Mars, Lower City in the Mariner Valley Cliffs

  Elian switched off the cafeteria lights, glancing back to double-check everything was dark. She fished the keys from her pocket and stepped to the old door handle. A tug, a grating screech of metal as it reluctantly shut behind her. The thin jangle of the doorbell pierced the silence as she locked it fast. For a moment, it felt like the air inside froze, holding its breath, ready to vanish with the last glimmers of light. She stood still in the shadow, then took a deep breath and headed into the sparse tunnel leading home.

  A slight, redheaded girl in a light jacket over a white work blouse and snug, low-rise pants, she moved briskly between storefronts. The tunnel—once a mining shaft—now served as a faded street, worn by time and footsteps. Raw stone walls, streaked with frost and rust, gave off a stale whiff of damp air and oil. Her steps echoed in the concrete expanse, hinting at something hidden watching from the gloom. Nothing seemed off, yet it did—like the tunnel itself waited to clamp down on its next prey. Barely nineteen, her skin faintly gleamed under dim streetlamps, freckles like tiny marks on an ancient map scattering across her face, lending it an elusive, raw honesty. Brown eyes with a hint of green—like twin murky lakes brimming with unspoken secrets—stared straight ahead, hardened to this hell. A smile played on her lips—not sad, not happy, just there, caught between resignation and defiance. Her small but firm chest quivered slightly with each step, as if she fought to stay light, unburdened. But her pace was hurried, shadowed by a nagging sense someone might be watching. Cheap synthetic clothes clung uncomfortably as she passed tunnel forks, whispering, “You’re not alone.” Her strides looked bold, but caution lurked—fear of this oppressive, empty world.

  Elian Byrne walked the old, wet streets where sunlight never reached. Walls around her, eaten by time and dust, bore reddish streaks like hesitant memories of something lost. Not every step was steady. Sometimes she couldn’t shake the feeling that in this forsaken, restless corner of Mars, something awaited her—a presence, unseen but heavy, a shadow that wouldn’t fade.

  Deimos… that’s where she’d been happy. A quiet station, farmer domes hanging between sky and ground, glowing with pinpricks of light at night. The taste of fresh vegetables, the scent of raw wood and metal frames that felt oddly alive, like they too anticipated something. Life there was simple, untangled. She could be herself—no eyes, no duties. But that shattered when her father, pressed by circumstance and cold pragmatism, made a choice that broke it all. A choice that sent her trudging these gray, unwelcoming streets. When her mom died in a dome collapse, Elian was too young to grasp loss. Her dad mourned long but never regained his cool edge. His life was straightforward: ships, shifts, contracts, bonuses. Then, just as she—a girl now—started to recover, he announced he’d remarry. No sentiment, no future-gazing—just a step for better terms, a contract clause promising perks if spouses worked the same grueling roster. She thought he didn’t know about the loss. All he knew was security, work, order. He didn’t see how she lost herself in this iron trap he’d forged, blind to how it crushed her.

  Now, heading to a borrowed mid-level apartment, everything felt restless. Down here, her life hid behind metal doors and the tired hum of worn-out machines. All of it weary, aching—like an old system refusing to shift. Just like her—unwilling to change, yet unable to shake the sense she was lost in this vast maze.

  These tunnel walks were routine, but tonight something gnawed at her. A faint unease bloomed in her chest. The high ceiling, thick with dust, housed countless tiny drones and bots on endless tasks. Now and then, sparrow-sized gadgets flitted through—barely audible shadows weaving between rusted beams and dim lamps dangling like weary eyes on frayed wires. They buzzed along, insects of habit, churning through unnoticed requests. Larger ones glided, hauling oversized loads—tool crates, spares, junk. Part of the daily grind, invisible until disaster struck. One broke pattern, trailing her silently. It didn’t close in, but its sensors tracked her, logging every step. Unseen, unfelt—a passive gaze blending into her world, and she didn’t know she’d become its focus.

  Her thoughts drifted, shadows sliding across walls. Her dad was gone again—long shift on Titan with his new wife, a woman Elian found alien to everyone. That’s all she let herself think of her—no resentment, just distance, an unseen wall. When they’d moved to Mars, it wasn’t just a relocation—it rewrote her life. She remembered arriving, these cold, bleak streets where even the air weighed heavy, tunnel lamps casting a dead glow. “So dull,” she thought, quickening her pace. Locals were closed-off, survival-focused, living in tight little bubbles. Elian couldn’t adjust. Her mind spun with needing new friends. But who? Everyone she met was too old or too grim. The tunnels teemed with gray, weary souls just enduring the day—no spark, no fire like she’d known on Deimos amid green domes and fresh air. Here, everything was fake, strained—like the city feared a living breath.

  Her musings brushed her new stepbrother, Christian Werner. Part of this odd, patched-together family. He didn’t seem bad, but sometimes she caught a weird tension when he was near. At first, it was small—stray glances, awkward pauses. But it grew, like an invisible barrier rising. He’d act restrained, hiding something, dodging. She couldn’t pin it down. It’d be easier if he were open, simple. But he wasn’t. It threw her off. Her mind looped to how he’d look at her—not like a sister, but different. She couldn’t decode it. Still, when their eyes met, he’d turn away, like he didn’t want her to catch on. Maybe she should ask him to introduce her to someone here, but fear he’d think she wanted more than company stopped her. She couldn’t risk it—couldn’t guess his thoughts or what he’d make of hers. So she walked on, in this dull, cold tunnel, each step an echo of something she sought but couldn’t find.

  ***

  The man in the brown jacket moved slowly, with that indifference that turns people invisible in a crowd. He blended in—slightly hunched, head low, hand in his pocket. Unremarkable, unsuspicious. Only one thing set him apart: he knew exactly why he was here. A thin gray cap hid most of his head, leaving just his pale gray eyes glinting faintly in the dim light, tracking flickers of data on his comlog’s screen. By the time he hit the street, the route was locked in. Distance calibrated. Every step the girl took, predictable. He’d been tailing her for days. Logging, analyzing. Her life was a dull, almost mechanical loop: work, trek home, rare stops at auto-kiosks. Sometimes a bar, but solo—never with company. Long voice calls, rare laughs. A light, quick stride, like someone used to distance and eager to get indoors. His comlog synced with two drones. One, a compact watcher, darted under the shaft’s ceiling among beams and pipes, a mechanical bat tracing her through infrared and UV lenses. The other, a cargo hauler, waited two blocks off, tucked in a tech conduit’s nook—its hold big enough for parts or a person. He walked, matching her rhythm. Almost feeling her breath quicken as she crossed empty stretches, her pace spiked near noisy hubs. He didn’t rush. Everything was on track.

  He was the type who turned dark urges into a trade. Blended work and thrill, honing stealth and control over years. His services didn’t advertise, but among a select clientele—Upper City rich, hooked on easy pleasures—he was in demand. Jaded, bored with tame fun, they craved new lines to cross without staining their hands. They wanted danger, rush, power. He delivered. Snatched, framed, trapped people in scenes where their fear, shame, and helplessness fed someone’s pricey whim. Not just for cash—though the pay was fat. He loved the game. Watching, dissecting, commanding, breaking. Bending a life to his script, tightening unseen nooses day by day. This new mark was special. Something… fresh about her. She didn’t yet know this world had monsters. Didn’t feel the eyes tracking her where nothing alive should be. But she’d learn soon.

  He’d perfected his craft. No haste, no risk. Done right, no trace led back. Victims vanished like evaporating drops, while he stayed a shadow, slipping through digital mazes and dark corners. His cyber-knowhow wasn’t just skill—it was armor, a blade. Surveillance grids, query protocols, street cams—all bendable. A tweak in the city’s security code, and a spy drone turned “legit,” blending into the swarm. Cargo drone? Just another rig on today’s transport list. Cameras? They’d show static, glitches, blank spots. All planned, rehearsed.

  He picked targets with care. People no one waited for. Newcomers, light on roots. Ones searched for lazily, if at all. Fewer ties, grayer lives—perfect. This girl fit like a glove. Often alone, no tight bonds. Dad off on Titan, stepbrother hardly the type to raise hell, and cops here wouldn’t blink. She had no clue how well he’d mapped her. How neatly he’d built the plan, charted her path. She didn’t know she was walking into a web with no way back. The hunter saw her ignorance. She moved in her rhythm, never glancing back, never slowing—sure of her invisibility, her smallness in this city. But he saw her. Tracked her through the grid, caught her in fogged camera lenses, in the drone humming overhead. Her route was rote, dull as a dog’s worn trail. That’s why he picked it now. That’s why today she’d veer off. He didn’t push, didn’t force—just shaped the scene so she’d choose “right.”

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  The exploit in the fire safety system was flawless. He’d sliced into the old code like a surgeon cutting rot, leaving the shell intact. Tweaked timers, a data blip, a glitch in an outdated rig—and the automation would do the rest. At the perfect moment, an emergency lockdown would snap. Wall lamps would flash urgent yellow, a metallic clang would echo deep in the tunnel, iron gripping iron. The system’s flat, uncaring voice would announce a temporary block. And she’d take the other path. Straight into the trap.

  ***

  Ellie froze as the shutter slammed shut, flinching at the metallic clang of its locks. The yellowish glow of emergency lamps drained the world of life, making it feel even more alien. The system’s voice—flat, polite, indifferent—announced fire protocols and suggested an alternate route. She exhaled wearily, watching the last sliver of warmth vanish through the shutter’s gap. The old air duct. God, not that. She hated this part of the shaft. Grimmer than the rest, its narrow passages twisted like a maze, walls gaping with dead panels, the air thick and heavy, like the city was digesting you in its damn gut. But there was no choice.

  She shot one last glance at the shutter, half-hoping it’d change its mind and slide open. No dice. The light was gone, leaving only the duct’s darkness ahead. She sucked air through gritted teeth. The smell never changed—sour, damp, laced with rust and something sticky, warm, like the air itself carried the sweat and breath of everyone who’d trudged through before.

  “Just walk. It’s fine. A few minutes, and you’re home.” But her stomach knotted. The tunnel had a pulse of its own. Something rustled ahead—rats holding a meeting, maybe. Ellie shivered. Local critters had mutated hard over decades; sometimes the dark hid things bigger than rats. She picked up her pace, her echo trailing with a slight lag. This place used to have life—workers with tools, teens hunting thrills. Someone was always around. Not today.

  Just her.

  And the tunnel.

  A diode lamp clicked overhead, barely cutting the gloom. Old vent pipes clung to the walls, stained with spots that could be rust—or worse.

  “Bullshit,” she muttered, hoping her voice would scrub the unease. It didn’t. Something clung in the dark—sticky. Not air. Not shadow. Presence.

  You’re being watched.

  Her steps sounded off—heels tapping a steady one-two, one-two. But behind, offbeat, a faint extra step crept through the hum in her ears. A chill spiked the hairs on her neck. She whipped around.

  Nothing. Empty. She exhaled too loud, too fast, heart pounding harder than it should.

  “Get a grip, Ellie. Don’t freak yourself out.”

  But her mind spun anyway—cheap VR adventures and horrors, goosebumps on her spine. Tales of snatchers, psychos, people vanishing in godforsaken holes like this. She shook her head. Who was she kidding? Who’d want her? Maybe a thug looking for trouble, but she had a stunstick in her pocket for that. Still, the dread stuck. She moved faster, barely glancing aside, but it clung. She wasn’t prey worth hunting. Not valuable. But sometimes… sometimes you don’t get to choose if you matter.

  Another shutter loomed ahead. Weird—the system had routed her here. It didn’t budge. No flicker of motion, no blinking status lights, no glitch alert. Just a dead, still barrier.

  An icy needle stabbed down her spine.

  “Screw you,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Her voice cracked, and that pissed her off.

  She didn’t curse much. Never saw the point. But now the words spat out—hot, angry, a jab at the fear swelling inside. It didn’t help. Then it hit her: those steps weren’t her imagination. She didn’t want to believe it—better to call it a trick of the mind. Maybe another lost soul stuck in this stinking maze, or a tech checking systems. Fear thickened in her throat. She didn’t want to turn. Couldn’t. If she stayed facing the shutter, the reality behind might not solidify.

  But her body knew. It locked up, heart slamming like a bird against glass.

  Maybe just a late worker? Stupid to panic.

  Do it.

  Slow, like peeling out of a cocoon, she turned.

  A man.

  Medium height, brown jacket—generic, like the dozens in work gear or windbreakers. Gray cap pulled low to his brows. Nothing stood out. Yet something was wrong. He didn’t move like a passerby—no fidgeting, no scanning for a way out of this pit.

  He stared right at her. Cold. Detached. Like a predator who’d already decided her fate.

  An ancient instinct flared deep inside. Her ancestors knew that look, hiding in caves, hearing twigs snap under a hunter’s feet.

  His hand slid to his collar. He was pulling something out.

  A lump in her throat hardened to stone.

  Her mind blanked, a deafening void.

  She knew she should scream, run, do something, but her body betrayed her—frozen, a deer in headlights. He drew the weapon with chilling slowness, savoring it. Not like the standard self-defense gear she’d seen on port guards. Sleek, dark, alien.

  “Don’t be scared. I’ll help you,” he said. His voice was even, almost hypnotic, but everything in her screamed: Don’t trust him!

  She stumbled back a step, then another.

  “P-please, don’t… don’t touch me,” she choked out, words jagged, squeezed through a tightening noose.

  A vein pulsed at her temple, blood roaring in her ears, drowning everything else. Time crawled like a bad dream—falling but never hitting ground. Sweat broke out, seconds stretched, and she caught the crisp clicks from his device.

  Shots.

  Dry, mechanical.

  She thought she’d gone deaf from the blasts, but the gun was near-silent.

  She braced to bleed, mind racing in panic. But it was just that—panic.

  Run!

  Where?

  Behind—a dead wall. Ahead—him.

  Dull jabs hit—precise, like invisible fingers poking her chest, stomach, thigh. No searing pain, no fire—just a numb realization, like a cold touch. She expected blood. Instinct screamed for it. Her body tensed for hot streams down her skin, but nothing came. Only a strange, buried sting, like icy blooms unfurling beneath. Her head dipped, slow and unnatural, muscles slacking against her will. Tiny black dots marked her skin. Not bullets. Capsule spiders, their thin legs sunk in.

  What the hell?

  Cold spread from the hits, liquid nitrogen pooling inside. A shiver racked her spine. Her heart thudded, but slow, sticky. Thoughts snagged like flies in amber. She tried to breathe—lungs wouldn’t obey. Her throat clamped shut.

  Scream.

  She wanted to—God, she wanted to. But only a broken, raspy groan escaped. The world’s sounds faded, unreal. The man slid his weapon away, too slow, like he knew she was done.

  Her legs buckled.

  She slumped against the bulkhead, sliding down. The floor felt morgue-slab cold.

  The hunter bent over his quarry, studying her with icy focus. No terror in her eyes—just emptiness, a broken doll’s stare. Good. The formula worked. He grabbed her arm, lifting her limp, light frame. A faint breath, a weak moan. Her parted lips held a ghost of resistance, but her body wasn’t hers anymore. He hooked an arm under her knees, hoisting her like a child, and strode into the dark where the cargo drone waited. His steps thudded evenly, a preset beat. She twitched, mumbling something faint, but he knew—just scraps of thought, useless as shattered glass.

  Deep in her fading mind, a weak light flared.

  Green fields.

  Endless under Deimos’ domes. Golden stalks, a soft breeze, rustling leaves. Warm earth’s scent—real, sun-kissed, not Mars’ compost sludge. She almost felt sunlight on her cheek. But the glow died.

  Her last flicker before black: motion.

  Someone was carrying her. Home, please.