Martian Archer

The factory floor buzzed with the steady rhythm of machinery. Sparks flew from assembly lines as robotic arms welded together arrow shafts, their sleek metallic frames designed for Earth's elite warriors. The scent of burnt metal and oil filled the air, mixing with the distant shouts of workers.

Leon stood at his workstation, hands gripping a half-assembled arrow. His mind wasn't on the task—he was still thinking about The Hollow, about the space bus, about escape.

Then, the announcement came.

A harsh, robotic voice echoed over the speakers.

> "All personnel, remain at your stations. Security inspection is in progress."

Leon's body stiffened.

Security? This wasn't normal. The factory had always been strict, but this was different.

Workers exchanged uneasy glances as armed guards filed into the assembly area. They weren't regular patrol officers—these were corporate enforcers, wearing Red Bolt's private security armor, their visors scanning the factory floor.

Leon turned back to his station, forcing himself to act natural.

Then—

"Leon Ortez. Step forward."

A cold knot formed in his stomach.

Slowly, he placed the arrow down and faced the source of the voice.

Standing in front of him was Director Graves, the man who ran Red Bolt's Mars branch. He was an older man, his face sharp and worn from years of corporate control. He wasn't smiling.

Behind him stood two security officers, hands resting on their batons.

Leon swallowed hard.

This wasn't good.

In the director's office, Leon sat stiffly in a metal chair, his fingers gripping the edges.

Director Graves sat across from him, hands folded neatly over his desk. The dim office lights reflected off his silver cufflinks, and the faint hum of security drones filled the room.

Graves exhaled. "I heard something interesting, Leon."

Leon kept his face blank. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Graves chuckled. "Don't play dumb. We know about your little dream. About leaving Mars."

Leon's heart pounded, but he forced himself to stay calm.

Graves leaned forward. "You've been modifying our arrows. Improving them. We've seen the adjustments you made to the carbon shafts, the alterations in the fletching to stabilize flight."

Leon tensed. They noticed?

Graves smirked. "Tell me, Leon—what do you think happens when a valuable asset suddenly decides they want to run away?"

Silence.

Graves's smile disappeared. "We don't let them."

Leon's fingers curled into fists.

"This company has invested time in you. You're young, you're talented, and most importantly—you understand arrowcrafting better than anyone in this factory." Graves's voice was calm, but there was an undeniable weight behind it. "We can't have you leaving."

Leon's stomach twisted.

"So," Graves continued, "you have two options. You stay here—and we'll even promote you, give you a better position. Or..."

He gestured toward the two security officers.

Leon understood the message. There was no 'or.'

After that meeting, everything changed.

Security doubled around the factory. Armed guards patrolled the exits. Employee identification checks became stricter. Even at his workstation, Leon could feel the weight of watchful eyes.

They weren't just keeping him in.

They were trapping him.

At night, when he returned to his tiny apartment, he found a new security drone stationed outside his door, its red eye blinking softly. A warning.

He wasn't going anywhere.

Leon sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His bow leaned against the wall, untouched.

Iris had left.

But he was still here.

Stuck.

For the first time since he had dreamed of leaving Mars, he felt helpless.