60AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END OF THE STORY
A forewarning about content in this- theres gore, blood, swearing; all that loveliness. Don't read on if that type of stuff makes you queasy.
Metroid: Rise from Darkness
By Syntax
Black.
Darkness.
Swimming in a place that you're not sure is real. Everything is surreal, everything in shades of gray. Lines are blurred into one another, melding all that is into a single unit. You try to move, but you are losing shape, fusing with that single unit. You fight- try to escape. It only becomes worse, and your thoughts drift into bleakness, your mind is slowly being twisted into itself.
Light.
Blinding, blazing, it hurts your eyes, makes your pupils burst into the whites as they slowly turn to jelly. It burns everything, and you try to turn away, but the light is everywhere. Blurred lines become jagged sharpness that rip you apart, and your brain is slammed back into your skull, shattering it into pieces. Shards of bone spill onto the ground that isn't there, and all you can think of is how much it hurts, and god, when will it stop?
She screamed.
The hoarse cry of pure terror echoed off the walls, and she shot up out of bed, screaming still as the few remnants of the dream clung to her. She raised her hands to still the voice that would not stop, and took in ragged breathes of recycled air. Swinging her legs off the side of her bed, she stumbled to the bathroom, splashing some cool water onto her burning skin, and slowly leaned forward, resting her forehead on the mirror. She opened her eyes to see two identical azure orbs staring right back. They were absorbing, frightening, hypnotizing almost in their intensity, and she brushed an errant strand of blonde hair that had fallen into her view.
Samus closed her eyes again, not wanting to look at the terrified eyes of the woman before her. She was afraid of a nightmare. Samus had no feelings, no emotions. Samus Aran did not get frightened. She did.
Samus hated her.
With a cry of anger, Samus punched the mirror, shattering the glass into a web like pattern that spread outward. She stared at her fist in a strange awe as blood trickled down her knuckles and onto the white ceramic of the sink. Small pieces of glass stuck out of the bone, and she systematically picked them out one by one, dropping them on the floor. Grabbing a shirt that lay nearby, she ripped a long stretch of fabric, wrapping it around the injured fist in an almost methodical way. She felt drained. Samus felt renewed.