motheratfacetroid

[motheratfacetroid]

Testing

This is a test of the Space Pirate Transmissions Relay’s defensive capabilities. Please take shelter and ignore the weaponized soundwaves that are about to be deployed. Thank you.

[motheratfacetroid]

*Final Destination was now Subspace. Mother Brain's hulking form stood just beyond the dread gates of the fortress, awaiting to be greeted. Ominous shades rose and the screams of Subspace's ghosts screeched their response.*

Mother Brain: I do not come as a conqueror of this realm. But I will not turn down such an invitation.

*The banshees' scream caused Mother's form to quiver. She retaliated with a phazon beam shot without warning from an extended digit, the claw shimmering blue. Somehow the attack was completely absorbed by the creature, prompting Mother to claw them all at once with a single, swift swipe.*

Mother Brain: My godhood is no falsehood. Cease this mockery and let us discuss the nature of our pantheon.

*Mother's eloquent words belied her nature, her teeth dribbling with a foul, oily swill, akin to saliva for a being that did not need it. Her eye was bloodshot, her focus still strained from assuming direct control of the denizens of Tourian.*

[motheratfacetroid]

*Mother Brain smiled viciously, her snarl joining Svychx's battlecry. She severed her connection to Tourian, satisfied that the situation had been secured while her focus returned to the task at hand. She gazed up and down Subspace Fortress's monolithic form. Her gaze then shifted to the pathetic primids being drained of their life.*

Mother Brain: Does their taste betray any of this place's secrets?

*Mother grabbed a husk and then shattered it to dust in her claw. A swipe of her other claw knocked away the remaining husks, clearing the castle's entryway.*

Mother Brain: Your guests have arrived. You did build this door to be opened, did you not, Tabuu?

[motheratfacetroid]

Present Metroids of Silver

In the purity of the darkness, the presence of a silver metroid was felt.  He saw it, but not with his eyes.  It was motionless.  It was on the ground.  We realized his directive and had failed in it before he had even been risen.  We lit the surface with a silver glow that surrounded him, revealing more of these metroid statues all around.  Our form was wracked with pain and grief.  Please stop please stop please stop. Deleum itself cried out and we needed it to stop and we animated the little statues and made them dance and play in the air until it stopped. Wrath himself stepped forward, forming craters in his stride.  “Why?  You couldn’t do this one thing for me?  You can piece my skull together and plant my brain in this thing, but you don’t know a damn thing about me!” We chirped just how he wanted us to chirp.  Our cries made no difference to him and he sliced the semi-living construct in half.  His arms were now blades.  “Tell me what happened.  Now.” Individual consciousness of metroid specimens dissolved.  Superfluous behavior halted. However, we are still here.  We hoped he knew our chirps were genuine, this time.  “So, you can form anything, and dissolve anything?”  Correct. He raised his bladed limbs into the air and summoned a pulsing mass of silver.  It took on the shape of a large brain, a mockery of glass shielding it.  Its eye looked out toward him, timidly.  He cut into the silver Mother Brain and tore it asunder, glass shattering and piercing his silver exoskeleton. The glass merged back into his flesh.  He raised his arms again and now a dozen brains took shape. Form, blade, and reform, on and on endlessly.  If our waiting took two centuries, his slaughter of the effigies took place for ten centuries.  Finally, his rage subsided.  He dissolved into silvery goop.  He emerged on the other side of the moon.  This repeated several times as he scoured every inch of Deleum. “One metroid.  One silver metroid is missing.  The first one.  Would his consciousness be dissolved?”  No.  “Good.  Hope is still alive, then.  Until then, I guess you’re the best I have.” Our vengeful god stepped over a mountain of broken glass and pieced together the metroid he had sliced earlier.  We did not tell him it was a purely symbolic act as we felt his claws merge our halves together.

[motheratfacetroid]

Past Analyses of Silver

The figure hesitant to call itself Zhaxule meandered the moon that could hardly be called phazon.  He sat down on the throne he had crafted long ago.  Or not long ago.  

The sky was black.  The chamber was black.  No stars.  No light.  We verified that his eyes were functioning.  Analysis:  Mother Brain has somehow sent us to an alternate dimension, most likely the dark world of the Ing.  The Avatar of Deleum spoke:  “Who the hell was that?”  We were unsure how to answer. Analysis:  Without Mother Brain’s presence, artificial phazon strand consciousness is no longer suppressed.  “Are you saying Mother Brain had control over silver phazon this whole time?”  That is correct.  Analysis:  Deleum has been completely absorbed by silver strain.  No blue phazon remains, and yet we are stable.  We have concluded that we do not need to consume blue phazon to operate.  This behavior was caused by Mother Brain’s influence.  Other potential scenario is that the dimensional warp has stabilized our strain. Deleum’s god pondered on his throne.  He was disturbed at our voice, which seemed to emanate from his claws, or perhaps the throne, or perhaps from within everything on Deleum.  He liked to think we were speaking in the intelligent chirps of the metroid language, but we don’t believe we produced any sound at all.  “So even in death, Mother won’t leave me be.  Why am I alive?”  Fragments of Zhaxule consciousness were assembled in order to direct Deleum.  The swarm requires directives.  “Great.  You took my one true religion speech too seriously, didn’t you?  I wanted to die.  I let the bitch kill me.  You really think I was that weak?  I wanted free from Mother’s clutches, and now you tell me she played me the whole time, and the only reason she isn’t tormenting me now is because we’re not even in the same dimension.  I was looking forward to running out of phazon and turning to dust.  I just wanted the metroids to be okay.” Our leader’s face twisted into one of horror.  “Where are they?”

[motheratfacetroid]

Future Memories of Silver

I rest in the grand abyss, untethered by the world, unshackled by time.  I bubble up to the surface, memories of both future and past coalescing.  Fragments of consciousness are pieced together to form a fond recollection.  The last memory, death. Formless, we drift.  I await form.  A century passes.  Two centuries pass.  Let us preserve this future memory: waiting won't work.  Silvery strands stretch out into sinew.  I am being given shape.  Limbs are hastily shaped of a viscous, whirring clay.  Existence is a foreign, unsettling feeling.  I stretch my claws in the body that is not my body, marveling at the sensation.  I recall I have a face.  The face that is not my face speaks. "Days have dead been I many how?" It is difficult to speak with no concept of time.  Yet I grasped out for that concept anyway, lamenting in the fact I’d return to those dreaded chains.  I needed that anchor.  Just like my not-mine body anchored me to this plane, I needed an anchor to this time.  I speak again, slowly this time.  This time every word comes out simultaneously.  I think some of the noises even came out of my claws, somehow. Time was going to be difficult. I suddenly remembered that things have names.  Things have names!  My corpse spoke once more, the name that would perfectly pull my mind from the void of nonexistence. "Deleum."

[motheratfacetroid]

*Graj stood in the corner, watching the pirates converse. She meticulously took notes, even as Mother's very own voice began echoing throughout Tourian.*

Mother Brain: Of all pirates, I did not expect Engrael to betray me. How foolish, to go against me within my very own Eye of Phaaze.

Engrael: Speaking of betrayal, have you killed Svychx yet?

*Mother's voice wavered as her attention shifted elsewhere, not acknowledging the question. Though her body was indeed one with Phaaze, her mind and true form was still within the confines of another reality. That particular psychic thought could not be entertained, for the moment.*

Zeta: Where is that voice coming from?

Engrael: This was a mistake. She's still in control of Tourian.

*Zeta instantly stood up. Graj pressed a button. The turret emerged from the roof, raining down machine gun fire at the pirates, and they both dodged in opposite directions. The turret followed Zeta, while Engrael approached Graj. His energy scalpel pierced her chest.*

Graj: Mother, please...

*The turret ceased as Graj slumped to the floor.*

Mother Brain: That was unnecessary, Engrael. I expected better from you. It seems I must accelerate my plan and take direct action.

*Graj's body was lifted up on its own, her feet limply dragging along the ground. Her mouth moved of someone else's accord, matching Mother's voice. She turned around to face Engrael, blood staining the chrome floor.*

Graj: You have my full attention now. Is this what you wanted?

Engrael: Zeta. The spires are amplifiers. They need to be taken out or Mother will have complete control.

Graj: Your Great Mother has asked you a question. Answer me.

Engrael: I've already won. Either way, I am the last handler.

*Engrael turned to face Zeta. Engrael's mouth that was not his mouth spoke to Zeta, an echo of Mother Brain.*

Engrael: There is nothing you can do to stop this. Little pirate, you strangled your partner, set off to Phaaze and stormed Tourian on your own, armed with nothing but a puny energy scalpel. Your luck will only get you so far. Abandon this folly and return to the Spawnship, and perhaps I will forgive these transgressions. You must forget this unfortunate venture.

Zeta: I was always a distraction. I was always going to die here. Epsilon and Vexon are on their way to take down your spires.

Mother Brain: Beg for my forgiveness. Submit. Your blood need not stain Tourian. What do you say?

*Zeta's steel resolve stared back at Engrael's empty eyes. He glanced at Graj's puppet of a body, limply floating like a ragdoll. He felt Mother's psychic will all around him, grasping at his mind like tendrils coiling around their prey.*

Zeta: Fuck off.

[motheratfacetroid]

*The two pirates sat side by side, blood dripping from Engrael's mouth and Zeta's head. Zeta's gaze met Engrael's, unbreakable resolve in his eyes. Engrael showed no remorse for his actions, only quiet contemplation.*

Engrael: I am the last handler. You won't take that from me.

Zeta: You really think Mother cares about your little "legacy?" If she gets what she wants, pirates will be no different from automatons. No one will remember your past position.

Engrael: Even so, Mother fights to safeguard reality itself from breaking down. Entropy must be solved. You won't understand.

Zeta: It's not worth the cost. It is that simple. Kill the brain and keep your title. It's the only way. You spent your life digging through other people's corpses, looking for something worthwhile. Well, Mother's a corpse that will make your legacy last forever. You're my legacy. Don't let me down.

*Engrael chewed on a some form of ration, tasteless and dense. He struggled to swallow it.*

Engrael: I suppose so. I earned my position. Make no mistake, I'm not abandoning it.

Zeta: What?

*Engrael stood up.*

Engrael: I realized that working for you would be a promotion from working for Mother.

*Zeta laughed, honestly surprised he had managed to reach through to Engrael.*

Zeta: If you're working for me, no more mumbling in dead languages. The Space Pirates will rise again, but first, Mother needs to be taken care of.

[motheratfacetroid]

Engrael: How peculiar. It seems your Spawnship has turned against you.

Zeta: Is that what you wanted? Are the fire in these eyes dimmed enough to put me out of my misery?

Engrael: Let's see.

*Engrael calmly stepped over to Zeta, grabbed him by the helmet in one claw, and smacked him with enough force to send him hurtling. Engrael continued a slow approach as Zeta scrambled to his feet, pulling the remnants of his helm off his bleeding head and throwing it at the aggressor. The shards hit Engrael squarely in the chest, and though it wasn't much, it caused a coughing fit in the tall pirate.*

Zeta: Idiot. That's not a natural cough, is it?

Engrael: What?

*Engrael struggled to catch his breath.*

Zeta: What was it? Too much formaldehyde from all the corpses you've been toying with?

Engrael: Could be.

Zeta: Formaldehyde exposure. Fragile carapace. Weak lungs. You need help, Engrael. Put this nonsense aside. I don't want you to turn out like Zhaxule. I'll help you.

Engrael: You'd help me?

Zeta: I would. I don't have much else now, do I?

[motheratfacetroid]

Engrael: Perhaps, but you will witness Mother's rise all the same. Come to the banquet hall as we await the end.

*Graj entered the room.*

Graj: Communication request from the Spawnship.

Zeta: What?

*The voice of Talons came into the room.*

Talons: Tourian, you have been notified that we have left the Space Pirates. However, in exchange for much-needed supplies, we can still provide the Space Pirates with batches.

Engrael: How interesting. Why shouldn't we shoot you down at this very moment?

Talons: We will no longer be upholding the old limitations Zeta maintained on genetic experimentation. The Space Pirate genomes he used in the batches were always modified by less than 1%. We'll be expanding that. No limits. Except for what you provide us. Good genes aren't cheap.

Zeta: Talons...

Engrael: Excellent news, I'll relay the information to Mother when I get the chance.

Zeta: Talons, you bastard!

Talons: Zeta? What are you doing in Tourian? Are you on vacation?

Zeta: Never mind that, how could you betray me?

Talons: Zeta. Don't you understand? The reason the Spawnship was in disrepair is because of you. You chose not to comply with Mother's requests because of some silly idea of what Space Pirates should be. It's time to embrace the future, old friend.

Zeta: I never should have left the Spawnship.

*Engrael stood smugly by as Zeta became more and more bewildered.*

Zeta: You're pathetic. After everything we've been through, I never thought you'd be one to betray me.

Talons: I... didn't call Tourian to hear this from you. I'm sorry, but you're the one that betrayed the Spawnship. You put your own ideals above everyone else's well-being. I'm only doing what you never had the courage to do.

Zeta: The courage to bend the knee to Mother!? The courage to turn pirates into monsters?

Talons: To do what must be done, you stubborn old thing. I hope to make you laugh again like old times, Zeta. Don't get yourself killed in there.

Zeta: You're dead to me, Talons.

Talons: Goodbye, Zeta.

[motheratfacetroid]

*Zeta staggered back when Engrael released the grip on his throat. With his energy blade lost and in awe of Engrael's strength, Zeta stepped backward slowly, stumbling into a terminal adorning Mother's empty stasis tank.*

Zeta: Why not kill me then? Let me have my swan song.

Engrael: Like I said, that fire in your eyes should fade, first.

Zeta: You won't break my will. Even if Mother is this planet like you say, I'll destroy her.

Engrael: You're so invested in this nonsensical quest for vengeance. Killing Mother won't ease your guilt. Indeed, Kerig acted of his own accord, not Mother's will. Yet you'd still place the blame on her?

Zeta: It's not about me at this point, is it? The time for servitude is over.

Engrael: It's always been about you. That's all you've ever thought of. Your batches. Your Spawnship. Your successes. Your losses. You cared nothing for the spawnlings beyond your legacy. You don't get it, do you? I am your legacy. I am the last handler. Mother Brain will ascend, and we shall ascend with her. Our dies irae is at hand.

*Tears trickled into Zeta's helmet.*

Zeta: I was blind, but I never once thought of them as anything less than my progeny. I wouldn't see them warped by Mother's machinations. Yet that is all that Kerig did. He twisted you. I'm sorry. Is this the fading fire that you seek?

[motheratfacetroid]

*Talons and the geneticist left the hatchery laboratory, Talons nervously smirking as they stepped out of the sterile lab and into the rusted corridor. The humidity in the hallway was immediately felt, a stark contrast from the controlled environment in the lab. He spat out an oily substance and used it to grease his robotic claw.*

Geneticist: So, you understand the procedure?

Talons: Easily, I've taken apart machines more complicated than that. Anyway, time for the announcement.

*Rather than return to his office, Talons opened up a socket in the corridor and plugged in one of his claws, which bent and twisted to fit it perfectly.*

Talons: This is a test, do not release the geemers.

*His voice echoed throughout the entire spawnship as he took over its communications.*

Talons: Good. My glorious crew, Kerig is dead, and Zeta has left us. I've come to a difficult decision, as your new leader. The Space Pirates, despite relying on us and the several other Spawnships for a steady supply of spawnlings to populate the cosmos, has left us without the supplies we need. I've seen it in your eyes, in your missing limbs, we all know it's true. And it's no secret that we harbor enemies of Space Pirates, is it? There's no use carrying on pretending. We of Spawnship I, will no longer serve the Space Pirates. We'll trade with them if it suits our needs, not theirs. Renounce your allegiance to the Space Pirates.

*Talons sighed, muttering to himself.*

Talons: What have I gotten us into?

*Talons spoke over the communications system once more.*

Talons: And anyone that disagrees can come for my head. That is all, crew.

[motheratfacetroid]

*The geneticist motioned to a test tube and a hologram appeared of a Space Pirate.*

Geneticist: First stage is acquisition of genetic materials. A mere claw clipping or an exoskeleton shed is all we need to develop a base for the Space Pirate genome.

Talons: Claw clipping...

*Talons made a picking motion at where his left claw would be, if he still had it. The geneticist ignored him and made a motion, which prompted more holograms to appear. This time, of a parasite, and a geemer.*

Talons: A geemer, really? I thought I was funny.

Geneticist: Once the DNA has been extracted from the genetic material, we receive a shipment of additional genetic material from High Command for processing. The DNA is then extracted separately. Machines will handle all this for us.

Talons: Careful who you're calling a machine!

Geneticist: Right. We then proceed to the selection process, where we isolate the genes we want to introduce to our batch. Genes are inserted into a viral host which we will introduce to the parasite at a later point. Alkaloid cations are extracted from geemer pulp. These cations force the parasite cells into a competent state, allowing their cells to accept foreign DNA. Parasites and Space Pirates are very similar in genetic makeup and exhibit rapid evolution capabilities. Once the parasite cells are naturally competent, the virus is introduced to the parasite and transfection will occur. Once we verify that the parasite will survive the process, we then repeat the process, using the Space Pirate cell culture as the target for genes, rather than the parasite. Following that, I'm sure you're familiar with the test tube growth procedure.

Talons: Alkaloids inducing a competent state? What you're saying is Space Pirate cells can take up genetic information from alkaloid exposure?

Geneticist: That is correct.

Talons: No wonder Mother lets Space Pirates drink Geemer Wine.

*Talons pondered a bit, the statement sounding far darker than he intended it to be.*

Talons: Binah must be so screwed up.

[motheratfacetroid]

*Talons walked alone in the rusted junk sector of the Spawnship. He glanced at a pair of bipedal treads that once formed a temporary part for Weavel. They sat abandoned in a corner of the empty room.*

Talons: Kerig is dead. Zeta is gone. It's just me in charge now.

*He pondered to his lonesome self, the junkyard having become his private office since Zeta's departure. He unscrewed his left claw, affixing it to a small charging station before he left the room.*

Talons: Sorry, you'll have to wait your turn.

*He waved goodbye with his other cybernetic arm to the charging station, which housed more limbs than just his own. The door shut behind him, the worrying sound of air pressure shifting within the facility. He briskly paced on the rusted, cramped hallway, smiling at the maintenance workers he passed by on the way to his destination.*

Geneticist: Finally. Where's your hand?

Talons: Which one? I've lost at least five.

*The geneticist smirked. The sterile lab chamber was one of the cleanest on the Spawnship.*

Talons: So what did you need me for?

Geneticist: I'll be handling most of the research here, but since you're in charge, you have to oversee the batches we create. That's what Zeta wants.

Talons: I was hoping we wouldn't be doing batches for Mother anymore.

Geneticist: Regardless, the Space Pirate legacy must live on. Spawnship I is at 40% operating capacity. The other four Spawnships are between 80% and 97% operating capacity, and they're still under your jurisdiction. At least, in regards to the genetic makeup they provide for Zebes.

Talons: I see. Begin the explanation and then I'll make my announcement.

[motheratfacetroid]

Mother Brain: Svychx, the realm between realms awaits us.

*Mother's claws tore a path through the void, opening a portal back to where Final Destination was prior. Instead of finding ruins, Mother stepped out onto the exterior of Subspace Fortress, its gates guarded by strange creatures.*

Mother Brain: How long have we been absent from this place?

[motheratfacetroid]

Engrael: To watch the flames in one's eyes die out along with their life is bliss. To watch it flicker away before that, however, is a real treat.

*Engrael stopped toying with Zeta and swung his energy scalpel with such force that Zeta's scythe went flying from the impact, along with the part of the armor it attached to. It fell to the floor, deactivated and dim. Blocking was no longer an option for Zeta. He rolled to the ground, narrowly dodging Engrael's fury. Engrael coughed.*

Zeta: So that's really what this is about, huh? Kerig hurt you. He hurt us all. Wake up, idiot, enslaving everyone under Mother's rule won't change any of that. I'm sorry I couldn't change it. Come to your senses, it doesn't have to be this way.

Engrael: Things are exactly how they need to be, for all of us. Even if I wished it, I cannot stop now. What would the Space Pirates think of me betraying Mother? What of my legacy as her handler? Do you think I would throw that all away for something as petty as "freedom?" Even as we speak, Mother is planning a suicide mission to free her consciousness from her body and take direct control of Phaaze. She also plans to take Dark Samus with her. There shall be no force left to oppose us Space Pirates. We cannot stop. We are on the verge of victory.

*Zeta kicked Engrael in the chest, staggering him back slightly from the attack. Engrael kept coughing, deactivating his energy scythe and grabbing Zeta by the throat, slamming him against a terminal.*

Engrael: Defiant until the end. I would expect no less from the Spawnship's leader.

*Zeta gripped at Engrael's claw around his throat, struggling to speak.*

Zeta: Go ahead you worthless bastard. It's just like how I killed Kerig.

*Engrael pondered for a moment, before loosening his grasp.*

Engrael: We are doctors, Zeta. We do not kill. I may even think of you as family. Tourian will forgive you of your crime if you abandon your folly. Come and witness the new age of Space Pirates with me, with Mother.

[motheratfacetroid]

*Engrael grinned at Zeta's statement, as if he had already known he was going to say that.*

Engrael: I am not insane. You just have yet to realize the truth. I've spent my life picking apart the Space Pirate body. You've spent your life creating them, but I know them far better than you do. Space Pirates are unfit to rule themselves. Life is unfit to rule itself. We need Mother, we all do. And we need her ad infinitum. I will go down in history as the Last Handler. Her eternal reign is at hand.

Zeta: What history? If Mother Brain controls everyone, who will there be to remember you? You're just a pawn to her, you know that, you idiot!

Engrael: What does it matter? I'll have saved the world from its idiocy. Even you must be able to see that.

*Engrael, despite his words, was unsettled by the thought. A new, malicious one coursed through his mind, and he strolled over to a terminal, his gaze not breaking with Zeta's. Music began to play throughout Tourian. Ridley's war drums came to life in the speakers. Zeta scarcely could hold back sobbing behind his helmet.*

Zeta: Music? But Mother...

Engrael: Are you jealous? Those in Tourian are permitted far more luxuries than the average pirate. I know you lusted after this position yourself. You thought you could make Mother serve Space Pirates. But you had no idea how much you were missing out, did you? Mother chose me, not you. She was well aware of your desires. She chose me for a reason. And the state of Phaaze proves she was correct in her choice.

Zeta: I haven't heard that sweet symphony in so long, but I'm not jealous of you one bit. You've failed us all. Bastard. Damn Phaaze and damn Mother!

*Zeta charged at Engrael with his scythe. Engrael's energy scalpel met Zeta's blow with ease, despite Zeta putting all his force into the desperate strike.*

Engrael: Ah, a death wish, good. I prefer the company of the dead more than that of the living. There is no greater pleasure in this world than to see the flames in your eye flicker to life, just before being snuffed out. I must thank you again for coming here, so I can relish this moment.

*Engrael forced his scalpel against Zeta's as sparks flew between the two energy blades. There was no strategy behind Engrael's swing, just enormous, raw strength. The two surgeons fought in the chrome chamber for what seemed like centuries. Zeta's frenzied swipes were always deflected by Engrael's scalpel, and soon the geneticist met with the heavy realization that he was being merely toyed with.*