I suppose introductions are necessary, though I've always found them a little dishonest. The moment you begin to talk about yourself, you start pruning away the uglier truths, like a gardener shearing thorns so guests don't cut their fingers. But if I'm to tell you this story—and I am, because I'm the only one left to tell it—then I may as well be honest from the first sentence.
My name is Kieran Holt. Twenty-four years old. Former Earth-side engineering student. Now the last surviving member of the research outpost Arden-V, perched on the southern rim of the Valles Marineris canyon on Mars.
That is, unless you count Jin.
I didn't plan on being here. People don't usually stumble into Mars. It takes a great deal of paperwork, background checks, training, and the kind of health exams where strangers in white coats measure parts of you you didn't know could be measured. But in my case, it took something simpler: a letter. A scholarship notice from the Helios Research Initiative, informing me I had been awarded a fully funded placement on their interplanetary program.
It wasn't my brilliance that earned it—though I've been called clever enough to get myself into trouble. No, I got here because of a quirk in their selection system. They were looking for "interdisciplinary adaptability" and I happened to tick boxes in engineering, physics, and low-level medical training. A jack of all trades, master of none… but cheap to train and easy to slot in anywhere.
On Earth, I'd lived in the grey sprawl of New Southampton, in a flat where the windows rattled every time the maglev line screeched by. I didn't particularly love the place. I didn't particularly love much of anything. But Mars? Well… Mars had a way of making you think you could start over.
I can still remember my first step off the shuttle—how the air inside my helmet felt dry as paper, how the light was sharper, crueler than Earth's, like the sun had shed its warmth but kept all its bite. The Arden-V crew greeted me with polite curiosity, like a new piece of equipment they weren't sure would work but were willing to test.
They were ten then. Now, nine of them are dead.
---
The one who fascinated me most, and terrified me a little, was Elric Vann. He was in his thirties, tall but slightly hunched, like someone trying to take up less space than his body allowed. Dark hair streaked prematurely with silver, eyes that flicked to shadows even when nothing moved there.
He worked in xenobiology, studying microorganisms we'd dredged from deep Martian ice—things older than Earth's first trees. I'd once caught him speaking softly in the lab when no one was around. At first, I thought it was to himself. Later… I wasn't so sure.
Then there was Commander Kade, the sort of man who could make the air in a room feel heavier just by entering it. Military background, jaw like a carved rock, every word weighted as though it might later be used against him. His authority was absolute, though he rarely raised his voice. If you displeased him, you didn't get shouted at—you got measured, catalogued, and filed away for later… which was worse.
Jin Rhee was the systems officer, quiet, precise, and endlessly watchful. He had the kind of face you never quite remembered after leaving the room, but he missed nothing. I learned quickly that when Jin asked a question, it wasn't because he didn't know the answer. It was because he wanted to hear your version.
There was Ayla, the botanist—sunny, quick to laugh, and always smelling faintly of the algae cultures she doted on like pets. Leena, our medical officer, sharp-tongued and softer-hearted than she let on. Arun, communications—more interested in Martian weather patterns than the people he worked with. Etta, the mechanic, who could fix anything if you didn't mind it looking like it had been hit with a hammer a few too many times.
And there were two others I barely had time to know before the killing began.
---
The first month was uneventful. My tasks were varied: recalibrating oxygen scrubbers, running stress tests on habitat walls, checking the pressure seals of the greenhouses. At night, the crew gathered in the common room, sipping rehydrated coffee and trading complaints about Earth as if competing for who'd escaped the worst home.
It was during one of those nights that Elric sat beside me for the first time.
"You're from Earth's east coast?" he asked without looking at me.
"South coast," I corrected. "Not much difference except for the accent."
He nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on the steaming mug in his hands. "Ever been somewhere… far from home? So far, you start wondering if you're still yourself?"
It was an odd question, even for Elric. I thought about it, then shook my head. "No. But I guess I'm finding out now."
He almost smiled, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Yes. You'll find out."
The way he said it made it sound less like a possibility and more like a warning.
---
Life in Arden-V was a balance between monotony and vigilance. Every day felt the same—until it didn't. You couldn't afford to grow careless here. The environment outside the walls would kill you in under a minute, and inside… well, you depended on the competence, sanity, and goodwill of everyone around you.
We ran drills for fire, decompression, contamination. You learn, very quickly, to listen for changes in the station's breathing—the hum of life-support fans, the subtle vibration of air recyclers. A sudden silence could be deadly.
I kept notes. It was a habit from my student days—writing not just what happened, but how people behaved when it happened. My notebook filled with small observations: Jin blinks less when thinking. Kade always keeps his left hand free. Elric hesitates before touching metal surfaces. At the time, it was idle curiosity. Later, it became survival.
---
On the twenty-sixth day of my posting, Ayla died.
I won't tell you the details yet—not here at the start. There will be time for that. But I will tell you that it wasn't an accident, and that from the moment her body was found in the airlock, Arden-V changed.
Conversations became clipped. Meals grew silent. The warmth bled from our little crew, replaced by a constant low thrum of suspicion, like a machine running somewhere behind the walls.
And in the middle of it all was Elric, with his shadowed eyes and his unexplained absences, who sometimes swayed on his feet as though dizzy, and who once, when he thought no one was looking, pressed a hand to his chest like something inside him was stirring.
If I had known then what I know now, perhaps I could have stopped what came next.
But then again… perhaps not.
Because sometimes, the truth doesn't save anyone. It only makes you realize how doomed you were from the beginning.