Control
Move with WASD, fire using Left Mouse Button, reload by pressing R, pause the game with P, and jump via Space.
description
The air reeks of ionized metal and stale filtration systems as your boots crush crimson sand beneath the reinforced ceramite plating. Martian winds howl against the geodesic dome ahead—your target. Intel confirms the facility's crawling with gene-spliced sentries, their optics scanning for intruders. Your MK-IX Hellfire rifle thrums against your chest rig, its microfusion core glowing faintly through the heat-shroud. No room for suppression mods or smart-targeting here. You’ll need to carve a path the old way: iron sights, controlled bursts, and a steady trigger finger. Flickering biometric scanners die under three precise shots before they can scream an alert. Inside, the first wave hits—hulking figures in polymer armor sprinting around corners, their distorted vocalizers shrieking in guttural binary. Your rifle barks twice. Two helmets snap back, visors spiderwebbed. Heat ticks upward on your wrist-mounted gauge. You pivot, boots grinding against blood-slick grating as another trio charges. Short bursts. Three-round spreads. Sparks erupt from collapsing bodies. The deeper you push, the tighter the corridors. Motion trackers blip frantically—hostiles converging from ventilation shafts, security bulkheads, ceiling ducts. Overhead lights strobe as automated turrets unfold. You dive behind a shattered lab console, the Hellfire’s barrel smoking. Let it cool. Five seconds. Four. A guard lunges, monomolecular blade raised. You sidestep, crush his trachea with a gauntleted fist, then snap the rifle up. Full-auto shreds the turret’s housing in a storm of tungsten. Heat spikes to 85%. Too close. By Sector Gamma, the walls drip with biogel from shattered containment units. Something inhuman screeches in the dark. Your HUD flashes warnings: thermal overload imminent. You switch to semi-auto, each round punching through reinforced skulls with mechanical precision. They keep coming. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. But you’ve fought longer wars in worse hells. The rifle’s vents hiss as you advance—steady, relentless—every shot a calculus of survival. Survive the waves. Reach the core. Burn it all.
