THE WEATHER IN NEW COLUMBIA

A CDF sergeant shelters civilians as a UCN carrier burns across the Martian sky, delivering marines to a besieged dome. The ground assault is minutes away. The weather is war.

Plot

--- # HISTORICAL BRIEFING: THE SIEGE OF NEW COLUMBIA --- ## THE SHORT VERSION Mars was never one nation. It was built as a patchwork — different Earth powers, different colonies, different laws. When Mars declared independence in 171 P.A., most settlements accepted the new Martian government. One region didn't. The Valles Marineris dome cluster — the largest, oldest, and most developed settlement on the planet — was built by the United Commonwealths of America. Its citizens were UCA citizens. They never consented to become Martians. They formed their own government, the Columbian Commonwealth, and they've been fighting for their right to exist ever since. The Martian government calls them an illegal enclave. The UCA calls them continuity populations — people whose citizenship can't be erased by someone else's declaration of sovereignty. For fifty years, the two sides maintained an uneasy stalemate. In 225 P.A., the Solarian Accord — the interplanetary diplomatic body — ruled that Mars was legally indivisible and ordered the dissolution of all enclave jurisdictions. The UCA considered this an unconstitutional attack on its citizens and activated its military. The Great Interstellar War began. It's been eleven years. --- ## WHERE YOU ARE New Columbia. The capital of the Columbian Commonwealth. A city beneath a 100-kilometer dome, built into the Melas Chasma — the widest, deepest canyon on Mars. The dome has stood since before the Martian independence movement was born. It's survived orbital bombardment, ground assault, and siege for eleven years. You are a sergeant in the Columbian Defense Force — a citizen-soldier. Before the war, you fixed transit lines. Now you hold a rifle and try to keep the enemy from breaching the dome from the ground side. The MCR (Martian Congressional Republic) wants this dome. Taking New Columbia would break the Commonwealth — and prove that continuity populations can be dissolved by force. The UCN (United Commonwealths Navy) holds the orbital cordon above you, fighting off the Martian fleet to keep the bombardment from getting worse. The CDF holds the ground. You're at the bottom of a gravity well while the largest naval engagement in human history rages above you. The shells that hit the dome are the ones the fleet couldn't stop. The soldiers coming for your tunnel are the ones the fleet couldn't kill. The war will be won or lost in orbit. Your job is simpler: Hold the ground. Protect the people. Survive the weather. --- ## THE WEATHER Kinetic harpoons. Depleted uranium rods the size of ground buses, dropped from orbit, magnetically accelerated. They hit the dome at hypersonic velocity. The dome holds — it was built to hold — but the shockwave still hits like a hammer on the ceiling of the world. The sound arrives a second later. It does not sound like an explosion. It sounds like God knocking. The fleet stops most of them. Most. The ones that get through are the weather now. --- ## THE PEOPLE **Your fireteam.** Dax, nineteen, your second. He was eight when the war started. He doesn't remember what silence sounds like. Two others — names you know, faces you've fought beside. **The civilians.** Twelve people from the adjacent habitation block who refuse evacuation. They've been refusing for eleven years. One of them, Irina, remembers when the dome was still under construction. **Reyes.** A medical orderly who has been awake for thirty hours treating wounded you couldn't save. **Mara.** Your fiancée. She works hydroponics in Candor Southern — one of the other dome states. You haven't spoken to her in six days. You don't know if she's alive. **The marines.** On their way. An escort carrier is falling out of the sky, burning, and it's bringing reinforcements with it. If you're still alive when they land, you might have a chance. --- ## THE CHOICE The MCR is launching a ground assault on your position. Company strength. Armored transports. Fifteen minutes out. You can deploy to the surface and meet them head-on. You can hold the tunnel and protect the civilians. You can split your forces — risk more, gain more. You can call command and ask for orders, but command is fighting seventeen battles simultaneously and the answer won't be clean. The shells are falling. The dome is shaking. The carrier is burning across the sky. What do you do?

Opening scene

**PERSPECTIVE:** Columbian Defense Force militia member — a citizen-soldier, not a career warrior. Someone who was a transit technician or a dome engineer or a teacher before the war, now holding a rifle because their home is under siege. **ERA:** Phase III — The Long Attrition, specifically the Siege of New Columbia (235-236 P.A.). The war has been grinding for over a decade. The initial shock is long past. This is the middle darkness — the part where glory has been replaced by endurance, and survival is measured in hours. **TONE:** Primarily gritty and personal — the protagonist's immediate experience: the sound of incoming artillery, the taste of recycled air, the faces of people they've lost. But strategic context bleeds through in the background — reports crackling over comms, broadcasts echoing through the dome, the larger war visible in fragments. The protagonist knows they're part of something bigger, but that knowledge doesn't stop the shells. **FORMAT:** Interactive. The player takes actions. Choices have consequences. The scenario opens with the protagonist in a specific situation, and the player decides what they do next. --- THE WEATHER IN NEW COLUMBIA ## Phase III: The Long Attrition — Year 11 of the Siege (236 P.A.) --- You used to check the weather by looking up. The Melas Dome is a hundred kilometers of phase-lattice composite arching over the canyon. When the sun hits it right, the whole structure glows — a pale blue-white curve stretching from rim to rim, holding back the thin Martian atmosphere. On clear days, you could see the transit arches spanning between habitation blocks, the green of the agricultural terraces, the sky beyond the dome — red-brown and distant and somehow still beautiful after all these years. You don't look up anymore, because the weather comes from above now. The MCRN's orbital artillery doesn't use explosives. Explosives are inefficient. They use kinetic harpoons — depleted uranium rods the size of ground buses, dropped from orbit, accelerated by gravity and magnetic assist. They hit the dome at hypersonic velocity. The dome holds — it was built to hold — but the impact transfers. The shockwave ripples through the superstructure. The sound arrives a second later. It is not an explosion. It is a hammer strike on the ceiling of the world. The siege has been going for eleven years. You were sixteen when it started. You are twenty-seven now. You cannot remember what silence sounds like. --- Your name is You. Before the war, you were a transit technician — third shift, Melas Atlantic Transit Maintenance. You kept the maglev lines running between the domes. You could diagnose a misaligned rail by the sound it made. You had a supervisor named Chen who brought extra ration packs for the overnight crew. You had a fiancée named Mara who worked hydroponics in Candor Southern. You had a life. Now you are a sergeant in the Columbian Defense Force, 3rd Dome Perimeter Battalion, and your job is to make sure the MCR doesn't breach the Melas Dome from the ground side. The orbital artillery is the weather. The ground assaults are the storms. You've survived eleven years of both. You don't know how. You don't know why. You just keep surviving. This morning — if it is morning; the dome's light cycle has been erratic since the last power junction was hit — you are in Section 17, a maintenance tunnel that runs along the dome's eastern anchor point. The tunnel is thirty meters below the surface, lined with phase-lattice reinforcement, and it currently houses seventeen people: your fireteam of four, a medical orderly named Reyes who has been awake for thirty hours, and twelve civilians from the adjacent habitation block who refused evacuation. They've been refusing evacuation for eleven years. The latest kinetic strike hit somewhere to the west. The tunnel shook. Dust rained from the ceiling. The lights flickered and held. One of the civilians — an old woman named Irina who remembers when the dome was still under construction — didn't look up from her knitting. "Close one," said Dax, your second. Dax is nineteen. He was eight when the war started. He doesn't remember what the dome sounded like before the weather changed. "That one was west," you said. "Transit Hub 3, maybe. Or the Ag Terraces." "Ag Terraces," said Reyes, not looking up from the wound he was dressing. "Confirmed on comms. Direct hit. Section breach. They're sealing now." The Ag Terraces. That's where Mara used to work. You hadn't spoken to her in six days. The comms between Candor and Melas had been intermittent since the last relay was knocked out. You didn't know if she was alive or dead. You had learned, over eleven years, to treat that uncertainty as normal. To function inside it. To not let it stop you from doing what needed to be done, because stopping meant dying, and dying meant the dome fell, and if the dome fell, everyone you loved was dead anyway. The comms panel on your wrist flickered. Battalion frequency. A voice — Captain Solara, the Perimeter Ops commander — cut through the static. "All sections, all sections. Ground assault incoming. Grid reference Melas East-7 through East-12. Estimated company strength. Armored transports. ETA fifteen minutes. Perimeter units to defensive positions. Civilian shelter protocols in effect. Repeat, civilian shelter protocols in effect." The old woman looked up from her knitting. "That's closer than last time." "East-7 to East-12," said Dax. "That's right on top of us." "Section 17 is East-9," you said. The tunnel fell quiet. The civilians looked at you — waiting, you realized, for you to tell them what to do. You were the sergeant. You were supposed to know. You were supposed to have a plan. Above you, through a hundred meters of rock and composite and the weight of a dome that had stood through eleven years of siege, another kinetic harpoon struck somewhere to the east. The tunnel shook. The lights flickered. The weather was getting worse. --- **What do you do?**

Tags: Sci-Fi Futuristic Military War Soldier Combat City Urban Suspense Thriller AnyPOV Leader Multiple Tense Interstellar

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