A hatch creaked open atop a tall metal building and a man hefting a heavy bag emerged into the open air. He looked out over the city, breathing in the mix of fresh air and exhaust. He felt the heat of the sun on his face in the clear morning. Tall metal buildings rose into the air around him, mixed with shorted ones designed in ancient styles. Only a block or so away, the city came to an abrupt end at the coast to a vast ocean. This was New Tarangar, capitol of H-9B.

H-9B was an out of the way planet, only inhabited by the Federation for a few decades. It was the only planet in the solar system they had colonized, and as such had not yet been given a proper name.

The man didn't care about any of that. He didn't know about the history of the planet or the importance of its location. It was almost amusing really. If he'd known that, he would have known why he was there that day. But he didn't.

He walked to the edge of the roof and crouched behind the upraised lip. He looked over the edge and down to another building. This one was round and squat, with a large open area surrounding it consisting of stone paths and grass. Most of that area was covered in crowds of people, held back from the front of the building by a police line and holographic barriers. This was the cultural center for the city, and the more direct reason he was here. He unzipped his bag and pulled out a metal case.

He unlocked the case and opened it. Sitting inside were the components to a sniper rifle. It was an older model, but the dealer had assured him that the model's pseudo-rail cannon design would be more than sufficient for the task. He had taken her at her word and bought the weapon. He was relatively new to the assassin business, but what he had done he'd done well. This hit would be the one to put him on the map. He allowed fantasies of being compared to the greatest assassins and bounty hunters to race through his head for a moment before shaking it off.

Having finished assembling the weapon, he flipped out the stand and rested it on the lip of the roof. An anti-glare coating covered the weapon, preventing it from reflecting sunlight. Not that it really mattered, what with all the metal around him doing that very thing. He pressed his eye to the scope and zoomed in. It was almost time.

Threll stood unhappily in front of the cultural center. The fin on the top of his head slowly opened and closed as he controlled his temper. His species was not accustomed to hot environments, and he himself was not particularly fond of standing out in the sun for over an hour. He pressed a button on his wrist and small sprayers built into the aquabreather around his neck misted his head with water.

If he had to guess, he'd say that he'd been assigned this job because the city was next to an ocean. His secondary eyelids twitched over his eyes in annoyance. One of the best negotiators in the Federation, a group composed of dozens of space faring races, and they still resorted to stereotyping. All the ocean did was make him even more aware of how much cooler he would be if he was there instead of here.

"The representatives are almost here." His aide said from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone. His aide stood there, dressed in what he assumed was human formal attire. Behind her stood a pair of guards in full combat suits, though their rifles had been replaced with non-lethal stun pistols for the meet. He envied them for their environmentally sealed armor.

"Thank you Maria." He said, grateful for the impending escape from the heat.

The corners of her mouth twitched upward in what he knew to be an expression of amusement. Apparently the way he pronounced her name was 'funny'. He'd considered asking for a replacement aide, but Maria was one of the best. Even if he was incapacitated, she was skilled enough to negotiate in his place. Besides, he thought it was amusing the way she pronounced his name, so it was fair.

A pair of long hover cars soon pulled up in front of him, banking to land in the area held clear of crowds. He straightened himself, resolving to not betray his discomfort. The one in front opened its side doors and the first representative emerged. He was a Draveen, one of the races involved in the conflict. He was a little shorter than Threll, with robes formed of multicolored strips of cloth flowing around him. The robes were meant to represent how many different things could come together to form a greater whole. He blinked his eyes to adjust to the light, but his face remained still and calm. Two more of the same species emerged from the car to flank him. Now composed, they began to walk solemnly towards Threll.

Meanwhile, the door to the other car opened and the other representative emerged. This was the representative of the Hrun'da, the enemies of the Draveen. He rose to his full height, towering over everyone else there. Unlike the other's colorful robes, he wore only a short shendyt wrapped around his waist and a cape made from the hide of some reptilian beast. While some may have thought the clothing improper for an official meeting, Threll understood it to be a declaration of trust. By coming dressed as such, bare of clothing that could hide weapons or armor, it was a display of complete trust. The car creaked as another emerged, even taller than the first. They strode purposely towards Threll, moving faster than the other group. The other delegates didn't show any response, but they did increase their pace to try and match their speed.

Threll watched patiently as the two groups moved towards him. Clearly there was some resentment, but that was why he was here after all. He spread his arms in welcome as they neared him.

"On the behalf of the Galactic Federation," he said warmly, "I offer you-"

He didn't get to finish as a loud crack filled the air. Any further noise was muffled as the crowds began to scream. Threll flinched at the noise, ducking into a half crouch. He frantically checked the delegates, but they seemed to be fine. A thud from behind him caught his attention. He turned to see Maria had fallen to the ground, face going white as she clutched her side. Red liquid began to pour from between her fingers.

"Maria!" he gasped.

He moved to help her, but one of the guards grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards the building. "Sir, we have to get you to safety!" The other guard grabbed Maria under the arms and began to drag her along with them.

Another shot rang out. The hrun'da delegate roared as it tore through his shoulder, spraying the ground with blue-green blood. The delegates followed the Federation representatives towards the building. The Hrun'da quickly outpaced the Draveen, closing the distance in seconds. One of the Draveen screamed as another shot took him in the leg, but his compatriots left him behind in their scramble to escape.

The diplomats made it to the shelter of the building, rushing through the doors. The diplomats rushed farther into the room, seeking shelter form windows that may give the sniper line of sight. The troopers who had lined the room ran to help them. Two grabbed Maria to carry her, while a third retrieved a medkit. One of the fully armored troopers ran back outside to retrieve the fallen diplomat as more shots smashed into the windows and cratered the floor.

"We have a shooter on the roof!" One of Threll's bodyguards yelled into the comms, "All units, flush him out and take him down! Any means!"

The sniper cursed and hit the roof. That lying piece of shit! The gun had great penetration, he'd seen it go right through one of the aliens, but the accuracy was terrible. He made a mental note to kill the weapons dealer later. He started to unscrew the elongated barrel, but reconsidered and threw it off the roof. It would be a good weapon to fight his way out, but the best option now was to hide.

That option was abruptly taken from him as a Federation dropship roared into view. How did he not notice that! Could they turn invisible or something? He ran for the hatch, hoping to get inside before they could see him. There were a lot of rooftops, surely they couldn't find him out of all of them.

A spotlight snapped on, centered on him. It didn't serve a purpose in broad daylight, but it got the message across. 'We see you'.

"Attention criminal," a voice blared from the ship's speakers, "Surrender and you will not be harmed."

He threw the hatch pen and jumped inside. He quickly grabbed the hatch and pulled it shut, slapping a piece of welding tape on the seam. The tape hissed as it was activated and began to melt the metal together. The assassin ran down the narrow hall towards the stairwell. They could lock down the elevator, but stairs…

The hatch exploded behind him as a breaching charge went off. He looked over his shoulder to see a Federation trooper drop down into the hallway. The trooper was already rising his rifle out aim at him.

The assassin pulled out his pistol and fired blindly backwards. It was a smaller model and probably wouldn't be enough to breach the armor, but it served the purpose of making the soldier hesitate. By then he was through the door, slamming it shut and slapping another piece of tape down.

He rushed down the stairs as bullets punched through the flimsy metal of the door. He took the steps three at a time, checking the charge on his pistol. Only a few shots and it was already a quarter dry. Above him, the door exploded. He cursed to himself as a squad of troopers rushed through the smoldering doorway. There was no way they tried the door first. Was that just how they entered rooms?

He was only two floors down, not nearly far enough. Half the troopers split off to chase after him while the others leaned over the railing and opened fire. He swore and pushed himself closer to the wall. He reassured himself with the thought that they probably couldn't get a clean shot from that angle, the drawback of kinetic weapons. Above him, one of the troopers realized the same thing. Unlike the assassin, she knew a solution.

The assassin hurried across a landing when the stairs in front of him exploded. He skidded to a stop as he realized a large chunk of the stairs was gone. Above him, the trooper reloaded the underslung grenade launcher on her rifle and fired again. Another explosion sounded as the gap widened.

The assassin gave up on thoughts of jumping the gap and shouldered through the door on the landing, not bothering to seal it this time. He ran down another hall, this one lined with doors and room numbers. Behind him, the door opened with the customary explosion.

Heads poked out of the doors around him at the noise. They were quickly withdrawn as the assassin opened fire with his pistol. The troopers returned fire, spraying high velocity rounds down the hall. The assassin cried out as bullets punched through his leg.

As he collapsed to the ground, the troopers advanced on him. Several stood back and covered him as he tried to crawl away while one advanced towards him.

"Listen to me." the trooper said as he slung his weapon onto his back. He kicked the pistol away from the assassin's hand and rolled him onto his back. The assassin groaned and held his stomach, something clenched in his fist. "We're going to get you medical attention. Just stay calm and-"

He stopped talking as he realized what the assassin was holding. "Grenade!"

The trooper turned and ran down the hall as his squad mates followed suit. Realizing his chance was rapidly slipping away, the assassin hurtled the grenade after them. Wounded and half delirious, it didn't go as far as he planned.

The grenade detonated, filling the hall with a fireball. The wall paper turned to ash in seconds, the metal beneath warping from the heat. The trooper who had checked on him was the closest, fire scorching his armor. The assassin's last thought before the blast consumed him was that he may not have been as good as he thought he was.

The trooper's walked carefully down the hall, wary of the possibility that the floor may collapse. The trooper who had checked the assassin groaned and pushed himself up from the floor.

"I'm fine." He said briskly, pushing aside the hands that tried to pull him to his feet. He pulled a painkiller syringe from his belt and jammed it into the injection port on his armor. "Someone contact command. We just lost our only lead."

Threll sighed as he looked around the room. Maria lay to one side, paramedics clustered over her. Apparently the shot had grazed some organs, but she was expected to make a full recovery. If he knew her, she'd insist to be allowed to work before the doctors cleared her.

The diplomats weren't as wounded, but were worse in some ways. The Hrun'da ambassador stood with a bandage wrapped around one shoulder, awaiting transport to a more comprehensive facility. It had taken so long to easy aggression from the race. For them to be betrayed after such a display of trust…

Threll shook his head. The ambassador had agreed to the summit in the first place. Hopefully he wouldn't withdraw because of one incident. The possibility seemed unlikely. From their talks, the ambassador wanted peace. He wouldn't jeopardize that so quickly. The ambassador's compatriot didn't seem as understanding. She circled the wounded ambassador, putting herself between him and anyone who approached.

Threll turned towards the Draveen. They stood in the corner, clustered together around their leader. The wounded one leaned heavily on the wall, but refused to let himself rest while he thought his leader may be in danger. The Draveen were less of a problem. Their culture emphasized forgiveness and empathy. Hopefully this would extend to years old enemies when suspected of assassination attempts.

He sighed and hung his head. Months of negotiation with both sides to bring them to the table may all go to waste now. And there was always the possibility that there would be more assassins. Assassins who wouldn't fail.

He raised his head as an idea came to him. He waved over the leader of the guards, who was currently standing along the wall and watching the window.

"Yes sir?" the guard said as he walked over.

Threll stood up to look him in the eye. "Tell me what I should do."

"Excuse me sir?" the guard said, taken aback.

"You heard me."

"Um, well," the guard said uncertainly, "I'm not sure what to do. You're the diplomat here."

Threll waved a hand. "Not that," He said, "About the assassin. We designed this meeting to be acceptable by two radically different cultures, but we overrode security concerns to do so. Cultural sensitivity won't mean anything if the delegates never get there. You're the one who knows what to do about security, so what should we do to protect them?"

The guard was quiet as he thought. "Well," he said as he remembered a piece of tabloid gossip he'd read, "I'll tell you one thing we should definitely do."

Music leaked out of the worn sides of the Spider Bar. Most of the sign had broken years ago, now declaring the building to be the 'Sie a'. Inside wasn't much better. Several of the booths were broken and the tables looked like the only cleaning they got was when a patron spilled water on them. The bar would have shut down years ago if everyone didn't know that the money went into the booze instead of repairs. The Spider Bar had the best drinks in the city and had the client base to prove it.

It was packed tonight, with over two dozen species represented among them. Some clustered in booths, some at the bar, and some around an old game table crammed in the corner. One human woman dressed in a form fitting blue flight suit sat at the bar, nursing a drink.

Samus hunched over the bar rested on her elbows. One hand held a half empty bottle of alcohol, while the other held a thumb sized holodisplay. A small square was projected into the air in front of her, displaying an image she'd taken years ago.

It showed Rundas standing next to her younger self dressed in her old power suit. Between them stood an unhappy Vos, its arms cuffed behind it. The two hunters held the criminal by the elbows, forcing it to stay in the picture. She'd taken the holo after she'd first met Rundas. They'd both been hunting the Vos, clashing several times and letting it escape just so the other wouldn't get it.

Eventually they cornered it on a public shuttle. Rather than let them capture it, the Vos had set off explosives in the shuttle as a distraction while it escaped with a grav-pack. Samus had rushed to save the passengers, cursing the Vos for letting the Phrygisian get the bounty. But Rundas had surprised her, going with her to save the civilians.

She'd asked him about it later. The selfless action had seemed out of character for the cocky hunter she'd seen before. He'd stayed uncharacteristically quiet before answering. "Justice is just revenge by proxy," He'd said, "I don't want to be responsible for any more."

They caught the Vos less than an hour later, putting aside their differences out of anger towards it. She split the bounty with him, starting their years long friendship. Neither of them liked working with others, but worked with each other occasionally.

Samus took another swig of alcohol as she thought about her friend and thumbed a button on the side of the projector. The image changed into one of Ghor standing before a crowd of small child, handing one a credit chip.
Samus had received news of a colony going dark after cashing a bounty. She'd immediately set a new course, not willing to let another colony go the way of K-2L. She'd arrived to find a burning pirate ship and Ghor talking with the leader of the colony.

She'd watched as he not only turned down reward money, but gave the colonists money to help them fund the rebuilding. Samus had taken the picture as he began to hand out money and trinkets to the children, then left before anyone could see her.

Samus didn't know Ghor as well as Rundas, but she knew that the galaxy was less for his passing. She took another drink and changed the image again. It showed Samus, standing stock still and fuming, while Gandrayda threw an arm around her shoulders. Samus had taken this image from a bystander, wiping it from the original device in the process.

Her initial meeting with Gandrayda had gone similarly to that of Rundas. Unlike that, they didn't unite at the end of their conflict. Samus had thoroughly thrashed her and collected the bounty. Gandrayda had predictably declared a rivalry, refusing to drop her amiable behavior the whole time.

From their interactions, Samus considered Gandrayda immature, cocky, impulsive, and downright irritating. She also knew that she would eventually grow past that. Samus had been much the same way in her early years before learning some hard lessons. Once Gandrayda learned those, there would have been a good chance that she would become one of the bets.

Samus sighed and the imaged changed back to the one with Rundas. They were all dead now. Rundas, Ghor, Gandrayda, all gone. She cursed to herself as she remembered the laughter of her duplicate as the Phazon wraith killed them and absorbed them into herself. Samus had avenged them, destroying Dark Samus and Phaaze itself, but that wouldn't bring them back.

The stool next to her creaked as man lowered himself into it. "Hey there beautiful." He said, shooting her a wide grin.

"Not interested." Samus said, taking another drink.

His smile flattered. "Oh come on," he said, "Didn't you come here looking for a good time?"

"I came here to get drunk," Samus said, "And even then, the answer would be no."

The man frowned and put a hand on her arm. She shot him a glare that would have made a space pirate falter. "Remove your hand from my arm," She said quietly, "Or I remove it from yours."

The man dropped the smile. "I don't think so." His other hand dropped to a small pistol sticking out of his pocket.

Samus raised an eyebrow. "Threatening violence? I'm sure all the ladies love that one."

She let go of the bottle and attacked. Her elbow swung back, cracking into his throat. His eyes bulged and he gasped for air as Samus grabbed his hair and pulled his head down, slamming his forehead into the counter. Before the sound of the impact faded from the air, Samus pulled his head back up and turned her body, swinging around her other fist.

The blow slammed into the man, tossing him backwards off his chair onto the ground. The bar went quiet as everyone looked at the man twitch on the floor, then lay still. Slowly, their gaze moved to Samus. As with all places that mixed severely conflicting ideologies and alcohol, there was an undercurrent of violence in the air just waiting to be set off. Behind her, the bartender reached under the counter for his gun in case things got bloody.

"He was asking for it." Samus said calmly, daring anyone to disagree with her. After a few moments, the other occupants of the bar began to turn back to their original business. The conversation slowly rekindled as the patrons picked up their conversations without hesitation.

Samus turned back to the bar and grabbed her drink. Not a moment later, someone sat down on the barstool next to her. "Oh for the love of…" she muttered, "Didn't you see what happened to the last guy? I'm not interested!"

"Well I'm not a guy." the woman sitting next to her said. "Caroline Soriano, at your service."

Samus rolled her eyes. "Still not interested."

"Oh!" Caroline said, "No, that's not what I… I was just trying to play off the…"

Samus shot her a look. Well dressed, short clipped brown hair, short fingernails. And was she blushing?

"Well you aren't here for drinks." Samus commented.

Caroline blinked. "How did you…"

"Short hair and finger nails, military regulation." Samus commented. "And the clothing is a bit too fancy for getting a drink."

"Oh." Caroline said. "I thought the gun gave it away." She patted a bulge under her ribcage for emphasis.

Samus shrugged and took another drink. "No, that makes sense in this part of town. I doubt anyone here is unarmed."

Caroline cast a nervous glance around the room. "Well, anyways," she said, trying to take control of the conversation, "I'm actually here for you."

"I already said I'm not interested, and I don't need a sidekick."

"I meant for a job."

Samus sighed and put the nearly empty bottle down. "Really? Why'd they send you? No offense, but you aren't really the most… authoritative messenger."

Caroline hesitated. "They thought someone less serious would have a better chance of getting you to agree. After recent events…" She looked at the bottle of alcohol. "They didn't want someone who barked orders to remind you of that."

"Mmhmm." Samus hummed. "You volunteered didn't you?"

"What? No, I…" She stopped as she saw Samus's skeptical gaze. "Alright, yes." She conceded, "I did, kind of, volunteer to be the one to meet you."

"That's what I thought." Samus said. "Fangirl or groupie?"

"What?" Caroline sputtered. She was definitely blushing now.

"It's fine, plenty of people idolize celebrities." Samus said as she finished the bottle. "I'll sign something for you, it'll be great. So what's the job?"

"Right, the job." Caroline said, clearly flustered. "There's a peace summit between two races that's being threatened by assassins."

Samus held up a hand to stop her from speaking further and called the bartender over. "So I just have to keep some people alive," She said to herself as the bartender gave her another bottle, "No sentient planets, pirate armies or undying archenemies."

She took a long drink. "Congratulations, you just hired Samus Aran."

"Thank you!" Caroline said happily, "You won't regret this."

Samus raised an eyebrow. "Usually the person getting hired says that."

Caroline didn't seem to mind. "Once you're ready, we can go to the Federation HQ for the city and-"

Samus held up a hand. "While I'd love to do that, I should probably go back to my ship for the night."

"Oh." Caroline said, slightly crestfallen. "I thought you said-"

"Oh, I am accepting the job." Samus clarified, "But right now, I'm quiet drunk." She held up the now-half empty bottle of alcohol. "This is much stronger than human alcohol. I'm pretty sure a normal human's liver would have died by now."

"So…" Caroline said questioningly.

"So," Samus said, standing up, "We're going outside, you're making the call to your boss that I agreed, then we go wherever our paths take us."

She walked away from the bar, Caroline following closely behind. "My drinks are on him." she called over her shoulder to the bartender, pointing at the unconscious man on the floor. "I have business to attend to."

In another building in the city, a figure sat in a darkened room. He sat at a table, hunched over his extended right arm. Holographic display panels covered a needle-like shape affixed to the back of his forearm, his other two fingered hand dancing across the controls.

As he finished the maintenance, a low buzz sounded through his comms. He deactivated the displays and took the call, rerouting it through his ship and a number of decoy servers.

"Hello?" A heavily distorted voice said.

The figure stood and walked over to the window to his cheap rented room. "Identify your purpose." He replied. His voice wasn't the deep growling type most people associated with dangerous individuals, but it carried its own kind of danger. A razor to the typical axe.

"Is this an assassin?" the voice asked.

The figure cocked his head. They knew how to contact him, they hid their voice, but they were clearly amateurs at this. Good. Amateurs tended to pay more for easier jobs, not understanding the usual dynamic. "Yes." He replied.

"Good," The voice said, "I need you to kill someone."

"Of course," Trace said smoothly, "I would be happy to."

AN: Not sure if there's much that needs clarifying in this. Most of it was made from scratch, so there's not a lot to make sure lines up with normal Metroid canon.

There is one part though. One segment of the writing that deals with something everyone has different thoughts about. Some openly deny it, some embrace it, and some never make a decision one way or the other. I am, of course, referring to Trace's hands. He didn't have any in the game or art, but hands are something you kind of need to be good at assassinations. Don't worry, in later chapter's I'll address how two fingered hands work.

Oh, and I guess there's the scene in the bar. Yes, Samus does display emotion. I understand the desire to see her as the stoic badass, especially after the mess game-which-shall-not-be-named made of trying to give her feelings, but I do think she has feelings and emotions beyond what we see in the suit. She can feel sad that people die and she can feel happy if she sees a puppy. She also does thing like normal humans. She has a favorite color, there's foods she doesn't like, she gets drunk occasionally, she has one night stands, she considers some things to be disgusting, etc. Don't worry, she's still a professional. If she's in the armor, she's the ruthless bounty hunter we all know and love.

Please leave reviews so I know what I did right and wrong.