Chapter 68: Two Months to Mars

Words : 969 Updated : Sep 12th, 2025

Chapter 68: Two Months to MarsI had always been a man who moved forward. No hesitation. No second-guessing. So, after that morning in the hotel café—after shaking Mark's hand and sealing my fate—I did exactly that. I moved forward. Searᴄh the Novёlƒire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Week One: The First Steps Preparation came in waves, each more demanding than the last. My schedule was relentless—physical conditioning, survival training, mission briefings, and technical simulations designed to break lesser men. I adapted. By the end of the first week, I had already surpassed most of the official astronaut candidates in the physical assessments. The weightlifting drills were laughable. The endurance tests, even in simulated low-oxygen environments, felt familiar. My time as a firefighter had forged a body that could endure stress beyond most people's limits. The instructors took notice. And Elliot—Elliot followed. He wasn't required to be in half the training sessions I attended. But he showed up anyway. On the third day, after a particularly brutal zero-gravity maneuvering exercise, he landed clumsily beside me, panting hard, his face red from exertion. "You—" He sucked in a breath. "You—don't—stop." I steadied myself against the handrails, unbothered by the dizziness that came from spinning mid-air. "And?" He wiped sweat from his forehead, eyes flicking to me like he was seeing something unreal. "How do you just keep going?" I studied him for a moment. Then, calmly, I said, "Because forward is the only direction." Elliot let out a short, breathless laugh. "That's—" He stopped himself. Shook his head. His expression shifted from disbelief to something heavier. "No... that's right, isn't it?" I nodded. "You're not afraid of breaking?" His voice was quieter now, almost uncertain. I reached out, gripping the handrail beside him. The weightlessness made my movements smooth, deliberate. "You fear breaking because you still see yourself as something fragile." He stared at me, wide-eyed. "You want to be strong, Elliot?" I asked. He swallowed. "Yes." "Then stop hesitating." His breath hitched. "Every second you question yourself is a second wasted," I continued. "There is no use in looking back. No use in second-guessing. What is ahead of you?" His fingers curled against the fabric of his suit. "The mission." "And what comes after?" His voice was quieter now. "The future." I inclined my head. "And what is behind you?" He hesitated. Then, finally, he said, "Nothing." I nodded once. "Then walk forward." Elliot exhaled, something in his posture shifting—his shoulders squaring, his gaze sharpening. And in that moment, I knew— He understood. Week Three: Owning the Moment One evening, Elliot found me at the hotel bar, nursing a glass of something expensive. He stood there for a moment, watching, as if hesitating to interrupt something sacred. Then, slowly, he sat beside me. He didn't speak right away. Just observed. Finally, he said, "You're... different." I tilted my head slightly. "How so?" "You're at peace." His voice was quiet, almost reverent. "The others—they worry, they panic, they second-guess themselves. But you..." He exhaled. "You just move forward." I took a sip of my drink. "Would stopping change anything?" Elliot shook his head. "No." "Then why hesitate?" He was silent for a moment. Then, with something like awe, he murmured, "I don't know how you do it." I turned to him, meeting his gaze. "Because I have already accepted the cost." He swallowed. "The cost?" "Fear is a price," I said. "Regret is a price. Doubt is a price. And I do not waste my energy paying for things that do not serve me." Elliot absorbed my words like scripture. Finally, he whispered, "You really believe that?" I looked at him. At the way he leaned in, as if seeking something—an answer, a confirmation, maybe even permission to think the same way. I set my drink down. "It is not belief, Elliot." I held his gaze. "It is truth." For a long moment, he just sat there. Then, slowly, he exhaled and nodded. And in that moment, I saw it— Not just understanding. Devotion. Week Six: The Pressure Rises As the days blurred into weeks, the reality of the mission started settling in. People whispered when I passed. Some looked at me with awe. Others with concern. Mark remained a steady presence, watching, evaluating. He never interfered, never questioned my dedication, but I could tell he was waiting for something. For doubt. For hesitation. Neither came. Instead, I refined every skill I could. Zero-gravity maneuvers became second nature. I memorized the schematics of the spacecraft until I could have rebuilt it blindfolded. I pushed my body past exhaustion, past limits, until every muscle burned but still obeyed. I wasn't just preparing for a mission. I was ensuring my survival. Sienna and Camille checked in often. They didn't press, didn't try to dissuade me. But I could see the worry in their eyes. "You're insane," Camille muttered one night over video call, watching as I stretched out my sore muscles. I smirked. "You knew that already." She rolled her eyes. "Just don't make me say I told you so." Sienna, quieter, only said, "Come back." I met her gaze through the screen. "I will," I promised. Week Seven: The Question A week before launch, I was summoned to Mark's office. The message was simple. A request. Not a demand. I arrived exactly on time. Mark sat behind his desk, fingers interlaced, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Angel," he greeted. "Mark," I returned evenly. He gestured for me to sit. I did. For a moment, he just studied me. Then, finally, he asked— "What do you know about Mr. Fox and Mr. Dust?"

Chapter 68: Two Months to Mars

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