, cutting through his disarray. Finally, Chase forced his eyes open. Light stabbed into his vision, triggering an explosion of pain in his skull. Time warped, minutes, or perhaps hours, passed as he adjusted, blinking away the brilliance. Slowly, he surveyed his surroundings: a stark, featureless room with only a narrow bed and a small cupboard. Once again, he tried to move his arm, but the effort proved futile.
“Good morning, Commander Chase. You’ve been asleep a long time,” the voice chimed, unnervingly close. It was a woman's voice, yet strangely devoid of physical presence. Shouldn't he be able to sense her proximity?
“Where am I?” he rasped.
“That is an excellent question,” the voice replied dryly, “just not a great first question.”
The absurdity of her response rankled him. “Not a great first question? What does that even mean?” he snapped, irritation flaring.
“Most importantly,” she continued, unfazed, “you are alive, as is your crew. And you have work to do.”
“Alive?” The declaration struck him like a thunderbolt, at odds with his last, vivid memory.
“Yes, Commander Chase, you are alive. The drugs administered to you were not lethal; they merely induced a prolonged sleep. Their effects should now be wearing off. My mission is to ensure your survival, possibly for years, if circumstances allow.”
“Years?” This information stunned Chase. The words, though he understood them, weren’t making any sense.
“Yes,” she affirmed, her tone calm, almost melodic. “Though, statistically, such a scenario is unlikely.”
“What’s going on?” he pressed, panic creeping into his voice. “Where am I?”
“You are in Module 16,” she explained. “You’ve been in a drug-induced coma to ease your transition. Your current paralysis is a precaution.”
“A precaution against what?”
Against impulsive actions. Your psychological profile indicates a tendency towards reckless behavior, and we wanted to give you time to process and adjust to your situation.”
“Adjust to what? Who are you?”
“I am September, your Artificial Intelligence. We transported you here. You are currently on Mars.”
“Mars?” His voice escalated in disbelief. “The planet Mars? You have no right to take me anywhere without my consent! Is this some sick joke? Am I dead?”
“No, Commander Chase,” September replied evenly. “As I have already told you, you are alive. We have the right to transport you. Because, to the rest of the world, you are dead. If you feel you have awakened fully and are ready, I have an incoming video call for you.”
A screen flickered to life close to Chase’s face. On it appeared an older man, seemingly in his sixties or seventies. He was impeccably dressed in a suit jacket over a crisp, white collared shirt. His demeanor was calm, neither stern nor warm, his piercing gaze unwavering. The faintest of movements in his posture reassured Chase that this was no still image but a live feed.
Chase recognized him instantly. It was impossible not to—Drake Etai, the multi-billionaire co-founder of Vorn Corporation. Once a media darling and a symbol of boundless ambition, Etai now looked older, wearied. Still, there was an aura of control about him, like a chess player poised to deliver checkmate. Chase’s eyes darted to the background. Drake was seated at a sleek desk, a vast window behind him showcasing a breathtaking view of a sprawling cityscape. They had to be in a high-rise; the sheer scale of the panorama left little doubt. Chase inhaled deeply, bracing himself for whatever was coming.
“Hello, Commander,” Drake began, his tone measured and unyielding. “I imagine you’re trying to make sense of your current situation. We’ve awakened you in unfamiliar surroundings, and what you don’t yet grasp is just how harsh this environment truly is.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. “There’s no easy way to explain this, so I’ll get straight to the point. Commander Chase, you pleaded guilty to your crimes. The judge sentenced you to execution, effective 7 September 2033. However, Vorn intervened at a last-minute effort. Through extensive negotiations, your execution was commuted. You, along with your crew, were granted leniency. Whether you realize it or not, you owe me an immeasurable debt.”
Chase’s jaw tightened. Debt? If he understood the situation correctly, that was putting it mildly.
“At the time of your trial,” Drake pressed on, “I was assembling a team of extraordinary individuals for a high-risk mission: survival on Mars. Your crew’s skills, combined with your unique… qualities, made you an ideal candidate for our program. Securing your release wasn’t easy, and I expect you won’t waste this opportunity. You may not see it yet, but you’ve been given a remarkable second chance.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Second chance? Chase’s mind churned. His thoughts confused, but the sound of Drake’s voice snapped him back into focus.
“One of my favorite sayings,” Drake continued, “is this: ‘Stone Age. Bronze Age. Iron Age.’ Humanity defines entire epochs by the technology it wields.” His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward slightly. “Commander, you and your team now stand at the frontier of an entirely new age. Mars represents the outer bounds of human ambition. Others have set foot on its surface, but you… You may be the first to truly colonize it.”
He let the statement hang in the air, as if studying Chase’s reaction. Chase, for his part, tried to mask his growing interest, unwilling to give Drake the satisfaction. Yet the weight of the revelation gnawed at him.
“My ultimate vision has always been to lead humanity’s charge into colonizing Mars,” Drake said, his voice tinged with both reverence and pragmatism. “For years, I thought it was beyond my reach, until someone pitched a revolutionary concept: fund a Mars colony through a new type of entertainment. VornTV has been streaming ‘Mars Awakening’ for years, building anticipation for this very moment, your reawakening.”
He paused again, his smile sharp, almost predatory. “And now, Commander, the stage is set. You and your team are our first pioneers on Mars. Your success is not only vital for humanity but crucial for the continuation of this program. I should warn you, however: the cost of your expedition has come at a price. Privacy is a luxury you no longer possess.”
Drake’s tone hardened as he delivered his final statement, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Best of luck, Commander Chase. We will be watching with great interest.”
With that, the screen blinked off, leaving Chase alone with the suffocating weight of everything he’d just heard.
Chase, powerless to respond, felt his mind spiral, scattered and unhinged. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is this really happening? Is this good or bad?
September’s voice interrupted his chaotic thoughts. “Do you wish to begin, Commander?”
He bristled at the title. “Why do you call me Commander?”
“Mission Control assigned you as the leader of this mission,” September replied, matter-of-factly. “Originally, Lieutenant Janette was designated commander, but my calculations predicted you would stage a mutiny and assume control.” She paused, her words landing like punches. “Based on your psychological profile and team dynamics, we estimated it would take you three to nine days to overthrow her leadership. Those in charge decided it was more efficient to name you Commander from the start.”
Chase snorted. “So, you think I’m some sort of psychopath with delusions of grandeur?”
“No—and yes,” September replied, calm and clinical. “According to your file, your intelligence and memory distinguish you from your peers. Life is, frankly, too easy for you. The mundane bored you until, at some stage, you began twisting rules, finding excitement in breaking them, and applying your knowledge to outmaneuver systems. The challenge became your thrill.”
September continued with unsettling precision. “Money and material rewards were never your true motivators; they were merely scorecards. That is one reason you were chosen for this mission: there are no rules here. However, I must inform you that the probability of your two-year survival is only two percent. If you wish to defy those odds, you must achieve what very few can.”
Chase’s voice was laced with derision. “And what happens in two years? A triumphant return to Earth?”
“It is statistically unlikely,” she replied. “However, your food supply will run out in two years.”
“So, I’ve got a two percent chance of living long enough to starve.” He laughed bitterly. “Fantastic.”
“2.13 percent, to be exact.”
Chase sighed, his voice cutting. “What’s the highest probability of how I’ll die?”
“Suicide leads at 23 percent, closely followed by exposure to Mars’ atmosphere at 22.3 percent.”
“Great. Release me now so I can slit my throat and make it quick.”
September didn’t flinch. Her tone remained steady. “No, you will remain paralyzed for the next two days. During this time, I will teach you everything we know about surviving on Mars and the equipment you have at your disposal.”
“I have no intention of learning,” Chase snapped.
“You have a photographic memory, Commander. Unless you keep your eyes closed for the next two days, you will absorb everything. And, for your information, I am programmed with the capability to force your eyes open if necessary.”
“Charming,” he muttered. “Suicide’s sounding pretty good right about now.”
September ignored the comment. “Let me begin by introducing the equipment and the mission design. I believe you’ll find it enlightening.”
She didn’t wait for his permission. “You are currently in Module 16 of Train Prime. It consists of twenty-five modules, each measuring 36 feet in length and 10 feet in width. They are connected in a linear configuration, spanning a total of 900 feet, hence the nickname ‘Train.’ Every module is specialized, containing tools tailored to its purpose.”
Chase’s curiosity stirred despite himself. The meticulous planning intrigued him, though he tried to mask his interest.
"The initial equipment deployed on Mars was a specialized tunnel driller," September explained. "The driller was designed to carve into the sheer face of a canyon wall. After the tunnel was finished, the modules arrived from Earth, were positioned inside, and the space was carefully backfilled with rock to form a sealed habitat. With at least 160 feet of rock overhead, the modules are now shielded from harmful radiation. The entire process spanned two years and relied on two advanced, remotely controlled drilling units." In September, anticipating his doubt, he addressed it head-on. 'While drilling a 1000 foot tunnel on Earth is routine, accomplishing the same feat on Mars presents an entirely different level of complexity. The team's brilliance that made this mission possible is truly unparalleled."
“A 1000 foot tunnel on Mars?” Chase said with a sharp scoff. “You’re seriously telling me you packed it full of shipping containers? That’s absurd.”
“Astute observation, Commander,” September remarked, unfazed. “Yes, the modules are indeed based on standard shipping container designs. The engineers determined that a tunnel provided optimal radiation shielding while remaining the most practical solution. This approach resulted in a durable, permanent structure. Shall I show you a time-lapse of the construction process?”
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard,” Chase said, shaking his head. “You really expect me to believe this?”
“I do,” September replied. “And need I remind you, Commander, we have much to accomplish if you intend to survive.”
“So, survival is possible?”
“In blunt terms,” September said, “you were spared from execution. A 2.13 percent chance of survival is extraordinary compared to the alternative.”
He exhaled heavily. “When you put it like that, who am I to argue? Let me sum up: you dragged me to Mars with my crew, gave us equipment we’re supposed to figure out independently, and now the entire world is watching as we learn to colonize Mars the hard way.”
“That is a precise summary. Your chances of survival have now risen to 2.67 percent. The colonization of Mars is a collaborative effort between VornTV and NASA, branded as ‘Mars Awakening.’ This show launched two weeks ago and is already streaming.”
“So, this is a prolonged execution with an audience,” Chase said bitterly.
“Statistically, yes,” September replied, unbothered. “However, I am programmed to assist, and your team has cutting-edge technology at its disposal. Additional personnel with specific skills have also joined your team. If you die, the odds of your crew surviving drop below one percent. Staying alive is your best chance to save them.”
“And if we fail?” he asked.
“A new crew is in training and will arrive in 2.6 years. If you survive, they will join you. If not, they will replace you.”
Chase sighed, resigned. “Show me the time lapse of the tunnel’s construction.” He realized he had little choice and, for now, decided to accept his predicament.
