A violent explosion sent a suit of red and orange powered armor crashing into a metal bulkhead. Sliding down to the floor, the suit then shattered into motes of light, revealing a tall, green-eyed blond in a metallic blue bodysuit. Groaning and hunched over in slight pain, intergalactic bounty hunter Samus Aran opened her eyes to see the two long bangs that framed her face. Grunting at her aches and pains, Samus stood and looked to the source of the explosion.
Samus had been hired anonymously to recover or destroy an experimental wormhole device stolen by the Space Pirates, an insectoid/reptilian race of amoral scavengers, thieves and murderers that plagued the worlds of the Galactic Federation under the leadership of the draconic Ridley. Having tracked down the device to a Space Pirate 'research' vessel, Samus had infiltrated the ship through a combination of stealth and fighting. Eventually, the bounty hunter had found the device. As she had approached it, Samus had been attacked by a hulking Beserker Knight, a mutated hold-out leftover from the Phazon Incident. During the fight, one of the large, crustacean-like creature's energy blasts had impacted directly on the device's exposed control panel. This had caused the device to overload, creating an unstable wormhole.
As the wormhole threatened to pull everything in, Samus locked her left hand, the one not covered by her arm cannon, around a sturdy pipe, while the Berserker had buried its claws into the metal decking. Unfortunately for the Berserker, while it was more or less immune to Samus' power beam, the decking was not. A few well-placed shots, and the decking the Space Pirate was on gave way, sending the Berserker into the unstable wormhole to be torn apart by the fluctuating gravitational forces.
However, Samus was unable to savor her victory for long, as the pipe she was anchored to unexpectedly gave way, leaving the bounty hunter tumbling towards the wormhole. Just as Samus crossed the event horizon, the wormhole imploded, causing the device powering it to explode. Which is what led to Samus' current situation.
Surveying the damage done to the cargo bay, Samus was left in her Zero Suit, a symbiotic bio-mechanical suit of Chozodian origins. A cool air current made Samus look down to see that the left "glove" of her Zero Suit had been stripped away, most likely by the wormhole. No matter. A brief moment of concentration saw the missing piece of the Zero Suit restored as the semi-organic nano-weave responded to the blonde bombshell's intent. Satisfied, Samus re-materialized her Varia suit. A ghostly image of a red and orange armor with large spherical shoulder guards was super-imposed over Samus, only for it to sputter and die.
Samus groaned. This always happened. It seemed that every other mission, something would happen to damage or remove the functionality of her Power Suit and various add-ons. It also had happened to her on nearly every major mission she had accepted from the Galactic Federation too. It was infuriating, because whenever it happened, she had to hunt down a local equivalent to the lost add-ons and abilities, and would inevitably have to fight some large creature or construct just to get it. Fortunately, according to the diagnostics projected upon her mind's eye, it appeared that this time the Power Suit's materialization protocols were just corrupted, something easily solved by returning to her gunship and reinstalling the protocol from her backup data. There was also structural damage caused by the wormhole to the left gauntlet, but that was easily fixed with the nano-forge. Drawing her trusty paralyzer, Samus began to carefully make her way back to her ship. Good thing it hadn't been destroyed like that time on Zebes.
She sighed.
Adam was not going to be happy.
The Elemental Nations is best described as a cesspool of paranoia and distrust. It is a land dominated by shinobi, mercenaries who accept pay from the highest bidders. Though ostensibly power lies in the hands of each country's Daimyo, their feudal lord, the true reins of power lie with the kage, the shadows, the leaders of a country's main ninja village. There are many shadows, but there are only five Kage. One from each of the five great nations: Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, and Lightning. Each of these great nations, though powerful in their own right, only hold their power thanks to the strength of their Hidden Villages: Konohagakure, Kirigakure, Iwagakure, Sunagakure, and Kumogakure no Sato, the Villages Hidden in the Leaves, Mist, Rock, Sand, and Clouds, respectively. Led by the Hokage, Mizukage, Tsuchikage, Kazekage, and Raikage, the five Great Villages, and by extension the five Great Nations, do whatever it takes to stay in power.
There is no good or bad in the Elemental Nations. No right or wrong. There is only what is considered acceptable in order to maintain control. In Iwagakure, only the strong survive, and in Kirigakure, being different from your neighbor can be a death sentence. However, of the five Great Villages, Konohagakure is perhaps the most moral. Considered soft by other nations, even by its tentative allies, Konohagakure is perhaps the only place where a civilian can live near shinobi and not have to live in fear. It is a place of great freedoms, progressive, one could say, where civil liberties are a right, and not a privilege.
However, where the light shines brightest, the deepest shadows are cast. On the outskirts of Konohagakure—or at least those that the tourists and mission clients did not frequent—were several rundown slums, full of the disadvantaged, homeless, and orphaned. However, none had it quite as bad as one orphan girl.
Naruko Uzumaki was a slip of a girl. She was an orphan, had been her entire life, all five years of it. With sunny blonde hair, a trio of whisker-like birthmarks on both cheeks, and the brightest sky-blue eyes you have ever seen, she should have been adopted years ago. Instead, she was shunned by all she met—cursed and spat upon for reasons she did not understand—save for the other lifelong members of the slums. Kicked out of the orphanage at the edge of the slums, Naruko was forced to eke out a living on what others threw away, both for sustenance and comfort.
Currently, she was digging through the dumpster by the cardboard refrigerator box she had claimed as her own, dressed in what ratty clothing she had managed to salvage from other waste bins and dumpsters.
Naruko sighed. So far, this dumpster was a bust. Nothing but potato peels and plastic wrapping. As she turned away to go however, something caught her eye. There, hiding under a soiled dishrag, was a metallic-blue left-hand glove. On the back, it had a pink sigil made of four rounded rectangles arraigned in a diamond that seemed to glow with an inner light. Entranced, Naruko reached out for the slightly torn glove, only to wrench her hand back with a hiss of pain as she caught her hand on the jagged edge of the dumpster. A long, ragged gash ran down the side of her left hand, almost from pinky to wrist, weaping blood and already starting to swell. Naruko did not cry nor did she whimper at the pain. She was long since past that. Holding her bloodied left hand close to her chest, Naruko carefully reached back into the dumpster and fished out the glove.
Looking at the glove, Naruko couldn't understand just why someone would just throw away such a nice glove, even if it was torn up. Glancing at her bleeding hand with a wince, Naruko tore a strip off her ragged shirt and wrapped it tightly around her hand as a makeshift bandage. Then, to hopefully keep dirt out of the weeping wound, she slipped the glove on over the bandage, unmindful of the blood that soaked through into the glove. Cradling her throbbing hand, Naruko crawled into her box, trying not to think of possible infection as she fell into a fitful sleep.
The first thing that went through Naruko's mind when she next opened her eyes, was that this wasn't her box. Indeed, instead of cardboard walls, Naruko found herself standing in a featureless white void. Turning in place, Naruko marveled at the sight that stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Startled, Naruko spun around. There, where there was nothing a moment before, was what seemed to the girl to be a bird-headed man in ornate, purple armor with large, spherical shoulder guards. His hawk-like face with its black feathers streaked with grey was impassive, but not to the point of uncaring. The bird-man continued to speak as he stared straight ahead into the white void, his hands clasped behind him. His voice was mellifluous, deep and strong, but laden with sorrows and hard-earned wisdom. "The sapient mind has always fascinated me, no matter the species. How fragile it is, and yet can weather what should destroy it."
For a long moment, Naruko was unable to speak or move. The stranger had a presence to him, a stern countenance not unlike that of a strict father or a particularly prickly drill sergeant: you spoke when spoken to, or not at all. Finally, though, the silence stretched on until it became oppressive, and Naruko felt compelled to speak. "Who—who are you?"
"I was once a master artificer of the Chozo. However, my name was lost to me through my own folly. Now, I am only known as the Exile. However, the real question is," the bird-man snapped his head around to stare at Naruko. "How did you come to possess an artifact of the Chozo?"
Naruko blinked. "A who of the what?"
The Exile sighed. "Where did you get that glove?"
"Oh." Naruko pointed off to the side, forgetting for a moment that they were in a featureless void. "I found it in the dumpster."
"The…dumpster?" The Exile's expression was nothing less than incredulous. "You found one of our greatest…"
The Exile trailed off, head cocking to one side as he stared at the glove. Grabbing Naruko by the wrist, he began to examine the glove in detail, muttering to himself as he did. "Fascinating. Tachyon residue, indicative of trans-dimensional transit. Some carbon scoring…Hmm, data network is still functional. Let's see."
The Exile pressed the glowing sigil on the back of the glove, and Naruko watched in amazement as dozens of small, floating panes of orange light filled the air, unfamiliar script and numbers scrolling across them. The Exile let go of Naruko's hand and began to scan and manipulate the orange windows with each 3-fingered talon. As the Exile continued muttering to himself, a window floated by Naruko, prompting her to grab it. She stared at the meaningless squiggles interspersed with blocks of distorted and fragmented squares. To her surprise and wonder, the foreign script began to flow together before coalescing into recognizable figures, though much remained illegible. Naruko began to sound out the syllables as she read them out loud.
"Cho-zo Bat-tle Suit Ver.—Ver?—SA1-4468-VM6-P?"
The Exile froze, glowing orange panels floating at the tips of his outstretched talons. Slowly, he turned his gaze to Naruko as she continued to read from the panel in her hands. "Morph ball standby. Bomb soo...soe—suite standby. Pow-power beam standby. Mis-sile launch-er offline. Ar-mor in-te-gri-ty seven…what does % mean?"
"Percent." Naruko looked up to see the bird-man—the Chozo staring at her strangely. Taking the glowing panel from her, the Exile glanced over the read-out. Though most of the data was corrupted and unreadable—for now—there were several status reports that were available, all of which Naruko had read perfectly, if not stiltingly. Thing was, while he had been speaking in Elemental, learned over his long, long exile to this realm, the windows and readouts were all transcribed in Zebesian, a dialect of the Chozo language. But how could this human…?
Wait. The Exile looked at the glove on the young girl's hand. The suit originated from Zebes, so it was a given that Zebesian would be a default language. It was obviously made for a human or similar bipedal female, but only a Chozo could use Chozodian technology reliably. Therefore, there was no reason for a suit to be made for a human, unless…The Exile dragged a glowing window displaying a double helix before his face. What he found was nothing short of ingenious, Chozo qDNA spliced flawlessly over non-coding regions of human DNA, granting the strength, durability and longevity of the bird-like race.
It still didn't answer how this slip of a girl before him could even begin to use Chozo military technology. There was no way for her to have Chozo DNA. There had to be some reasonable…The Exile froze as the DNA map caught his eye. He looked closer. There, in the middle of the sequence shown, was synthetic DNA, building blocks to the ultimate warrior:
"Metroid."
The perfect hunter, designed to hunt down a terrible shapeshifting parasite, though it could and did hunt other prey, draining the life out of the victim until it was no more than a dried out husk. Why had Metroid genes been grafted onto this human? Had she come across the parasite? Had containment failed?
The Exile shook his head. There was nothing he could do about it, not where he was. Whatever the reason for the Metroid DNA, its addition was sloppy, at least compared to the results of Chozo gene therapies. The genes of the children were most likely injected while paired with a mutagen or retro-virus. Crude and blunt, compared to the almost mystical techniques of the Chozo.
A groan caught the Exile's attention. Turning, the Chozo saw the little blonde human, who he had honestly forgot about while pondering the mysteries of this "Samus Aran."
Naruko swayed on her feet. Her skin was pale and clammy, her eyes almost vacant. "I—I don' feel sho gud…"
Slurring her words, Naruko collapsed, dark blood flowing from her nose to stain the pure white of the void red.
Concerned, the Exile knelt beside the girl, deploying a high-tech monocle over his right eye. A push of a button sent a beam of light travelling over the prone blonde. Shortly thereafter, a human outline with a red damage indicator on the left hand appeared as data began to flow across the monocle.
[Subject: Naruko Uzumaki
Age: Approx. 5 local cycles
Height: 3'3"
Weight: 30 lbs
Subject is suffering from long-term malnutrition. Deep-tissue scans reveal subject is in a state of genetic flux. Chozo and Metroid genetic sequences are running rampant. Genetic instability originates on subject's left hand.
Warning: Subject is a Jinchuuriki. Jinchuuriki seal weakening. Action recommended.]
The Exile was thunderstruck. This girl held one of the Nine, and it was obviously trying to escape. The Chozo's mind whirled. Somehow, most likely, the beast had gained access to the genetic code stored in the remnants of the zero suit, possibly through skin cells on the 'glove' contaminating the injury on the girl's left hand. Whatever the case may be, the beast had managed to reactivate the dormant Metroid retrovirus, which was now spreading unabated through Naruko like a cancer. There was no way to stop it.
The Exile snarled. He may not be able to stop or kill the retrovirus, but he could guide it. He held his talons before him, a foot and a half apart. "Activate bio-manipulation field." Green tendrils of captive lightning jumped between his armored talons. With a deep breath, the Exile went to work, fixing what was already done and guiding the changes to come.
In the real world, Naruko was in a sterile hospital room, dressed in a white paper gown. She lay on a gurney, various IV lines and monitor leads attaching her to a variety of beeping and humming machines. At the foot of her bed stood a doctor and an old man in red and white robes and a flat, conical hat with a diamond base. The old man spoke first, his voice firm but gentle, with a hidden strength behind his words that spoke of hard-won wisdom.
"How is she?"
The doctor, one of the few that could be trusted to be alone with Naruko, shook her head. "Not well. It's good that your agent found her when he did. Any later, and there wouldn't have been anything I could have done."
"What's wrong with her?"
The doctor checked the monitors as she responded. "If I had to make a guess, I'd say it was a bloodline activating wrong. It's not quite that, but it's the closest diagnosis I can come to."
The old man frowned. "What was the cause?"
"It could be anything. Genetics, infection, chemical or radiological exposure, even IT."
"Is there anything you can do?"
The doctor shook her head. "No. I can stabilize her, make her comfortable, but I'm no Tsunade Senju. All we can do is hope and pray that it doesn't kill her." The doctor checked her watch. "Excuse me, Lord Hokage, I have more patients to check on."
For a long while, the old man stood there, staring down upon the unconscious girl. Finally, the old man turned to a previous unseen figure in a shapeless cloak and porcelain dog mask. "Double the guard. I do not want Danzo or his goons anywhere near this room."
The cloaked figure bowed and disappeared in a swirl of wind and leaves. The old man sat wearily in a chair, his age exaggerated by his concern. "Hang in there Naruko."
The green glow faded, leaving the void white once more. The Exile stood, stretching out his neck as he did. His job was done: the retrovirus had run its course, and was once again dormant. It had burnt itself out and was now no more than particles of free floating RNA fragments.
The Exile looked down upon the unconscious Naruko. "You face many hardships ahead of you, hatchling. I do not envy you. Your life will be interesting, whether you like it or not." The Exile turned and began to walk away. As he went, he began to slowly dissolve into mist from the ground-up.
"Stand strong, young Chozo. We shall meet again soon."
The first thing that went through Naruko's mind when she opened her eyes to see a white ceiling was that this wasn't her box either. The second thing to go through her head was that she hurt all over, and that the constant beeps keeping time with her heart was really annoying. Groaning, the blonde began to take in her surroundings. Turning her head, she saw a kindly looking old man with a neat grey goatee and red robes and hat sitting in one of the padded chairs.
The old man smiled at her. "Hello, child. My name is Hiruzen Sarutobi."
AN: I'm back, baby! Hello all, it is good to be writing once more. A big heartfelt thank you to everyone who sent condolences about my Grandfather. They really helped my mood improve from my bout of depression. I am sorry that I haven't posted any updates for anything else yet. I had finals, and then once I got home, a lot of time was spent emptying my grandparents' house, getting it ready for market, and making sure grandma is situated ok in the retirement home.
That, and my muse decided to up and wander off, before it came back, bopped me over the head with a brick and proceeded to mug me.
Now, about this story. I took inspiration from LawrenceSnake's works concerning the Zero Suit being a symbiont, and felt it was perfect for what I have in mind.
The Berserker Knight is a very big, crab-like Space Pirate mutated by phazon. I figured that, even though all phazon was destroyed along with Phaaze, any mutations caused by phazon would remain. Ergo, there would be remnants of these mutants that the Space Pirates wouldn't hesitate to use, but there wouldn't be any new ones made due to a lack of phazon.
In having Naruko cut her hand, I decided that: open wound + skin cells on Zero Suit 'glove' + eldritch sentient chakra looking for freedom=said sentient chakra using the remnants of "Vaccine Metroid" in Samus' genetic code to try and kill Naruko, thus freeing it. I'll be explaining this more later.
As for Samus, this fic, or at least the prologue, takes place after the events of 'Fusion.' I left it up in the air as to whether or not Samus' is back in the Federation's good graces, because honestly, Capcom hasn't decided what happens next yet.
Anywho, if y'all have any questions, just leave it in a review.
Enjoy!
Guardsman Sparky out!