The ultimate barge had come to rest. The Chrysalis was shut tight. On Earth the final peaceful glow was disappearing from the broadcasts. Within Aresiums control rooms the atmosphere was heavy, with the quiet of a choice postponed no further.
Elara Vance faced the remnants of the Martian Congress. They lacked the resolute spirit they held a year ago. They appeared weary. The angled sun projected extended shadows across the chamber. The atmosphere itself seemed thinner as though the planet was pausing in anticipation.
"The Suspended Sentence isn't meant for us " Vance declared, her tone resonating through the silence. She indicated a hologram of the Chrysalis, a imperfect star, amid the tranquil night. "To step into that repose with an Anchor means surrender. It means joining the calm no how beautifully imperfect. Mars was never designed for tranquility."
A geologist her hands forever tinged with an ochre spoke out. "The Prometheus Seeds lie dormant. The Quiet has… convinced them. Our assurance of conflict has vanished."
"Then we create an one " Vance stated. She displayed a schematic. It wasn't of a vessel or a repository. It depicted Mars itself. A cross-section, spanning from the iron core to the surface. "Project Final Vow. The Prometheus Scorch."
A low murmur, not of disagreement but of comprehension spread across the room.
"The Quiet aims for balance " Vance added, her speech, like surgical incisions. "It levels plates. It cools interiors. It represents the cosmos unwinding. Our solution is a lasting convulsion. We will employ the set of our deep-crust tectonic stimulators, our mantle-sounding resonators—every device we created to master this planet—to achieve the reverse. We will unsettle the core. Initiate a compelled geological adolescence."
The hologram came to life. Instruments bored through the mantle not extracting heat but delivering waves of energy in harmonic sequences. The quiet cooling core appeared to stir again. Fresh volcanic ranges tore through Tharsis. The inert immobile crust shattered into an everlasting moving mosaic of tectonic plates where none had been present previously.
"We commit to ensuring billions of years filled with tremors, eruptions, magnetic pole flips and atmospheric turmoil " Vance declared, her eyes ablaze. "Mars will not be a grave but a tempest. An everlasting geological 'NO' carved into the solar system's bedrock. Though the Quiet might cover it it will eternally face a planet that resists tranquility. It will become a pitfall, for its tranquility a whirlpool of pointless sound it can never settle."
It was not a plan for survival. It was a plan for the most spectacular, long-form suicide note in history. A planet-sized monument to defiance.
There were no debates about ethics, about the future. There was no future. There was only the nature of the end.
The vote was unanimous.
The last moments, on Mars weren't used for preservation or solemn farewells. Instead they were filled with concentrated destruction. Engineers, who had devoted their careers to maintaining stability hurried to release volatile self-replicating substances designed to guarantee endless turbulent storms. Seismologists mapped out the visually striking fault lines, planning eruptions that would cloak the sky with long-lasting ash.
Vance personally proceeded to the control hub for the core inductor array a chamber located at the base of Olympus Mons. Accompanying her were the remaining members of her command team along, with one historian documenting the record.
"This is Director Elara Vance " she declared, her tone unwavering. "Commencing the initiation protocol for the Prometheus Scorch. Authorization: Vitalis Ultima. Objective: To resist. Not to rebel against existence itself. To render our essence indigestible to tranquility. Let our bones remain a thorn, within the calm cosmos."
Her hand moved without pause to the command. There was no countdown. She typed in the code.
Beneath the Martian mantle a system of inactive resonators stirred. Not, with an explosion. With a soft subsonic drone that pulsed through the bedrock into the core of every surviving Martian. It was the noise of a world being tenderly crafted askew.
The earth trembled. It was not the rumble of destruction. Of resurgence. Across the expanse enormous angular fissures formed, radiating with the fierce glow of a rekindled core. The scarce atmosphere started to howl as pressures adjusted giving rise to the eternal tempest—a spiral of crimson dust and electric sparks that reached the silent calibrated sky and appeared to rend it apart.
Vance remained at the observation bubble observing the fierce spectacle develop. It was frightening. It was vibrant. It was the contrast, to the dull gentle void consuming the stars.
She never got on a ship. No ships remained. Her last deed was to expose all the habitat domes to the aggressive environment. The remaining Martians did not fall asleep. They stepped into the howling, charged dust their inhalation not a calm breath but a gasp of tumultuous crimson air.
When the Quiet's forefront at last swept across Mars it met not a world but a convulsion. The flawless calmness enveloped the planet yet failed to infiltrate the wild swirling tempest it had turned into. Mars transformed into one enduring jarring tone, within the system's concluding harmony—a crimson, tempestuous and eternal tremolo.
Viewed from afar across the millennia for any watcher the solar system would resemble a flawless grey sphere at rest.. At its core if tuned to the proper frequency one would detect a soft, constant and intense grinding sound.. Amid the grey there would be a solitary faint troubled star (the Chrysalis) and nearer, to the center a subtle rust-hued blur of endless magnificent storms (Mars).
Mankind had vanished.
It held on to its two responses:
A captured whisper.
And a roar written in stone and fire.
Both eternal.
Both unresolved.