“Samus, are you okay?” the voice crackled over the intercom. It was a stark contrast to the silence that had filled the metal chamber for hours. Samus groaned, the cold seeping through her zero suit. She tugged at the handcuffs biting into her wrists, the chain rattling against the floor of the transport unit. Her legs, bound by the heavy leg irons, made even the slightest movement a struggle. The belly chain, attached to both the cuffs and the irons, kept her in a perpetual hunch.
The windows, thick and unbreakable, offered a bleak view of the alien landscape zooming by. The occasional flicker of artificial light pierced the dark, revealing a world she knew to be unforgiving. Her eyes narrowed, focusing on a distant point that grew larger with every passing second. A facility, sprawling and foreboding, emerged from the gloom.
“Prepare for arrival,” the robotic voice announced. The transport unit’s engines whined, a prelude to the touchdown that would come all too soon. Samus’s heart pounded in her chest. Despite the cold steel biting into her skin, a bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. She had no idea why she was being taken here or who had her in their clutches. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the events that led to this moment.
The last thing she remembered was her mission on Tallon IV. She had been investigating reports of Phazon activity, her suit’s sensors buzzing with alerts. Then, everything went black. When she awoke, she was in this prison, her legendary power suit stripped away, leaving only the zero suit to cling to her body like a second skin. Who could have done this? Who would dare? The Galactic Federation? Space pirates? Or perhaps something far more sinister?
As the transport unit rolled into the bustling city, the lights grew brighter, casting stark shadows across the interior. The murmur of distant voices and the cacophony of futuristic vehicles grew louder, seeping through the armored walls. Samus squinted, her eyes straining to catch a glimpse of her new surroundings. The buildings grew closer, towering monoliths of steel and neon that loomed over the narrow streets. She could feel the vibrations of the city’s life through the metal floor beneath her. The prison had a life of its own, a grim testament to the civilization that had built it.
The voice crackled over the intercom again, “Samus Aran, your journey is at an end. Prepare for processing.” A chill ran down her spine. Processing? What did that mean? The voice was devoid of any humanity, a cold, mechanical drone that held no comfort. She tried to call out, to demand answers, but her throat was dry, her voice a mere whisper. The handcuffs dug deeper into her wrists as she strained against them, the effort futile.
The vehicle jolted to a stop, the engines powering down with a hiss. The doors slid open, revealing an empty hallway, lit by flickering emergency lights. The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant and something else, something faintly metallic and unnerving. She could hear the distant echo of footsteps, the occasional beep of machinery, but there was no sign of her captors. The hallway stretched before her, a cold, sterile corridor lined with unmarked doors. It was eerily silent, as if the very walls held their breath in anticipation of what was to come.
With a clank, the belly chain grew taut, pulling her to her feet. The handcuffs dug into her wrists as she stumbled out of the transport, her legs heavy with the weight of the leg irons. Samus took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she was led, not by human hands, but by an invisible force that seemed to emanate from the chain itself. The zero suit hugged her body tightly, providing little comfort as she took her first steps down the hall.
The glass room at the end grew closer, its transparent walls reflecting the cold, unfeeling lights above. She could see her own distorted reflection, a warrior in chains, as she was pushed towards it. The room was sterile, filled with unidentifiable equipment and screens that flickered with cryptic symbols. There was a chair in the center, the same gleaming silver as the rest of the room’s furnishings. It was bolted to the floor, and she knew without a doubt that it was for her.
With a final, cruel jerk, the belly chain connected to the chair’s frame. The handcuffs unlocked and reattached themselves to the chair’s arms, the leg irons clamping around the chair’s legs with a metallic click. She was now securely fastened, unable to do anything but wait and observe. The robotic voice echoed once more, “Containment protocol initiated. Welcome to your new home, Samus Aran.” The door slammed shut with a finality that resonated through her bones.
