1. Three months with five Strangers
The year is 2028. Men and women have been shuttled to Mars and back for almost six years, and now it's my turn. My name is Marcus Foster, age 27, being sent to Mars for three months with five total strangers. I suspect that I'll make at least one friend, but enemies could be made as well. I'm undoubtedly excited for this; I've been infatuated with space since I saw that film "The Martian" with that David Bowie song in it.The vast emptiness of space and all its wonders fascinate me. You know, black holes, worm holes, parallel universes, and who could forget aliens? Those little grey things from "The X files" or the tall black scaly monster from "Alien" are my idols. People have said to me that I'm peculiar for such an interest in aliens. I simply laugh at them because their idols are people like Avril Lavigne or Kanye West. In all fairness,Kanye is a bit of an alien.
I've just pulled up at the site in which I take off; it stinks of petrol and B.O for some reason. I've been indicated to get into my space suit in a small block to the left. Not so much "High tech astronaut changing area" and more like "PE changing room". Anyway, I do as instructed, and make my way to the block. Five people have just strutted out laughing to each other. I can only assume these are my coworkers.One has smooth black hair and a thin moustache,probably uses hairspray, one has flowing blonde hair, wrinkles on her neck, squinty eyes and a tired expression. I'd say she's only around 30 so her neck wrinkles must be a sign of a smoking addiction. There's a fat man with curly brown hair and a long nose that somehow drops to his mouth. A man in sunglasses and a lollipop in his mouth,you know, your average schoolboy that claims to have slept with your mum. And a tall thin man with greasy brown hair and stubble. Oh, bloody hell. Well done, Marcus! What a great way to make friends! Ogle at them and go all "Sherlock Holmes"!
About an hour has past. This space suit is killing me and there's a tube that's sticking out of the suit and it's jabbing me in the forearm. The greasy haired man has his headphones in and I can hear he's listening to "Cherub Rock" by the Smashing Pumpkins. The other four are talking so I look out of the window and see that a large audience of photographers and journalists have appeared. Before I have time to think, a blasting sound is heard from beneath us and I begin to have second thoughts about leaving Earth...