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Wherein Falcon plays a game called Metroids and then feels really guilty about it.
The one thing about space that takes a little getting used to...well, besides the nausea that comes with faster-than-light travel and no gravity sometimes...is the fact that time doesn't seem to exist.
You keep an internal clock, or try to, but once you pass the speed of light and leave it in the figurative dust, none of that seems to matter anymore. You sleep for a night and realize it's been a week. You see five sunrises in the span of twenty-four hours. You visit one place where planets have orbits much like those in your own solar system and then one hyperjump later you're in a strange, surreal world where days take years.
You learn not to mind it. You get used to it. But even after days or months or years or more in the blackness, you still think about what it means. Not because you want to, but because you have no choice. It makes you.
At first glance, the Flyer didn't seem to have much in it beyond the front controls. The back of the ship was often spacious and empty, only occupied by the distinctive F-Zero machine housed in the storage area. Upon closer inspection, however, it was clear that the wall panels forming the hull each served a specific purpose. They could fold down or slide outward, allowing access to much more than the craft let on. With just a push of a button, there was a bed, or a table, or a sink.
All very spartan, of course. There wasn't room for large, comfortable furnishings in space, even in a mid-size craft like the Flyer. Falcon didn't need them, anyway. A source of water, somewhere to sleep, somewhere to eat, and that was enough. That and a bathroom, but that went hand-in-hand with a source of water.
He was used to it. Falcon had spent nine years or so alone in space, with only a shipboard AI to keep him company, after all. Being at Smash Academy made him realize how lonely it really was, but after the night in the bar, listening to the latest bounty hunting gossip, he'd decided that loneliness was exactly what he wanted.
It was a horrible pendulum. For a time he'd feel so glad these people were in his life, that he was at this school, but then suddenly Falcon would be reminded why he made a point of refusing any and all interpersonal relationships. Used to refuse them. Then it would swing back again.
Right now he was angry and betrayed. He loved Samus, they loved each other but in that, he had overlooked one very important fact: they were still both bounty hunters, and bounty hunters were always in competition with other bounty hunters. Sure, there were rules. Guidelines. But they were unspoken and what you could and could not do depended largely on your reputation. Falcon had lounged comfortably in his own status, knowing that no one would dare cross him.
Until now. Bounty hunters weren't talkers, generally, so their actions spoke volumes and often constituted a code of their own. By going off into Port Town, Samus had said a lot to Falcon and said it loudly without actually telling him anything at all--that she didn't care it was his turf. That she didn't want or need his knowledge of the area. That she thought he couldn't handle it. That she didn't respect him as a member of their shared profession.
In his own little world where everything revolved around him, he didn't understand why she would think any of those things. She still hadn't confessed to him what exactly happened or why she was there and why she was with Char of all people--he heard it from others--so he knew that there was a reason she was hiding it from him. Falcon didn't know what reason, so he got angry by assuming the worst. He was constantly reminded why he didn't work in teams, because every time he did, something exploded. It had blown up in his face in Internova, it had blown up in his face with Snake and Otacon. Now it seemed like it was going to blow up again, and it made him furious that he kept letting this happen.
Furious enough to be incredibly efficient over the past two weeks.
Falcon had lied to Olimar when he told the other captain that he'd received a few tips. There had been no tips, just a list of targets he was going to find and dispatch as quickly as possible. He'd been largely successful--He was sure he'd taken down more bounties in that time than he had in the past few years.
There was something else, however, that he aimed to do.
I grew up in what most people would consider the future. We had spaceships, we had flying cars, we had floating roads and we had mammoth skyscrapers that seemed to brush the upper limits of the atmosphere itself. I never blinked an eye at an alien life form. Even in a human neighborhood, it was something we didn't need to question. Port Town was given its name for a reason.
My part-time job growing up was working in the shop with my dad. He was a mechanic and I learned everything I knew from watching him. By sixteen I could tear an engine apart and put it back together again without even thinking about it. I'd sit and watch the ships come in and out of the hangar and then I'd get to help fix them.
Dirty work, but I didn't care. I liked the feel of black oil on my hands and the smell of rocket fuel. Still, it wasn't enough. I wanted more than just repairing the hovercrafts and spaceships. I wanted to go where they went.
He was sleeping. Just waking up would perhaps be more accurate, but in any case, the Captain was buried in sheets on the fold-down cot, knowing it was about time to emerge but doing so reluctantly.
Soon enough his bare feet were on the floor, shuffling to another wall panel which became a basin at the push of a button. The water that came in contact with his face was cold.
"Estimated time of arrival is two hours, Captain." The form of the holographic AI flickered to life. No longer an amorphous blue shape, the computer had selected a projection that Falcon had to admit suited him--a stoic, expressionless blonde twentysomething with brilliant green eyes--but the whole thing was still a little creepy and was taking some getting used to. Luckily, the hologram was very obviously a hologram and not too realistic.
"Great." Falcon replied to the figure through a towel, not actually sounding very excited at all. It seemed to notice this and vanished. A moment later, the control panel illuminated and Falcon took a seat in the captain's chair.
Green lights flashed as he double-checked the coordinates. He was very unfamiliar with this particular patch of space, but that wasn't going to stop him. Falcon had beat in a lot of faces for the information he was about to put to use. Beat in a lot of faces and flown to a lot of planets and interrogated a lot of scum in order to track down his next quarry.
The Zebesian space pirates were a bit of an elusive bunch, after all.
There was nothing on this planet that could keep me tethered to the ground. Internova was strangely perceptive when they slapped me with a code name. Some people, I guess, were meant to fly.
After gaining the necessary intel on the location of the nearest space pirates, Falcon wasted no time in setting course for the base. A frigate, actually, probably a scavenging vessel, maybe part of a drug or weapons trafficking circuit. The goal? Obliterate it. Not because they were ruthless killing machines or because they engaged in all sorts of horribly illegal and terrible activities, and not because they were responsible for most all of the awful things that happened to Samus. He was going to blow up that frigate in a conscious act of petty revenge, to show his bounty hunter girlfriend that it was not okay to mess with him or his turf. If she wanted to send the message that she thought he couldn't handle a goddamn Pokemon fighting ring in Port Town, he was going to send a message right back.
And he was going to make it as explosive as possible.
Falcon knew he was in over his head. He'd never seen a space pirate, at least not the ones that constituted a species. He did not know what their bases were like or what kind of technology they employed. At the same time, he didn't care. He was too angry and too determined to make some noise--the frigate he found was conveniently close enough to civilization for word to get out, so maybe she'd hear about his exploits in the corner of a shady bar.
I went for the very first time when I was eighteen. Still a kid.
You get trained for it. They tell you what to expect, at least. Prepare you as best as they can, but really they can't prepare you at all.
Earth is so small. Blue and small and shrinking. It was terrifying.
As the Flyer neared the destination, he set about preparing himself. Falcon normally didn't take much on a bounty hunt. A gun and his fists were all he ever needed. This mission, however, was going to need some extra firepower. He wasn't about stealth or going undercover but this task was too big for just a pistol and his own sheer manpower.
He pulled on his gear and armed himself to the teeth. Plasma rifle, handguns, grenades, remote explosives, hacking devices...he felt like he was back in Internova. Maybe not all of it was necessary. Better safe than sorry.
Once the Flyer was in range of detection, he implemented the next part of his plan.
"Computer, shut down everything."
"Yes, Captain."
The engine ceased to hum. Lights and screens flickered and died and he drifted through the blackness of space for a few long moments. To the untrained eye (and he hoped that the pirates were a little on the dim side), it would look as though an abandoned craft was floating through the black.
Soon enough, however, he felt the pull of a tractor beam. The pirates were obviously curious about this strange ship that had come so close to their base. Perhaps there were valuable goods on board. Stranded passengers to take prisoner.
With a fair bit of effort, Falcon hoisted himself above the door frame, suspending himself there as the Flyer was forcibly brought into the docking bay. So far so good. There was a lot that could have gone wrong with this specific phase, but the pirates seemed to be falling for it.
Big mistake.
And then suddenly I couldn't get enough. I spent the better part of two decades traveling to the furthest reaches of the universe. There is nothing like it, and the feeling it gives you is unlike anything you've ever experienced. Space is so unspeakably big--big and empty--so big and so empty that you can't help but feel incredibly powerful and incredibly insignificant, all at once.
You hurtle past the stars at unimaginable speeds, leaving photons behind you. You...become light, and then you surpass it entirely.
And at the same time you know you might as well be a speck of dirt. The sheer vastness of the cosmos ensures that you don't have an ounce of significance. You've never had it, and you never will.
The air lock hissed and a few space pirates boarded the dark Flyer, wasting no time in searching for anything useful or valuable. Falcon had to take a moment to size them up, his breath catching slightly in his throat in an effort to stay as quiet as possible until the moment was right. There were four of them and they looked like strange armored reptiles, speaking to each other in some kind of unintelligible tongue, rummaging through compartments and pulling out wall panels, trying to get the computer to boot up, to see what kind of ship this was and who owned it.
They were about to find out. Falcon couldn't keep himself suspended above the door and fire a gun at the same time, so he waited until one was close enough before swinging down, catching the unsuspecting pirate in the face with his boot. The others immediately drew weapons and Falcon landed hard on the floor, somersaulting out of their way only to spring up behind them and unleash his pistols.
None of them stood a chance. Four well-aimed laser bolts and his opponents were down, neat, smoking holes through their skulls.
I'm not sure my parents ever liked the idea of me taking up a career in space. Get a job, go to college, do something as long as it wasn't disappear from the Earth for god knows how long. To be honest, I don't really know why I decided to be a cop. It was probably the easiest way to get off-planet.
I guess they couldn't figure out why, if I wanted to join a police force, I didn't just join the one in the city. I don't think they understood that I wanted what everyone else my age wanted--to get out.
Falcon pressed on. The docking bay was uncomfortably silent and lead to a long, dark hallway that culminated in a door--always a gamble because one never knew what was beyond them. Hopefully it would be something like a computer station and not a dozen more pirates. Finding a place to download a floor plan was always more preferable to a room full of adversaries.
Upon reaching the door, it was easy to see that it wasn't going to open with any sort of handle or motion sensor. He was about ready to blow it open when he realized that he'd seen this kind of entrance before, in Skytown. That in itself was a bit curious, but at least now he knew the manner in which he could get around. With one blast from his pistol, the panels twisted open.
He dashed through, finding exactly what he was looking for--large computer panels, blinking screens, flashing buttons and a central column of machinery--not a central command, but perhaps a surveillance room. Perfect.
The only problem was that the room was full of pirates and now they were all looking at him.
Even before we were full-fledged members of the force, they sent us on training missions to nearby systems. Sometimes a few days. Sometimes a few weeks.
I got the transmission while were were on one of the longer trips out. My dad was in the hospital. I guess command is kind of obligated to let people know about important things going on back home, especially when those important things concern dying parents. They gave me clearance to leave the mission early, but they weren't very happy about it, and to be honest, I wasn't either.
Anyway, it didn't really matter because I didn't make it back in time.
The reactions were instantaneous. Falcon ducked and rolled behind the nearest console while the pirates scrambled to grab their weapons and open fire. Apparently these guys were the shoot-first-ask-later type, which he'd anticipated, but this was ridiculous.
Well, if they weren't concerned about blowing holes in their control panels, the Captain wasn't either. When he heard the telltale whirr that singled momentary recharge, he emerged from over the top of the panel with his plasma rifle.
BLAM
And again and again and again.
If they didn't know an intruder was here before, they'd sure know now. Falcon had to be fast, vaulting over the console and rushing to the nearest computer. One of the bodies was sprawled unceremoniously over the display and had to be just as unceremoniously dumped on the floor.
He shoved a data drive into a corresponding slot and watched as a foreign symbols flashed across the screen. The language he couldn't understand, and would have to get the files translated later (by a not-Samus party who he would have to go looking for), but pictures were easy enough to interpret.
Working quickly, Falcon plugged the chip back into his helmet and a limited floor plan of the frigate blinked in front of his eyes in a technological shade of green. With that taken care of, he fired a shot at the door leading out of the room and made his way deeper into the craft.
I wasn't home for very long and I think that killed my mom. It sounds terrible but I just didn't care enough. I had other, better things to do than sit around feeling shitty about the death of someone I fought with all the goddamn time. About money, about jobs, about my girlfriends, about school, about everything.
We were too alike, and being back home only reminded me of that. Space changes you. There's no way anyone can look at home the same way after going out there. Suddenly everything was so mundane.
I couldn't wait to go back. I needed to go back.
Moving freely through the ship was becoming more and more difficult with each step. One of the pirates had managed to get out a legitimate alarm and now he was having to duck into dark corners, hoist himself onto ledges and try to fit himself into ducts that (very curiously) seemed made for spheres. Three-foot spheres, if he was estimating correctly.
That was just stupid.
He would have given it more thought were he not blasting in space pirate faces left and right. In a way, it was good that he got noticed because that meant they came to him--it made killing them all a whole lot easier. His goal, however, remained the same: Make it to the central control room and blow the whole damn thing to smithereens.
There would be no reward for it, save the thrill of actually undertaking a challenging job--and, of course, the satisfaction of revenge.
At the moment, however, there was nothing satisfying about having a shootout across a narrow bridge above one of the cargo bays. He couldn't very well use grenades in such an open space--there wasn't much to hide behind come detonation. Frigates weren't exactly massive, but it was a pretty significant drop to the crates below the suspended walkway. Broken legs at the very least, depending on how he fell.
He rushed at the nearest opponent with a growl, ramming it (he could not for the life of him tell the difference between females and males) in the face with the butt of his rifle and then kicking it over the edge. A few rounds from the firearm sent more to the ground, but in such a position where a face-off was inevitable, it was only a matter of time before one of the pirates got in a lucky shot.
The laser bolt grazed his upper arm but it was more than enough to set him off-balance and the Captain toppled off the platform, plunging towards the crates below.
After leaving Internova, I was surprised by how lonely space was all of a sudden. I had become so used to sharing it with people that the solitude took some getting used to.
At the same time, however, I relished the independence. I didn't need anyone anymore. All they did was hold me back. When I quit, I could do whatever I wanted. The jobs were mine. The ship was mine. The stars were mine.
What the pirates did not expect, however, was a distinctive blue whip made of energy shooting outward from the metal-clad hand of the falling bounty hunter and catching the metal platform. In the flash of their expressions that Falcon glimpsed as he retracted the beam and hoisted himself back onto the ledge, he could see that they had seen this technology before and it was catching them off guard. Who could expect some hotshot to show up with one of Samus Aran's trademark tools, after all?
There was some distance between them now and the Captain was certainly going to use their momentary shock to gain the advantage.
"You recognize this, don't you?"
He didn't bother to wait for an answer. Ignoring the sting in his left arm, he lashed out with the grapple beam again, catching one of the pirates and flinging it away with a seemingly effortless flick of the wrist. It crashed down to the crates with a strangled cry.
The remaining two looked positively terrified, or at least he thought they did. It was difficult to read expressions on these creatures. It was not, however, difficult to make out what they were saying. The inhuman hiss formed a recognizable word that dripped with simultaneous fear and hatred.
It sounded like
Falcon laughed out loud, a vicious, barking noise, shaking his head and taking bold steps towards them. "Close. A hunter. I'm not the hunter." He wasn't even sure if they understood him, but it wasn't like he cared.
He had other, better things to do, like ignite his hand and grip the face of the space pirate, holding it there and refusing to let go while his victim burned and sizzled.
"I'm worse."
You maybe...miss Earth after a while. A decade alone in space does that. Humans are apparently social creatures. I could maybe beg to differ, but there's probably some truth in it. Talking to an AI only works for so long. It's better than nothing, but a monotone, emotionless machine is no substitute for actual human contact beyond the scum you're bagging.
You feel like you're going a little crazy.
Having never dealt with space pirates before, Falcon was swiftly learning a lot about them, namely that they were really easy to kill.
Deep in the frigate he finally found use for some grenades. By this point the entire ship was scrambling to find him, following the sound of gunfire and explosions. A few had gotten lucky--his flight suit was scorched in places and blood slowly leaked from a small gash on his side--but otherwise this whole operation had been going as smoothly as it could have been.
He dashed behind a door frame and pulled the pin of one of the explosives, tossing it into the room behind him. A few seconds later the entrance spewed fire and shrapnel and Falcon made a break for it.
More hallways and more cargo and more bodies. The command bridge wasn't far.
It's easy to lose yourself out there, especially when you're alone, and especially when killing people for a paycheck is your job.
It's exhilarating, but you can slip. You get carried away.
It was weapons, mostly. Weapons and fuel gel, which he took some time to haul back to the Flyer because he sure as hell wasn't going to blow that up with the frigate. That was millions of credit, right there. He could make a killing by selling it. Not the fuel gel, though. That he was going to keep.
Pirating the pirates.
The wail of an alarm still shrieked in his ears, but he wasn't sure how many more pirates were actually available to try and stop him.
There was still the bridge, however, and a bridge meant a commander. Falcon had to admit he'd been disappointed at how easy it was to take down the crew, so maybe the guy in charge would pose a little more of a challenge.
The door slid open and Falcon immediately leveled his plasma rifle at whoever was inside. The underlings at the controls were easy enough to pick off, but before he knew what was happening, the butt of a pistol connected with the side of his face. He tried to lash out with the grapple beam but connected with the cold steel floor instead.
Yep. Definitely the guy in charge.
"Get up, hunter."
Hearing actual words was a surprise. Falcon stood, not in the least bit intimidated, but still trying to blink the stars from behind his eyes. He'd plowed through what seemed like dozens of these pirates. So what if this was the boss?
"Nice operation you've got here. Fuel gel and everything."
The quip was silenced by a blow with the blunt side of one of the pirate's arm-scythes.
"Samus Aran. You have her technology."
Falcon flexed his gloved hand. "So I do."
"What do you know of her?"
A grin. "Lots."
He didn't particularly care what he was divulging to the commander because he was confident that everything was going to get blown up anyway. He did not, however enjoy that his cheekiness got him kicked in the gut. Falcon dropped to his knees. His rifle was too far away to reach. He was out of grenades, not that he would try and detonate one in here anyway. Pistols were a viable option, if he could draw them fast enough when a wickedly curved techno-organic scythe was at his throat. The one good thing, he supposed, was that the pirate commander wouldn't kill him until he extracted any and all information regarding one Samus Aran.
So torture was probably much more likely.
"You will tell me everything."
The accident changed everything. Space wasn't home anymore and I couldn't go back to Earth. I hid myself away on the island. No one knew if I was alive or not and I wanted it that way.
Getting in the Flyer and going to the stars was the easiest way to disappear but I couldn't do that anymore, because they would find me. My freedom was gone. The only place that was truly safe was that godforsaken rock just out of Port Town Harbor.
That is, until I found the school.
Falcon reeled. In Internova, he'd been trained to administer and resist all sorts of torture methods, but being stripped of weapons, restrained, and beaten was certainly not one of his favorite pastimes.
His face was pressed against the cold floor, a sharp contrast to the hot, sticky blood that flowed freely from his nose and dribbled over his lips. There was no time to recover as the commander hoisted him to his feet and forcibly pinned him to the wall by driving his arm-scythe into the Captain's shoulder. He fought back a shout.
"Where is she."
"Not telling."
The space pirate twisted the blade and Falcon was less successful in holding down noise. "You are obviously a hunter. Did you plan to kill us all?"
"And take your cargo and blow up your ship afterward, yeah."
"Samus sent you."
"Guess again."
"The Galactic Federation."
"Wrong."
The pirate withdrew his "hand" and Falcon slumped against the wall. However, the relief was only momentary, as his adversary had only taken the scythe from his shoulder in order to press it against the Captain's throat.
"This is your last chance."
Falcon could tell that it was extremely difficult for the commander to hold off on killing him. He could stand this a little longer, enough to find an opening and gain the upper hand, hopefully without getting decapitated.
In one swift motion, he kicked directly up, catching the pirate right under the jaw and sending him staggering backwards. With space between them at last, Falcon took the opportunity to ignite, all the way up his arms. He left no time for reaction and slammed the commander's head against the control panel with a sickening crack.
The action did not come without retaliation. His opponent launched himself at Falcon with a snarl, dodging a flaming punch and striking out with his claws. He forced the Captain against the controls, pinning him down with one arm and a knee while pressing buttons with his free hand--a specific sequence of buttons.
A self-destruct sequence of buttons, if the computerized announcement and sudden alarms were any indication.
But there was no way in hell Falcon was going to let the space pirate take them both down like this.
Mustering what strength he could, the bounty hunter lunged forward and head-butted the creature restraining him, throwing a punch while he was knocked off balance. It connected this time and the impact was explosive.
When the flames cleared, it was obvious who was going to be trapped on this frigate as it was reduced to space dust. Falcon reclaimed his rifle and leveled it at the commander as he heaved on the ground.
"I came on my own."
And then the damn school made me realize all over again how lonely I was. And then it made me realize why I don't bother with people--over and over again. Space is a terrible, awful loneliness but people are...
People can be even worse. I am no exception.
Self-destruct sequence initiated.
Falcon kicked the body of the commander aside and collected his weapons as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the blood soaking through his flight suit and caking on his face. The sequence was being announced in the space pirate language, but he could understand a countdown on a screen.
There was no time to rest, no time to breathe. All he could do was sprint as fast as possible, through the doors and hallways and cargo rooms, across bridges and through tiny corridors. The place was a maze, and he tried to follow the map inside his helmet as best he could through the rush of sheer adrenaline and burning muscles.
No time. Not fast enough. Maybe if he was uninjured. He cursed himself for being so cocky as he stumbled down stairs, looking for something, anything familiar.
Finally, he found his way to the platforms over the cargo bay and he pushed himself into a sprint. The wail of alarms and the countdown shrieked in his ears, reminding him of the very pressing deadline.
Had he not been running so fast, he would have stopped to sigh for relief when he arrived back in the docking area. The hatch could not have opened quickly enough.
"Computer! Get us out of here."
There is no sound in space.
He watched the frigate explode from the safety of the Flyer, pulling surgical thread through the ugly gash in his shoulder as the blinking hologram of the AI looked on.
"Computer, I need you to set up an encrypted anonymous transmission."
"Yes, Captain."
"To the Federation."
For a moment, the hologram almost looked surprised. The GF would probably think this was a trap, of course, but Falcon hated the Feds and wasn't about to divulge his identity to them. He had no use for the piles of weapons anyhow, so the least he could do was sort of make sure they were getting to someone who was not space pirates. He'd keep the fuel gel, dump the rest of the shit on a nearby Fed planet and hightail it out of there.
"Ready?"
"Yes, Captain."
He cleared his throat and brought the microphone to his lips. The device would automatically disguise his voice and the AI would make the source of the transmission anonymous and undetectable.
"Recording."
"If this is the Galactic Federation..."
Falcon paused, as if, for the first time through this whole ordeal, he was questioning what he was doing.
"It's not important who I am, only that I have intercepted and destroyed a space pirate frigate carrying an illegal cargo, which has been salvaged. I am sending an itemized list of the weaponry I found on board.
I am also sending two sets of coordinates. The first is the location where you will find the remains of the frigate, should you doubt the validity of this transmission. The second is where I have stowed the cargo to pick up and use at your discretion.
No payment is necessary."
He pressed the button to end recording and send the transmission, sighing heavily as he did so. That last sentence had perhaps been the hardest thing he'd ever done, but this whole escapade hadn't been about getting paid.
Now that it was over, Falcon maybe wished it was. It would have at least been a little more noble.
When you have a job like mine...you have to wonder what kind of person you really are.
It's about the money. And even when it's not about the money, it's about something equally as despicable. Revenge. Grudges. Superiority. Simply doing it because you can.
We are all caught up in this illusion that we're protectors. Defenders. We convince ourselves that what we do is ultimately for the good of the universe, and that if we weren't around, people and planets would suffer at the hands of crime and destruction.
Maybe there's some truth in that. But at the very core, what we do is not for the good of the galaxy. It's for ourselves. An entire occupation centered around inflating our own egos with every kill and getting paid for it.
Kind of explains why I've never met another bounty hunter who's not fucked up in one way or another.
Out here, you are alone. Reduced to your most basic state. No one sees how you do your job--they only hear about it--so the only person who knows how you really are...is you.
And you better hope you can live with that.
-----------
[Falcon is sitting in the captain's chair, waiting for the recording to start. He looks like he's seen better days and he sports a few fading bruises and more notably, a gash on his shoulder which he obviously sutured himself. It's easy to see, however, that the injuries have had a few days to heal.
After a moment, he begins to speak. He seems a little distracted.]
Hey.
I, uh.
Hope everything's going okay back at the school. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Sorry I can't be there for it. Still a few things I have to take care of. Say hi to everyone for me.
[A pause.]
I miss you. I love you.
I'll see you soon.
[He smiles, a bit strained, but genuine, before he reaches towards the camera and ends the transmission.]
I LIED I'M PUTTING IT HERE I hope you do not mind
[The video feed is sent ala an encrypted transmission, super special to one Captain Falcon and starts out with Samus pulling away from the laptop webcam. It's late at night and she's in her skivvies again, but that's nothing new. What is probably noticeably new to him are the faded remnants from dramaticu fire rescues and dragon-fighting shenanigans; a barely there scar on her shoulder and slightly more noticeable burns along her upper arms and forearms. If he hadn't noticed the small scar on her upper arm from her bullet-filled meeting with Frank by now, then he could probably make it out here. It looks like someone hasn't had time for a hair-cut in a while either.]
Hey. [She idly brushes some hair behind her ear as she thinks of how to start which falls back in her face not a second later.] I got your transmission. I hope this one finds you just as well and that everything's going okay up there. I've got a whole mess of stories to tell you when you get back. I hope you've got some good ones for me too.
[She pauses, looking like she's not satisfied with the length of this video transmission so far and struggles only briefly for more to say.] I've finally found a few minutes to start apartment hunting. [She makes a face.] It's not as easy as it looks. I don't know how you did it. I'll let you know if I find anything.
[She flashes a smile and remains silent for a few moments, as if she's certain he can hear what she's thinking and it's much easier than just saying] ...I miss you.
Just make sure to take care of that shoulder and come home in one piece... okay?
[SHE LOOKS RELUCTANT TO TURN OFF THE VIDEO... but eventually she does. End of transmission.]