We all remember where we were when we saw the world's leaders unleash every nuclear device they had against each other, when the blue skies turned ash grey and all our comms fell silent. I was repairing part of the solar rig when the shockwave bounced me about like a fly in a cat's paw.
One by one we headed to the dining chamber, speechless and heartbroken. We all knew that there was no chance of surviving down there, no chance of seeing our loved ones again. That was when we decided to put the station to the ultimate test and head out into the stars, hoping we could find a habitable world before our supplies or ourselves expired.
Either way we would die, so we chose to die in the middle of the unknown instead of the irradiated rock formerly known as home. The moon would be out first call, scavenging whatever we could from the old bases and abandoned lunar modules in the hopes of extending our lives by a few more days.
From there we would head to the Mars bases, picking up the last few remnants of humanity before setting out for mankind's final mission. If only we hadn't checked the comms one last time and heard the false voices of the control centre calling us all home.
They said there were safe places where plenty of survivors now waited and they wanted us to come home. We were too buy celebrating and desperately trying not to think about how obviously false it was until we were back in Earth's orbit and the video feed came through.
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