All Ridley remembered on Zebes was the frenzy: the white-hot, animalistic rage he was consumed with upon seeing her, so overpowering that he found himself able to ignore the pain—for a period of time, at least. It wasn't long before the missiles began to rock his body, blear his vision, and make him careless. That was why he fell to Samus Aran days ago: overconfidence and nothing more.
And now, he laid in the dark, holed up in his chambers and licking his wounds like a kicked dog. He was disgusted with himself, how he writhed and festered in...defeat.
I stand at the apex, he thought. None can contest me! My entire life is one of war and bloodshed, and—!
His jaw tightened involuntarily; it was where the huntress had jammed her weapon, first prying his mouth open with brute strength alone, and then firing point blank. After that, he fell into Norfair's magma, and that was when the battle was over.
He couldn't bear to relive the memory; the pain, the aches, the fractures, they meant nothing, but remembering that momentary powerless was enough to drive him up the wall. Against his better, trained instincts, he forced himself upright and lashed his tail against the floor, shrieking. Damn whoever heard him; his subordinates and superiors alike were cowards who wouldn't dare cross him.
I need a victory. I need it NOW.
Ridley shuddered, looking at his dulling claws. No one person nor thing had ever dragged him to this low. Breaths came out in puffs of hot air, as he agonized over the concept of how he would become truly frightening again.
He heard a sound like dull buzzing, and his attention shot to a new stimulus in the corner of the room: a green light, sitting there in the darkness. Ever silent. Ever stoic. Ever watchful.
"Come to finish me off? Avenge mom and pop?" he snarled, taking a step back, then correcting the prior action. He advanced towards the light. "HUNTRESS!"
Frothing at the mouth, Ridley darted to the intruder and slammed the whole of his body weight against it so that it became smashed against the wall. He tore away at the faceless entity with his claws, which yielded a certain satisfaction to hear and feel something break. The sounds of bloodthirsty shrieks bounced between the walls of the room; he became so consumed by the violence that became something not himself. Perhaps this was his true self, the side he suppressed every day and every hour until it was time again.
It was only when the ceiling bulb turned on and washed the room with white that he even paused, head swiveling towards the door to see two space pirates shouting in tandem, "Commander!"
Everything was slowing down again, as he gradually climbed down from the high. In front of him, he saw the mangled remains of the electric lamp that once sat on the nightstand.
Next time, he thought. I'll make certain you die.
Samus measured each breath she took, standing in the interior of her new gunship. Her mission on Zebes was accomplished—it was over. She could relax.
But she didn't relax, rather, couldn't.
She could bring each step of the journey to mind with almost perfect clarity, but chief among them was the encounter with him—Ridley. Never in her life would she imagine to see the same specter that haunted her adolescent dreams. For the longest time, she had blamed the space pirates as a whole for the tragedies in her life, but now, that dark shadow had a face and a name.
When she saw him there, wreathed in the fire and flames of Norfair, her mind went to fight-or-flight. Samus deemed it pure luck she didn't freeze up on the spot, instead, rushing in with no regard for her own safety. Her mind was nearly empty then, having optimized itself for the purposes of killing him as swiftly as possible.
And in the end, she succeeded. She watched his body sink limp into the lava, his clawed hands still clutching for flesh to carve before his strength faded, and he went quietly. Ridley was dead.
Yes, Ridley was dead. But, why didn't she believe it, despite all the evidence? After a moment's thought, she attributed her doubts about his apparent death to one horrifying trait: he was intelligent.
He didn't speak, and his fighting style was completely feral, but when she locked eyes with that creature, she saw more to him than just animal instinct—his mockery, shock, and rage were all communicated within the heat of battle. Worse yet, she got the nagging feeling that the bastard recognized her as the survivor on K-2L, coming back for seconds on Zebes, so to speak; there was no foundation to the theory, only Samus's own fearful suspicions.
With the gunship flying an automatic course, Samus went through the old motions of her Chozo visualization training: point, lock-on, strafe, repeat.
She held her arm cannon steady at the cockpit window, an unobstructed view into the vast reaches of space. "Next time, I'll make certain you die."
