COMMISSION: The Corruption of Samus Aran [futa/futa, FtFu TF, domination]

Why me? You'd think, just once, with all the other bounty hunters under the Federation's payroll – not to mention working independently – that just once a job would come up that doesn't have to be handled personally by me.

A strange, crawling, vaguely-phosphorescent creature scuttled ominously on yet another high ledge keeping Samus Aran from her escape route. She'd taken care of the job, because of course she did. To be completely honest, not much was seemingly like a challenge after she'd taken on the likes of Kraid, Ridley, the SA-X, and everything in between, and this job hadn't broken those expectations. The great sinister minds behind the newest catastrophe were vaporized by Samus's Chozo arm-cannon, in a very similar, though slightly more tedious manner to the way Samus now reduced the strange creature obstructing her into sizzling paste.

Taking a powerful leap from the doorway she was standing at, Samus crawled up onto the far-off ledge, finding her feet and lightly shaking the creature's gooey remains off of her gauntlets. Moving forward into another thin hallway, the bounty hunter entered an elevator that would take her to the surface of this planet, out of the complex she'd left in complete ruins. Just the way she liked it.

The trip was surprisingly uneventful. Usually her great escapes involved ticking timebombs, the destruction of a planet, a hail of metroids, or some shit like that. This one was going smoothly so far – imagine how nice it'd be if she could get out of this shithole's atmosphere without one last surprise hitting her in the ass on the way out?

“Not bad, Sammy.” Well, fuck. That didn't take long. Really, not even once? She wasn't asking for much.

Pausing at the voice she heard, Samus cocked her arm cannon upwards and turned her head, her scanners doing quick peripheral searches of the area – quickly finding the source of the voice, behind her. The huntress pivoted on one heel, aiming her cannon at the source in one smooth motion, the cold green visor of her helmet expressionless, showing nothing of the frustration and annoyance that decorated Samus's face beneath it.

“What.” Samus growled, the monosyllabic prod resembling an acknowledgement more than an actual question. The voice had come from a woman – a woman that she did not recognize, but nonetheless seemed strangely... familiar. Not as tall as Samus herself, though perhaps leaner, unarmored and unarmed. The latter, in itself, raised questions – on the surface of a scrap-heap planet like this, not even Samus Aran would dare remove the visor of her helmet, yet this strange woman was clad in little more than a nightshirt, her soft skin almost iridescent, inhuman.

“So stern,” the girl said, a soft smile on her lips. Something really familiar about it, nagging at the back of Samus's mind. “You need to lighten up a little, Sammy. Think of your blood pressure. Or do you think all that Chozo blood in you protects you from an unhealthy state of mind?”

Sammy. Who called her Sammy? Everything started to blend together after a while. She'd been everywhere from military, to freelance, to Federation-appointed, but she couldn't remember anyone calling her that in recent memory. Still, it was something she'd heard about before. “Look. Whatever it is you're selling, I'm not interested. So if you're about to turn into some kind of giant monster, get the fuck on with it so I can get on my ship and get out of this place.”

“No monsters,” the girl smiled, taking a few steps closer. Samus recoiled, tensing her posture into one that was more directly aggressive.

“I'm warning you, girl,” the huntress said firmly. “I don't like to make a habit out of dusting humans, but I'm willing to make an exception if it means I go back to the Federation and get my credits.”

“I want to help you, Sammy. I wanna free you.”

“Yeah, I've heard that shit before.” Samus tensed, releasing a blast from her arm cannon and watching the woman's form blast in half, swirl back into place, coalesce, and then begin to slowly fade – leaving only a splatter of some kind of ectoplasmic substance encrusted onto the planet'

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