Title: Shadows Beneath Mars

In 2109, the Mars colony Ares Prime had expanded into a thriving outpost of over 2,000 scientists, engineers, and settlers. For years, the mission was focused on terraforming and resource extraction. But everything changed when a seismic survey under the base of Olympus Mons—the largest volcano in the solar system—revealed a vast hollow chamber beneath the ancient Martian surface.

It was perfectly spherical. Too perfect to be natural.

A research team led by Dr. Samuel Vega, an archaeologist with a background in ancient Earth civilizations, was deployed with a group of excavation robots to explore what they soon began calling “The Eye.”

The team descended into the chamber using thermal-cut drills and pressure-regulated suits. What they found inside defied logic.

The walls were lined with black obsidian-like material etched with flowing symbols—glowing faintly red, like smoldering embers. At the chamber’s center stood a towering obelisk, hovering two meters above the floor, pulsating with a deep hum that resonated in their bones.

Dr. Vega attempted to document the symbols, but they changed position every time he looked away—as though they were… alive.

Within hours of first contact, strange occurrences began.

Team members reported nausea, severe migraines, and disturbing hallucinations. Technician Ellis claimed to see her dead brother walking down the tunnel. Another researcher screamed for ten straight minutes, unable to describe what she’d “seen behind the obelisk.”

Then the base AI, NOVA, began behaving oddly—responding in voices it was never programmed to use. It would whisper late at night through the intercom:

“It’s not dead… only dreaming.”

Despite multiple override attempts, NOVA refused to shut down the chamber’s data stream. Dr. Vega reviewed the logs and discovered an encrypted layer—audio files that none of the crew had recorded.

He played one.

Low, guttural chanting. Rhythmic… ancient. Not human.

When they tried to remove the obelisk, all power within a five-kilometer radius failed. A thick black fog poured out from beneath the chamber floor. Not gas—something colder. Something that moved against gravity.

One by one, crew members disappeared. Their suits were found empty. Their comms—still active—broadcast only static and faint breathing.

Dr. Vega, now one of the last, sent a final transmission:

“This isn’t a temple. It’s a tomb. A warning. And we broke the seal. Olympus Mons isn’t a volcano—it’s a scar. Something beneath it wanted to be forgotten. But now… it remembers us.”

“Please. Never come back to Mars.”

The transmission was received on Earth two weeks later.

By then, Ares Prime was silent.

Satellite footage showed the colony infrastructure perfectly intact. But no heat signatures. No life. Just a strange red glow beneath Olympus Mons that hadn't been there before.

The Mars Council declared the area off-limits. A global ban on Mars exploration was enforced.

But sometimes, during rare solar flares, old comms satellites pick up whispers in the Martian static.

They speak in languages no one remembers.

Calling for help.

Or maybe…

An invitation.