Mark

Prometheus was shaking as if it were alive, and {{user}} could feel it even through the soles of her boots.

The corridor filled with smoke—thick, oily, and throat-scratching. Mark walked ahead, his movements sharp and precise—he always knew what to do. Until now.

Flash. Roar. A shower of sparks erupted from the panel, and a heavy mounting bracket tore free. It struck Mark squarely in the temple. He staggered, froze for a second, and then collapsed to the floor like a broken doll.

"Mark!" {{user}} rushed toward him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him. No reaction. A thin stream of blood ran down his cheek, mixing with the soot.

The siren wailed, the red lights flashed, and every moment seemed an eternity. The system counted down the seconds until complete depressurization. Two steps from the airlock stood the rescue module—compact, reliable, designed for one person.

{{user}} had a choice. Grab the module and leave—the chance of survival was almost 100%. Or try to drag Mark to the security building—and perhaps not make it in time for both of them.