The Last Transmission

The encryption peels away like old skin. A grainy video blooms on your screen: an Earth ambassador, eyes hollow, voice cracking. "To Ares Colony — if anyone receives this — the exchange has begun. We will not be sending more ships. We will not be sending anything. Forgive us."

Behind her, the sky burns orange. The timestamp is fifty-three years old. Every supply manifest, every cheerful Earth bulletin you grew up watching — fabrications. The colony has been eating its own hope for half a century.

Your hands shake above the console. Somewhere down the corridor, a child laughs. You have to decide who else gets to know.