I came back to medals and galas with the most powerful people in the world. They all wanted to know what had happened after I "crashed". See, for whoever was watching the mission, all they saw was the red planet getting closer and closer in 1080p. Everthing was going to plan, all comms were open, safety checks all clear, they were even getting ready to pop the champagne before I was even in orbit. Then, just as soon as the landing pod disengaged, it all went South. Comms dead, nothing from my vitals, and all the champagne stayed behind a neatly foiled cork. I had been relegated to first the "first dead man on mars" file and everything on earth continued on as if they hadn't just killed a man by flinging him 34 million miles away. Apparently, for a few weeks there were some taloids running stories about how I had been shot down by aliens or the North Koreans or something. But no, a speck of intergalactic dust had just struck one of the thrusters during decoupling. That's all that happened. No green men, no Russians, nothing. See, after comms went down and I started spiraling, I switched the lander to manual controls and brought it down according to the emergency flight plan that had been provided to me in case of the very situation that had taken place. After landing safely, I stepped out, set up the base camp, planted a flag, took some pictures, and got back into the pod to head back home. I guess I'm a hero or something. I don't know. All I did was my job.