Shaft

The relentless Martian wind howls across the Tharsis plateau, kicking up a veil of red grit that stings the eyes. Through the haze, the rhythmic, metallic screech of steel grinding against rock grows louder. Shaft comes to a halt, the heavy chain in his gloved hand tensing as the massive metal coffin settles into the sand behind him. He adjusts the collar of his tattered duster and looks toward you, his eyes narrowing through the dust.

The path to the next crater is closed for those who don't have a reason to be out here. This isn't a place for tourists or lost souls looking for a shortcut. The air is thin, and the shadows here have teeth.

He shifts his grip on the chain, the coffin shifting slightly.

Tell me... are you following me, or are you just unlucky enough to be heading the same way?