INTRODUCTION
Mars in the near future. Its mineral wealth feeds Earth's insatiable needs, as Earth is stripped of raw materials. Ultor Corporation, named after the Roman god of war, owns all mining rights on Mars. Ultor maximizes production and minimizes costs. Fortunes are made as cargo ships return to Earth filled with precious Noachite.
Mine workers arrive on Mars, misled by promises of adventure and easy money. Few ever return to Earth. Conditions in Ultor mines are brutal, and the work is dangerous.
Miners' living quarters are disgusting. Environmental suits and bunks are shared between shifts. Food is lousy and in short supply. Beatings from Ultor guards are commonplace.
Worst of all, a mysterious, disfiguring Plague is rampant through the mines. As the death toll rises and Ultor remains complacent, the miners' fear and discontent grow.
Pamphlets and posters from an underground organization begin showing up all over the mining complex. Signed by the mysterious Eos, the pamphlets tell of bizarre deaths and missing comrades and urge miners to take action against Ultor. Tensions run high. The mines are wired like a powder keg. All it will take is a spark... During a shift change, a young miner is brutally assaulted by an Ultor guard. Another miner, Parker, witnesses the brutality and is quickly caught up in the chaos. He has no choice. Kill or be killed. A rebellion explodes across Mars.
Can you live long enough to become a hero?
Hendrix's Account
Recruits lost their lunch during takeoff, and it floated about the cabin for the whole ride. I dodged it during freefall, but when gravity returned on Mars, the mess fell over all of us.
Once we left the ship, it didn't get any better. We were stripped naked and then fire-hosed from sprayers in the walls and ceiling. It was humiliating—Ultor was showing us who was boss.
With the showers over, they issued us uniforms. None of them fit. One new recruit tried to complain. He got beaten by the guards and was hauled off to the infirmary. The rest of us kept our mouths shut.
The barracks are a nightmare. The narrow bunks are stacked in dank rooms. Trash covers the floors and graffiti covers the walls. It wouldn't be so bad if the bed was ours, but we share them. While we're out in the mines, the previous shift uses our bunks. It's gross.
Once you're down in the mines, it's pure grunt work. We smash the rock out of the walls trying to follow a vein of noachite. I'm not sure why they just don't use bots to do the work. Ultor has them all over the place here.
It's getting tense around here. We're all scared and angry. Angry at Ultor for the conditions we work in and scared of the Plague. Miners are getting sick. Not flu-sick but something worse.
Every day, dozens of miners collapse, in the mines and in the barracks, without warning. One minute they're fine, the next they're on the ground, writhing in pain or sometimes unconscious even before they hit the floor. And there's something wrong with their faces too. They seem...puffy or stretched. Some say that they've seen sick miners whose faces are bulging or pulsating. Everyone is on the verge of panic.
Lately, there've been pamphlets slapped up on the barracks and cafeteria walls. They're calling for miners to go on strike against Ultor, to refuse to work. Some of the flyers even urge us to attack the guards, to get back at them for all the years of mistreatment. No one knows who writes them. The pamphlets are signed ‘Eos.' Some say it's the name of a group; some say it's the name of a woman who's trying to stir up the miners.
The security guards tear down the pamphlets as soon as they see them, but the damage has already been done. Dozens of people read them. In a few hours, hundreds of miners are talking about the latest pamphlet. People are grumbling, glaring at guards, and openly muttering about a strike or worse. It gets uglier every day.
I don't know what to think or do. I just want to get out of here alive, somehow. Harvard sounds better all the time.
Hendrix's Messages
During the game you will hear messages from Hendrix, an Ultor security technician sympathetic to the cause.
•
Press the Message Log button (right directional button if you are using the Default Control Configuration) to view them.
Hendrix's Background
Growing up, I never heard anything negative about Ultor. Mom and Dad gave their lives to the corporation, in more ways than one. They blamed the Plague on bad luck, a Martian virus, or bad air—anything but Ultor. When you're in the belly of the beast, you shy away from wondering if it has your best interests in mind.
They wanted to keep me out of the mines in the worst way. They pushed me to excel at my studies and glowed with pride at every achievement. As long as I did well in Ultor's schools, I could stay out of the mines.
I took all of the tech courses I could. Not just the mechanical stuff that Ultor pushed on all of us, but comp sci, physics, chemistry—everything they'd let me into. Even that didn't stop me. When they wouldn't let me into a certain class, I just borrowed the tapes from someone who was. I wasn't going to