Six kilometers. His heads-up display flickered. Pressure warnings blinked yellow, then orange. The singing glass here was black as obsidian, and silent. Dead. That was wrong. Every sample from the upper shaft had sung. Why were these dark?
"Steady," he lied. His pulse was a war drum. ten789
The moment his gloved fingers touched the crystal, the countdown in his helmet changed. Six kilometers
Above, the purple sky waited. The comms crackled: "Leo? You're ascending early. Report." ten789
You were never good enough. They chose you because you were expendable. Nine minutes isn't a buffer. It's a countdown.
"Nine minutes on the mark."