You landed long. Now make it home on the air you have.
The sun is small out here. It still burns.
You pull the visor down by hand
You are James or Anna Cole. The lander came in long, and the hab is a walk away.
Walk out on your suit's air. Salvage what the landing scattered across the plain, from wrecks and pods. Then get home before the air runs out.
Run, and your breath fogs the glass.
The watch on your wrist knows how far home is. It tells you how much air you need to get back.
Every step out is a step you walk back. Every crate you haul costs breath. One more pod, or turn back now?
No health bar. No random bad luck. What hurts you is what you did, and what Mars does.
Every trip starts and ends at the airlock. The watch shows what it takes to get home.
Jump off a ledge and you feel it. A bad fall sprains you or breaches the suit.
Carry spare O2 and a splint. They buy you the walk home, not a free pass.
Eat at the base each sol. Sip from your suit's drink bag out there, and melt ice to refill it.
The air is too thin to throw rocks. Storms take your sun, kill your solar, and grind your seals.
Salvage enough to build the rover. Then race a storm home.
When the sun goes, frost creeps in from the rim of your helmet. When a storm comes, the sky browns, the power falls, and grit sticks to the glass.
It plays in your browser. No install.
It is early. The systems are in, the polish is not. That is why we want you.
A first-look playtest is coming: an early prototype, so we can find out if we are onto something and where to take it. Leave your email and you are on the first crew list.
You are on the list. We will send one email when the first-look playtest opens, and we will want to hear what you think.
