A red sky stretched across the horizon, painted by the artificial sun hanging above Dome-7. Below it, rusted metal buildings packed tightly together made up the slums of Mars, their vents hissing with recycled air. The people here walked with slow, deliberate steps, shielding their eyes from the glare of artificial lights. Decades under the dome had left Martians with terrible eyesight—blurred vision, poor depth perception, and an endless struggle to adjust to brightness.
Leon wiped the sweat from his forehead, his fingers stained with oil and metal shavings. He had just finished his shift at Red Bolt Industries, the factory responsible for manufacturing high-tech arrows for Earth's elite soldiers. He stuffed his work gloves into his pocket, his thoughts elsewhere.
It was the same routine every day. Wake up, work, go home. A cycle with no escape.
But today was different.
Slipping into a dark alleyway, Leon reached behind a stack of abandoned crates and pulled out a worn-out compound bow. It was a relic from before the war, scavenged from the ruins of an old training facility. Its metal frame had long since rusted, but Leon had spent months restoring it, piece by piece.
He knocked a custom-made arrow onto the string. Unlike the premium bolts produced at Red Bolt Industries, this one was built from discarded scraps—cheap plastic fletching, a makeshift carbon shaft, and a dulled steel tip. It was far from perfect, but it was his.
Drawing the string back, he focused on the distant target: a dented metal sign hanging from a streetlamp.
Breathe.
Focus.
The world blurred around him, as it always did. The target was nothing more than a vague shape in the distance.
He released the string.
The arrow wobbled mid-air before striking the sign—barely. It scraped the edge with a weak clang, far from the bullseye.
Leon exhaled sharply.
"Too slow," he muttered. "Too unstable."
He crouched down and examined the arrow, running his fingers along the shaft. The balance was slightly off—too much weight at the front. Adjusting the fletching could help stabilize the flight.
"Still practicing with those junk arrows?"
Leon turned to see Iris, a girl standing with her arms crossed, watching him with amusement. She was dressed in a reinforced bodysuit, the kind worn by Earth's elite Tankers—frontline warriors who wielded massive shields and charged into battle without fear. Even here, in the slums of Mars, she looked like she belonged to another world.
"Not everyone gets to train with Earth-made weapons," Leon replied, standing up.
Iris smirked. "And yet, you still refuse to give up."
Leon glanced down at his bow, his grip tightening. "If I want to reach Earth, I don't have a choice."
Iris studied him for a moment before tossing something his way. He caught it reflexively—a small, metallic arrowhead, engraved with the logo of an Earth-based military academy.
"I managed to steal one of these from a shipment," she said casually. "It's what the best archers use. Thought you might want to study it."
Leon's eyes widened. This was real tech, not the garbage he scavenged from the factory.
"This… isn't cheap," he muttered.
Iris shrugged. "Neither is chasing impossible dreams."
Leon looked at her, his heart pounding.
"Why are you helping me?"
Iris leaned against the wall, her expression turning serious. "Because I know what it's like to be trapped." She stared up at the artificial sky, her voice quieter. "I wasn't always on Mars. I came here by choice, for training. But now I realize something—this place isn't just a training ground. It's a prison."
Leon nodded. He had known that his whole life.
"And you want to escape too?" he asked.
Iris smirked. "I will. I just need a good Archer to watch my back."
Leon looked at the arrowhead in his hand, then at the bow in his grasp.
For the first time in years, he felt hope.
"Then I better start practicing," he said.
Iris grinned. "Good answer."
As she turned to leave, Leon stared at the makeshift target once more. The metal sign was still blurry in his vision, but something had changed.
For the first time, the impossible seemed just a little closer.
His journey was just beginning.