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The Bergman Affair	By : HunterOpera Category: +M through R > Metroid Views: 48055 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money from this. Metroid, Samus, et al are owned by the people that own them, not me. Other M was an abomination in terms of narrative. I'm writing porn while being more respective of the characters...

Chapter List
- 1-The Bergman Affair
- 2-Arrival at YS7-23
- 3-Shaktool
- 4-Kaaye
- 5-Bormu
- 6-Draygon
- 7-Cavern
- 8-Kago
- 9-Zoomer
- 10-Yapping Maw
- 11-Vogl
- 12-Zebesian
- 13-Slaughter
- 14-Interlude
- 15-SporeSpawn
- 16-Jump
- 17-Cacatac
- 18-Zoomer II
- 19-Keaton
- 20-Slime
- 21-Big Time
- 22-Sylux
- 23-Brannigan
- 24-Hook
- 25-Mia Xen
- 26-Line
- 27-Atrocity
- 28-Horror
- 29-Sinker
- 30-Fear
- 31-Ridley
- 32-Wreck
- 33-Pulse
- 34-Light
- 35-Robot
- 36-Laboratory
- 37-Covern
- 38-Phantoon
- 39-Sakamoto
- 40-Madeline
- 41-Damara
- 42-Melissa
- 43-Samus Aran
- 44-Punishment
- 45-Healing
- 46-Finale and Acknowledgments
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Planet YS7-23, GFDate 4034:0602
Emerald and twilight, her name a whisper, an angel of wrath and death.
Since her escape Damara had felt that way – powerful, independent, indestructible. No one and nothing had been able to touch her, and when she had stood against even the mightiest forces in the galaxy she had done so on equal footing.
Being so easily disarmed by Ridley had been humbling, but there had been circumstances. She'd wanted to protect the dear hostage that the not-yet-dragon had held, so she hadn't been able to use her most powerful weapons in earnest. Not even Samus could have managed to beat Ridley with that caveat hanging over her head.
She moved, thighs and spine aching. Melissa was moving, having found clothes somewhere. She'd gone to her mother, wrapping her in a blanket, helping her stand, retreating away from the swath of destruction that Ridley was cutting through the army of robots.
Hobbling towards the other two women, she accepted the weight of Madeline, allowing Melissa to use her psychic powers to throw scraps of metal at the monster in their midst. Ridley was battered to the ground but kept standing, was knocked off his feet but kept getting back up.
Nothing seemed to slow him down for long. A demon of fire and smoke, a devil of endless destruction.
Damara smiled.
“What's so funny?” Melissa asked, her tone holding curiosity and not scorn. Melissa never spoke at her with scorn, never mocked her, never looked in her mind. They were equals in this and all other things.
“Just a stupid idiom,” Damara said, shaking her head. She glanced down across the battlefield, to where Samus was still kneeling and still, and sneered. “How many more robots do you have?”
“I called two hundred,” Melissa said, her gaze turning to where those two hundred were dying. She frowned. “Two hundred. He's gone through fifty already. I can have another five hundred here in about twenty minutes, but I'm keeping them in waves.”
“You don't think we can stop him,” Damara said, keeping her tone neutral, adjusting Madeline's weight across her shoulders.
“The best we can do is outrun him and use them as a distraction,” Melissa said, nodding. “I know there are ways to hide from him, but I don't know what they are. I don't know.”
“How long do you need to figure them out?”
“A half hour to mentally test them and get them in place.”
Damara did not doubt her friend. Melissa processed information in ways that no one else was capable of understanding; if her friend needed a half hour, her friend needed a half hour.
“We're still going to need to get rid of him,” Damara said, licking her lips. “Can you direct the robots based on what I have in mind?”
“Only if you let me in,” Melissa said. “Let me in.”
Damara did. She felt her conscious mind being touched, a soft feather-weight on top of her own thoughts, like an extra subconscious hovering somewhere above her.
- I see what you want to do. To do. Clever. -
- Thank you. Here's hoping it works. -
- Don't hurt yourself. You're the most important person in my life. -
Planet YS7-23, GFDate 4034:0602
It was fun, smashing through the robots. Mindless, fantastic fun. Their little lasers seared the carapace of the Zebesian body he was in, the parts of that creature's soul that he had not devoured shrieking in agony. Ridley mocked the scraps of that creature's spirit, laughing at the idea that so base a creature could have even the basest understanding of agony.
He knew it couldn't. None of them could, not the way that he did. Every last secret, every hurt or hope or betrayal, was known to him. There was nothing he could not know, and nothing he did not know. He had to concentrate to focus on any one point in the galaxy. Having a body helped – it was one of the reasons that he could choose his next host when he was in a body, and one of the reasons that things were random when he was not.
Damara was making her move. He heard the telepathic conversation between Melissa and her unimportant girl that tried to be so much more. He could smell the flicker of neurons traveling along fatty brain meat, could taste the shape of what they were thinking. He knew them in greater detail than they could ever imagine.
He could not shut a bit of it out.
Glaring up at the stars, he belched a strain of nuclear fire. The furnace within him was growing stronger, the organs needed to make the flames already crafting themselves out of the messy inefficiency of Zebesian physiology.
He remembered when he had loved the stars. He'd been alone with them, then, listening to the songs they sung one another, the poems they used to attract the bits of stone that would become meteors or asteroids or even planets. He stood apart, mapping out their love affairs, never interacting with them, just watching.
Slow celestial symphonies, playing out over eons. He had waited for smaller forms of life, more like himself. They had come, slowly enough. He had sung them songs, looked into their souls, loved them as much as he was able.
They were all of them idiots.
Blind in the head, lying to their hearts, and their were so many of them. Symphony became cacophony. He had tried to silence them, then, just so he could sleep, just so the noise would end, but he was only one perspective in an ever-expanding multitude. He could not do it alone.
So he traveled. He pushed, guided, made recommendations, let them slaughter one another and left. There were so many of them and only one of him. They reached the stairs. Sometimes, in a fit of rage, he'd slaughter whole planets – but that was a waste of his time.
They were so many. Better to have them slaughter one another. Better to help them realize pain and violence and hatred, better to fill them with predatory anger and insanity, better to let them kill one another and lend a talon when they needed it.
So he did. On a hundred thousand worlds, shifting from one place to another. They often didn't need his help to start wars or invent torture, but he could always help them make things worse. Sometimes, they surprised him – he had been impressed and sickened when the monks of a far off world had preached peace while inventing the Ling Che.
It had since become his favorite way to kill people.
Such a shame that it did not work on machines. He hated the devices the others built, the grinding of gears and hum of electricity. He could hear those sounds on every inhabited world, blocking out the music of what had been before. He hated them, loathed them, and sometimes indulged himself.
He was indulging himself now. Destroying these robots, toying with these creatures, taking the time to shatter the mind of Samus Aran. He could justify the latter to himself – she was the only perspective to ever face him multiple times and survive. She deserved his affections.
The others, however... Damara was pathetic, Madeline deluded, and Melissa just bright enough to be an irritant. She reminded him of the original Mother Brain and the leaders of the pirates, who had been intelligent and crafty enough to hide themselves, bending signal and noise around themselves to keep him away.
He wished he knew how they did that. He might just leave the noise makers alone if they could just silence themselves without him having to do it for them.
Counting down the robots, he made his way to the final three. His talons tore apart one, he pounced on the next. The lasers of the last two struck him without obvious effect, his will holding his host body together, his will forcing the body to heal and remake itself in his image.
He turned to where Damara was, saw her running for the abandoned Shock Coil, and smiled. Shaking his head, he tossed a pipe from inside one of the robots towards her, the metal running through her ankle. She screamed and fell, blood splattering behind her as she tumbled.
“I knew your plan. all along,” he crooned. “Your thoughts are just as. loud as words to me.”
Smiling, he moved closer to the fallen Damara while looking at Melissa.
The missile struck him full in the chest.
Planet YS7-23, GFDate 4034:0602
Eighteen days, each one more full of pain that he had ever thought possible. Forced to eat the insects that came for his soon-to-be corpse, the body that had been remade and broken and forgotten. Scant moisture and protein to keep him alive.
That single word echoed in his mind all the while.
An insult that could not be forgiven.
Rocking what few muscles were left to him to try and move. Three days to travel as many feet. A decade spent crippled and behind a desk had taught him patience. He made it. He'd measured the distance he needed to communicate with what power his benefactor had granted him.
This was the outer limit. Just barely enough.
He'd spied a withered old Kaayes plant on the edge of the mountain range, with a single fruit. It barely looked alive. He was surprised when it answered his call. It had taken time to get it to move, another full day to work its way to him.
Four days gone. Still alive, still active, still in the game.
Through the Kaayes, his benefactor had given him command over the animals in the woods. He'd made it bring slimes to himself to feed on and Geemers to do the rest. The little scuttling insects had taken three days to reach him.
His shattered body was cradled on a woven net of vines that the Geemers had brought and then cobbled together. They were clumsy, but it still took no more than a couple of days to complete the weaving and get his shattered body on the net.
It was worth it. They could carry him without hurting him further.
The going was slow. He was heavy and Geemers were not pack animals. They needed to rest, needed to hunt. The Kaayes brought them slimes, and even though that kept them fed it also slowed them down. Three days to escape the valley. Three days to cross the range, three to follow the noise and find a vantage point.
A full hour to set up. The whole time he'd practiced, making do with what was left of him. With the Kaayes' help he was able to aim, set himself, pull the trigger.
There was no hesitation. One shot was all he was going to get.
'Big Time' Brannigan took it.
The missile hit the Zebesian right in the chest as he was walking towards the woman that had emerged from Sylux's shell. He owed her one – he figured this would clear their debt.
Everyone looked in his direction. None of them could see him, except perhaps his benefactor. He could see them, though the Kaayes. It started him when the Zebesian sat up, looking directly at him with familiar hatred.
He knew the truth, in that moment. He knew that Ridley was somehow in the Zebesian, knew that the insect would become a Dragon, knew that none of them would ever beat him.
And then Samus rolled from her crouching position, somersaulting past Sylux's abandoned weapon and grabbing it while moving. She pounced on Ridley, the impact knocking him down, the palm of her free hand cracking the Zebesian's jaw so that he could not close his mouth.
She shoved her weapon into the monster's mouth and pulled the trigger, again and again, a dozen times until there was nothing left of the Zebesian's head but paste.
A slow thunder rolled in circles away from Samus Aran as she stood over the corpse of her enemy, the weapon in her hand crackling with emerald-gold lightning. She looked around herself in an easy circle.
She raised her weapon, pointed it at his benefactor, and pulled the trigger.
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The Bergman Affair