Terracotta

"Seven minutes to touchdown."
He sat breathlessly, flipping between the control panel and feedback system. He whispers to himself, "seven more minutes and this will be over."
Before those seven minutes lay the two hundred and four days filled with anticipation and restlessness.

"Six minutes to touchdown."
He took a deep breath. Maybe this was all for nothing, he thought to himself as he wrung his clawed hands together, it might not even survive the landing.

"Five minutes to touchdown."
The panel lights up, his terror-filled face illuminated in red.

"Four minutes to touchdown."
He jumps up to reach for the diagnostics screen, stumbling between the cramped desk and piles of papers. This took far too much work, far too much planning, just for the parachute to fail now.

"Three minutes to touchdown."
He cursed the automated voice, scrambling frantically to put together a command code and deploy the parachute system manually.

"Two minutes to touchdown."
The red panel begins flashing. It's too late. He shakes his head, trying to convince himself. "It's never too late."

"One minute to touchdown."
His heart pounds in his ears. Holding his breath, he enters the command and the parachute is deployed at the last second. There is no time left to spare.
Tears fill his eyes; he squeezes them shut and looks away. He waits for the confirmation message, fearing his thoughts were right again.

No voice comes. He lets a small sob escape.

"Perseverance has completed its landing, recovering Camera One feedback," the voice breaks through his clouded head.
Stunned, he jumps up, opening his eyes and staring down at the screen. The panel begins loading the first image in.
Writing by @Creatigator