[Logbook: Samus Aran | September 16th, 2077]
“The Protector of the Galaxy.”
That’s what they called me—the Chozo—when they sent me off on my own for the first time since they rescued me.
Sixteen.
That’s how old I was. Sixteen years old when my caretakers felt they could train me no more… when they had placed all their faith and confidence in me, and sent me on my way.
An orphaned little girl who should’ve died on K-2L with her colony was suddenly thrust to uphold a mantle—an image she could not hope to aspire to in her wildest dreams.
Even with the seemingly endless threats of the Space Pirates and the virulent Phazon, I’ve yet to fully understand what the Chozo—the bird people, my people—truly saw in me. And yet here I am… My Galactic Federation Policing and Army days, the horrors of my return to Zebes, my adventures on Tallon IV, and my gallivanting across Aether have all led me here.
Another nameless planet.
I was a little girl… and now I’m barely a woman at just over twenty-two. I was genetically enhanced with Chozo DNA to make me stronger, faster, tougher, and more intelligent than I could ever have become on my own. With this, all augmented in conjunction with my Power Suit and its various enhancements over the years, I am who I am now.
I was made into a soldier.
I was molded into what my adoptive family saw as the ultimate warrior.
But…
As I’ve constantly found out, I’m only human… with emotions and impulsivity to boot, despite my valiant and usually successful attempts to not cloud my own judgment with said hallmarks of humanity.
I’m good at what I do… the best in the galaxy—it was to be as such, after all. Even so, I feel…
.
.
.
…I don’t know.
I feel like something’s missing.
A void grows within me, one that had been barely detectable about a decade ago. But for every new mission that I’ve been contracted, it becomes more noticeable. With every Space Pirate I slay, with every ounce of Phazon I cleanse from this galaxy, it becomes so much harder to ignore.
Its hand reaches out to me and craves for a feeling, a wholeness of sorts that I cannot seem to sate… let alone know what it is.
It eats away at me…
My resolve? Minutely whittling away with every enemy I’ve felled.
My morale? Low.
But these feelings matter little in the grand scheme of things. I will soldier on as I always have. I will play every part I must in restoring peace and stability to this galaxy… piece by piece, planet by planet, enemy by enemy…
…as I was made to do.
And I can only hope that with each new adventure, each new mission, each new revelation… this hunger—or whatever this is—can be quenched and quelled once and for all.
But… what am I even looking for?