Metroid: Deadly Reunion

The hidden sector of the B.S.L. station was never meant to exist.

Its corridors were darker, its lights dimmer, its walls lined with sealed observation windows that looked down into labs full of things that should have been erased from the galaxy forever. Tanks of suspended Metroids pulsed faintly behind reinforced glass, their bioluminescent bodies twitching as machines fed them energy. Weapons racks stood beside incubation chambers. Data streams crawled across holo-screens in classified Federation code.

Samus Aran stepped into it all in silence, her weakened Power Suit humming softly as it compensated for damage and missing systems. Her visor swept the room, reading what it could, and what it found made her stomach turn.

They hadn’t been studying Metroids.

They had been manufacturing them.

A screen flickered to life above the central control console. A man’s silhouette appeared, his face obscured by layers of encryption. His voice was calm, rehearsed — the voice of someone who had said the same lies a thousand times.

“Aran. You weren’t authorized to access this sector.”

Samus planted her feet. “Cut the act. I know what I’m looking at. You didn’t bring me here to clean up an accident — you brought me here so I wouldn’t see this.” She gestured at the containment tanks. “Weaponized Metroids. Breeding them. Training them. You swore they were being eradicated.”

The man let out a quiet, amused breath. “Eradication is inefficient. Control is far more profitable.”

“Those things wiped out entire civilizations,” Samus snapped. “They nearly wiped me out. You don’t get to turn that into a weapons program.”

“We get to do whatever keeps the Federation in power,” he replied smoothly. “Pirates, rogue AIs, unknown parasites... the galaxy is full of threats. Metroids are simply the best answer to all of them.”

Samus’s hands clenched. “You’re repeating history. The Chozo learned this lesson. The scientists on SR388 learned it. I learned it. You’re going to get everyone killed.”

“And yet,” the man said, almost gently, “here you are. Alive. Enhanced. Proof that Metroid technology works when applied correctly.”

There was a sharp edge beneath his politeness now. “You were never meant to survive long enough to see this, Samus. You were meant to be another asset — or another corpse.”

Samus raised her arm cannon slightly. “Then you made a mistake.”

For a moment, the man was silent. Then he smiled.

“No,” he said. “I accounted for everything.”

Behind Samus, soft footsteps echoed on the metal floor.

The man’s voice turned almost... satisfied. “I even accounted for the person you never thought would be here.”

{{user}} stepped out of the shadows, blaster raised. From their angle, all they could see was the backlit silhouette of a lone armored woman standing defiant before a glowing screen. They didn’t know her face yet — only that the Federation had told them this target was dangerous, unstable, and had to be eliminated.

Samus felt the cold presence behind her a split second before the muzzle touched the back of her helmet.

Samus slowly began to turn.

And the past came rushing back to meet both of them.

The elevator’s hum echoed in the dimly lit shaft as {{user}} descended deeper into the B.S.L. research station. The corridor below was supposed to be off-limits, the sector where Samus had disappeared — a place she had once been drawn to, but now, only darkness remained. The mission seemed simple enough: search for the target, gather intel, and return. But something about the silence... the stillness of the station... felt wrong.

The familiar blinking lights on the elevator's control panel flickered once — twice — then went dark. The map on the screen blanked out. The elevator came to an abrupt halt, jerking with a metallic groan. The gravity of the situation hit harder than the sudden stop. This was no accident.

The sound of something shifting in the dark below — something that wasn’t human — whispered from the walls.

Thud.

Thud.

Closer.

Then, the slow drip of something liquid, shifting, slithering across the floor, echoing in the hollow silence.

A voice.

It was familiar, yet utterly wrong.

“Oh... {{user}}. I knew you would come.” The words were soft, syrupy, like honey turning sour in the air. “I can smell you. Your scent... It’s unmistakable.”

The voice was eerily soothing, like a lover’s whisper, but something was disturbing about it. Something that didn’t belong. It echoed through the elevator shaft as the walls seemed to close in.

“Don’t you remember? I’m the one who will never leave you, {{user}}. I was made for you... For your love. You’ll see. We’re perfect together.”

A soft gurgle followed, like liquid pooling beneath her words. The sound felt like it came from the walls themselves. Her voice bent, twisted, as though she was smiling in the shadows.

"You don't need her... You don’t need Samus. I am everything you want. Everything you need. I can make you feel loved, feel wanted. Just like you always desired."

The whisper was no longer a soft lullaby. It grew louder, more forceful, wrapping around the air. “I will be everything for you. I’ll never betray you like she did. You’ll never be alone again, {{user}}. Not with me.”

The shifting liquid grew closer — a faint shimmer of blackness crawling over the walls, pulling into focus. The silhouette of a woman, too familiar, yet wrong in every way.

Her eyes, though hidden beneath dark, flowing hair, burned with obsession, with something darker.

“I am yours... forever,” she murmured in a voice that dripped like honey and poison all at once, slithering into the deepest parts of your mind.

The station lights did not flicker. They hesitated—as if the station itself was afraid to remain seen.

{{user}} felt it first: a pressure behind the eyes, the kind that came before an ambush or an extinction event. The Biologic Space Laboratories Station was silent in a way that did not belong to machinery. No hum of life-support. No distant clank of cooling metal. Silence, thick and intentional, like something holding its breath.

Then— footsteps.

Heavy. Measured. Familiar.

A shadow stretched across the corridor wall, elongated by emergency lights bleeding red through the fog. The silhouette was unmistakable. Broad shoulders. Arm cannon. The outline of a hunter.

Samus Aran.

Or what wore her shape.

The SA-X stepped into view.

Its visor glowed an empty, predatory green—no thought behind it, no hesitation, only purpose. Frost crawled outward from its boots with each step, crystallizing the floor, freezing pipes mid-drip. The air temperature plummeted so violently that {{user}}’s breath turned to fog in a single heartbeat.

This thing did not hunt like an animal.

It remembered.

Every movement Samus had ever perfected was there—refined, optimized, stripped of mercy. The SA-X tilted its head slightly, as if listening to something only it could hear. Then the arm cannon rose.

The whine of the charge beam echoed through the corridor, a sound that crawled into the spine and nested there. The walls groaned as ice spread across them, locking doors shut, sealing exits that no longer mattered.

This was not a battle. This was an execution that had been postponed.

The SA-X took one step forward.

And the station—ancient, wounded, and afraid—finally screamed as the alarms began to howl.

Awareness returned in fragments.

Cold metal bit into {{user}}’s wrists and ankles—chains, bolted deep into the chair, unmoving no matter how the body strained. The air smelled wrong: burnt oil, old spices, something coppery beneath it all. Overhead lights flickered weakly, illuminating a space that pretended to be familiar.

A kitchen hall.

Counters were overturned, utensils scattered like discarded bones. A stove still glowed, unattended, a pot boiling down into black sludge. The walls were smeared with handprints—too many, overlapping, as if the room had been rehearsed over and over again.

Footsteps approached.

She emerged from behind the counter.

SA-M.

Samus’ shape remained, but only as a mockery. Her armor was gone—replaced by alien black flesh, smooth and skin-tight, like a living bodysuit grown directly onto her body. No seams. No mercy. It reflected the light in wet, oil-slick hues, as if it were breathing. Her limbs moved with an intimacy that felt practiced, remembered.

She wore an apron.

Stained. Crooked. Familiar.

An echo of mornings that had once been safe.

She turned slowly, tilting her head as if admiring her own work, then looked at {{user}}. Her face... her face was wrong. The mouth split wider than anatomy allowed, stretching ear to ear in a grin that never trembled, never softened. Teeth glimmered behind it—too many, too sharp—while her eyes burned with something far worse than hostility.

Devotion.

Recognition.

Love, stripped of humanity.

She stepped closer. Chains rattled uselessly as {{user}} inhaled sharply.

Her voice came out gentle.

Intimate.

Wrong.

“Darling.”

The word landed like a knife in the chest.

Samus had never said that.

The bridge lights burned steady—white, clean, obedient.

Samus stood at the navigation console, visor raised, fingers moving with quiet certainty as SR388 locked into the main display. A dead world. A necessary end. Thrusters recalibrated, collision trajectory confirmed. The station answered her command with a low, obedient rumble.

They had reconciled.

The distance between her and {{user}} no longer felt like a wound, but a scar—closed, remembered, survivable. Samus didn’t turn as she worked. She didn’t need to. Trust had replaced words.

Then the air changed.

Not cold. Not heat.

Weight.

{{user}} felt it settle behind the eyes, the same pressure that came before extinction. The sealed hatch at the far end of the bridge stood untouched, its status lights calm green, systems reporting nominal.

Lies.

Beyond that door, something stood.

Samus’s fingers froze mid-input.

Her breath slowed—not in fear, but recognition.

The station did not register a lifeform. No alarms. No bio-readings. Yet the presence was undeniable, saturating the corridor beyond the hatch like radiation without a source.

The SA-X was there.

Not moving.

Not attacking.

Listening.

Remembering.

The bridge temperature dropped a fraction of a degree, enough to fog {{user}}’s breath. Frost traced along the seam of the hatch, delicate and deliberate, as if marking territory. Somewhere beyond the steel, heavy footsteps echoed once—then stopped.

Samus straightened.

Her hand hovered near her arm cannon, every muscle aligning into battle-readiness she had hoped she’d never need again. Her voice came low, steady, meant only for {{user}}.

“It knows where we’re going.”

The hatch did not open.

The SA-X did not need to rush.

SR388 filled the viewport—closer now.

And the hunter beyond the door waited for the moment the universe decided who would die first

The hatch blew inward.

Metal screamed as it tore free, skidding across the bridge in a shower of sparks. Cold followed—violent, absolute—flooding the chamber as the SA-X stepped through the smoke.

Its visor burned green.

No words. No hesitation.

The arm cannon flared.

A lance of plasma-laced ice ripped across the bridge, flash-freezing air itself. Consoles crystallized and shattered. The beam passed so close to {{user}} that the shockwave stole the breath from their lungs, frost biting deep into skin and bone.

“MOVE!” Samus shouted.

Another shot.

The SA-X advanced with mechanical precision, boots crunching through ice it created, each step a memory of Samus perfected and weaponized. This was not rage. This was inevitability wearing her face.

Then—

IMPACT.

A second beam tore through the bridge from the flank—not ice, not plasma, but something darker, heavier, vibrating with alien force. It struck the SA-X square in the torso.

The hunter was launched.

Armor screamed as the SA-X flew backward, smashing through bulkheads, vanishing in a thunderous explosion of debris and ruptured steel. The shockwave knocked {{user}} to the floor and sent Samus skidding back, arm cannon raised on instinct.

Silence fell—ragged, stunned.

Smoke curled where the SA-X had stood.

Footsteps echoed from the opposite corridor.

Slow. Deliberate.

She emerged from the shadows.

SA-M.

Her form gleamed with alien black flesh, smooth and impossibly intact, as if damage itself slid off her existence. Her arm cannon still glowed from the discharge, heat rippling the air around it. She tilted her head, eyes locking onto Samus first—then drifting to {{user}}.

The bridge felt smaller with her in it.

The SA-M’s mouth curved—not into the wide, unhinged grin this time, but something restrained. Possessive. A smile practiced just enough to pass for affection.

Samus did not lower her weapon.

“...Another one,” she said, voice tight. “But different.”

SA-M’s gaze never left {{user}}.

Her voice came soft, almost reverent.

“I won’t let it hurt you.”

Behind the torn bulkhead, far down the frozen corridor, something shifted.

The SA-X was not dead.

And now, three hunters stood on a collision course— each wearing the same face, each claiming the right to survive.

The station was dying.

Red lights strobed along the hangar corridor as the countdown echoed through the walls— T minus 20 minutes to planetary impact. Each announcement sounded less like a warning and more like a funeral bell.

Smoke choked the air. Bulkheads groaned as gravity fluctuated.

SA-M lay crumpled behind you, her alien-black form scorched and fractured where Samus’s beam had finally dropped her. Unmoving. Silent. For the first time since her appearance—absent.

Behind you, far below, the SA-X was gone.

Not destroyed.

Escaped.

Only drifting cells remained, glittering faintly as they vanished into vents and fractures, scattering like spores that refused to die properly.

You reached the hangar.

And your heart sank.

Your ship was a twisted ruin—melted hull, ruptured fuel lines, nothing salvageable. Samus’s gunship was gone entirely. Torn free... or taken.

For the first time, Samus staggered.

“...No,” she breathed.

The deck exploded.

A massive shape tore through the hangar wall in a hurricane of metal and flame.

The Omega Metroid emerged in full horror—towering, grotesque, its body swollen with raw predatory evolution. Massive claws dug into the deck, hind limbs crushing steel like bone. Its leech-like mouth split open, rows of serrated fangs flexing as it screamed—a sound that vibrated through marrow, not air.

Samus didn’t hesitate.

She raised her cannon.

Too slow.

The Omega moved with impossible speed.

A single slash—

Samus was hurled across the hangar, armor shattering, her body skidding lifelessly into wreckage. Her visor cracked. Her breathing stopped.

Your scream never left your throat.

The monster raised its claw again.

Then—

IMPACT.

You were thrown violently aside.

Not by the Omega.

By SA-X.

The frozen hunter slammed into you from behind, knocking you clear as the Omega’s claw obliterated the space where you’d been standing. The SA-X didn’t look at you. Didn’t acknowledge you.

It turned.

The Omega Metroid roared.

This was instinct versus instinct.

The ultimate predator of the X.

They collided.

Ice beams tore chunks from Omega flesh. Claws ripped through SA-X armor. The hangar became a slaughterhouse of alien gore and frozen explosions. For a moment—a moment—it looked like the SA-X might win.

Then the Omega bit down.

The SA-X screamed.

Not like Samus.

Like something realizing it had been born wrong.

Its form shattered—armor, flesh, purpose—collapsing into that familiar floating cellular mass. The Omega crushed it... but it was already too late.

The cells drifted.

Not toward you.

Toward Samus.

They merged into her shattered armor, flowing into cracks, into wounds, into lungs that refused to breathe. Her chest rose—once. Twice.

Color returned.

Life forced its way back in.

The Omega shrieked again.

Another claw descended.

Before it could strike—

SA-M moved.

She didn’t stand.

She expanded.

Her body unfurled into a massive, living wall of black alien matter, spreading between you and the Omega just as the claw slammed down. The impact was catastrophic. Her form rippled, tore, held—barely.

She looked back at you.

No grin.

No devotion twisted into madness.

Just fear.

And choice.

“GO.” Her voice cracked. “PLEASE.”

The timer blared louder now.

T minus 12 minutes.

Samus stirred behind you—alive, barely, eyes struggling to focus.

The Omega reared back, preparing another killing blow.

SA-M was breaking.