You're patrolling the halls of your frigate. The shift is almost over. You've been on this assignment for cycles, and have some bonus rations ready for claiming. Today's the day!
You're on your back. Why are you on your back? This and other questions buzz through your mind like the swarm of Parasites crawling across the ceiling. They don't seem interested in you.
You try to raise yourself, blocking out the sirens and warnings blaring in your ear, but your shattered arm falters and you fall once more.
Other members of the patrol team scurry past. You call out; you would, but blood chokes your words. They leave you behind. Why? Why don't they help?
You lie there, bleeding, knowing that the next ragged breath may be your last. Your vision clouds. Looking at a blown fuel pipe nearby, you curse your luck.
You hear something. Footsteps. One of your brethren. They slow when near. You're saved! Your mind struggles to see through the fog in your eyes. The vision focuses into a shape. The silhouette of an armored warrior. A noble? How thoughtful they are. You manage to reach a hand out toward them, and try to thank them for stopping to help; nothing but a growl escapes your jaws, but you're sure that the meaning reaches your savior...
Who raises her arm cannon toward your head. It glows with an orange fire, reflecting off of cursed Chozo metals stained with familiar blood.
Behind that cruel visor, the Hunter laughs at her prey.
Forward this to 7 cohabitants or the Hunter will destroy your outpost!!