From the Memory Bank: My History with Video Games

Super Metroid - The Best in the Galaxy (Part 2)
Samus Aran's grand adventure redefined an entire genre and provided me the gaming experience of a lifetime.

From there, the experience played out very similarly to the one that I had during my first real play-through of Metroid: I made a limited amount of progress (I beat the Spore Spawn and acquired Super Missiles) before becoming hopelessly stuck. I simply couldn't figure out what to do next.

Specifically, I couldn't find a way to advance past the energy-draining caverns of the super-heated Norfair. I had no idea where it was the the game wanted me to go next or how, exactly, I was supposed to get there.

And after spending hours fruitlessly exploring and re-exploring Norfair's safe portions and all of the previous areas, I became convinced that my copy of the game was bugged. "It's either that a particular access point is missing from my copy of the game," I thought, "or that a certain bombable wall has been improperly coded."

I remember going downstairs and expressing this sentiment to my mother.

She didn't give much attention to my complaints, though. In fact, she couldn't have been less interested in the subject. "Well, try again!" was just about her only response.

I was so desperate to be proven incorrect that I resorted to returning to the game's starting point (Samus' hovering ship) and proceeding to systematically and exhaustively bomb every visible block in every accessible room (just like I did in Metroid when I got stuck).

At one point, I started entertaining the notion that it might be impossible the complete the game in its current state, and I came close to giving up. And I was devastated by the situation. It was a horrible turn of events.

That's when, in my desperation, I decided to try something silly: I headed over to lower-Brinstar's elevator room, which was the last place I'd expect to find a secret, and bomb-spamming its walls and floor.

I didn't seriously think that anything would become of that effort, no. Naturally, I thought, there was no way that such a place would be hiding a critical access point. I mean, it was an elevator room for Christ's sake! "They aren't going to hide anything behind the surfaces of a generically designed transition room that basically functions as loading screen and is likely disconnected from the rest of the map," I was absolutely certain.

Even the thought of such a thing seemed ridiculous!

But lo and behold, it turned out that the elevator room was indeed hiding a secret: A portion of its right wall was composed of three Super Missile-engraved blocks! ("Those sneaky bastards!" I thought to myself the moment I made this discovery.)

Clearing these blocks away, to my great relief, opened up the whole rest of the game! And from point on, my excitement never again ceased. From then until the very end, I continued to immensely enjoy the experience.

Sadly, I don't remember how I went about beating the game or how I ranked in terms of completion-rate, but I do recall the opinions that I formed about the game after I reflected upon my experience with it.

My main conclusion was that Super Metroid had improved the series' formula in every way possible way. Everything it did was great. Every one of its additions and enhancements was a winner.

I liked, for instance, how the specially engraved blocks made it clear how I could advance and thus eliminated the need for exhaustive guesswork. Now I no longer had to figure out or remember which weapons destroyed which blocks!

But I wouldn't have to do so, anyway, because of the addition of cool new items like the X-Ray Scope and the Power Bombs, both of which had the power to reveal blocks and surfaces' true nature! They helped to make the process of secret-finding so much easier!

Also, I loved how the beams stacked upon one another and how their amalgamation created the potential for awesome combos like icy Spazer lasers and wavy, surface-penetrating Plasma Beam shots! I thought that it was an ideal update to the weapon system, and I was especially fond of it because it provided me the luxury of not having to trek across the entire planet every time I wanted to switch weapons.

What was nice, also, was that you could go into the inventory and switch weapons off! I wasn't sure why I'd ever want to do something like that, but still it was a very cool option to have!

And I especially loved the Speed Booster. I thought that it was ingenious addition and that the sequences that challenged you to use it were both cleverly constructed and memorably designed. It was just fun to use in general. I liked using it to speedily advance over terrain and heedlessly shine-spark in every which direction and let the move take me wherever it wanted to! (Though, I was never able to figure out how to pull off a diagonal shine-spark. After a while, I stopped trying to do so and simply assumed that diagonal shine-sparking was an advanced maneuver that only gaming pros were able to execute.)

And I liked the Grapple Beam simply for the reason that it functioned similarly to Simon Belmont's whip in Super Castlevania IV (it could be extended in all eight directions, and it could attach to certain objects and allow you to swing from left to right and launch yourself long distances. Its mechanics were a bit sloppy (at times, your forward momentum would jarringly halt for no discernable reason), yeah, but still I had a lot of fun experimenting with it! It turned out to be an impressively multifaceted weapon (it could, in addition, damage enemies and grab item drops from afar)!

Really, all of the game's weapons and items were impressively implemented and thoughtfully designed, and what I loved most about them was that they allowed me to interact with environments and enemies in new and interesting ways. I could now briskly and energetically tear through walls and surfaces with the Speed Booster and the Screw Attack (which could now destroy certain block types), use the flying Rippers as grapple points for my Grapple Beam, leap incredible distances, swing in circles and wildly throw myself in any direction, and Morph Ball my way into the waiting claws of a Chozo statue, which would, in reaction, come alive and aid me in a spectacular way.

(In the previous years, it was my Metroid tradition to roll into a ball and pose as a Chozo orb whenever I was in a statue room, and that's why I felt so rewarded when Super Metroid turned one of my silly actions into an actual game mechanic! I felt like I contributed something to the formula!)

But my single favorite interaction came courtesy of the Power Bombs. I'm talking about my interaction with the glass tube in Maridia.

The moment I laid eyes on that tube, I knew that there would be a way for me to destroy it. That's why I was close to entering into a state of euphoria when, on a whim, I laid down a Power Bomb in the tube's center and then watched on, with an excited energy, as it shattered to pieces! The three-second stall that occurred before the first crack appeared made me believe that my idea was a dud, and that's why I became so strongly reinvigorated when the tube did eventually start to shatter.

So the stall was great because it helped to make the tube's destruction feel more dramatic and thus more satisfying!

And I was also greatly pleased by many of the other things that Super Metroid did: I felt that the designers did a great job of improving upon abilities like the Space Jump and the bomb-jump, both of which were previously intuitive. Now they were easier to execute and thus more useful for exploring (and attempting to sequence-break).

I was pleased that it had an exponentially larger number of secret passages to discover and dozens of expansions to collect. I was delighted with how it respectfully and beautifully translated Metroid's enemies (all of which I loved) to 16-bit form. I was impressed with how finely rendered its new enemies were and how well they were introduced (and that's why my lasting impression was that they were just as interesting and as memorable as Metroid's enemies). And I felt that every area of the game was brilliantly designed, both in terms of structuring and visual presentation).

And then there were the two things that I loved most about it: The first was that it played amazingly and brought the series to new heights. And the other was that its visuals and music were as powerfully evocative and indelible as such aspects could be; I knew, instantly, that I'd never be able to forget them.

Super Metroid, quite simply, had it all!

I did have some issues with the game, however. At the start, at least.

For one, I wasn't fully on board with new Brinstar's music because I felt that it lacked the invigorating, heroic spirit of Metroid's Brinstar theme. At the time, it seemed that it was a standard for a Metroid game to have a least one high-energy musical piece whose job was to serve as a source of hope and inspiration and fill you with the confidence you need to bravely explore the world's dark, depressing areas.

But Super Metroid didn't care to have music from that category, and that was disappointing to me because I really wanted for there be a rousing tune that had the ability to empower me and offer me respite in those instances when I was returning from the gloomy, unease-inducing depths.

(I might have been a little resistant to this deviation because I was spoiled by what the the game did early on and I was still hoping for it to include more of Metroid's environments and musical qualities. I probably hadn't yet accepted that the game wanted to be largely original and move in its own direction. My feelings changed after I beat the game, though, and I saw it in its full context. At that point, of course, my thought was, "I wouldn't change a thing about this soundtrack.")

Also, I wasn't sure that it was a good idea for the designers to make health-replenishment items so readily available. Having the convenience of being able to completely replenish your health at almost any point only served, I thought, to trivialize the series' all-important survivability element.

I felt the same way about the inclusion of a map: Having a detailed map was nice, sure, but its presence only served to ruin the mystery! These games were, after all, supposed to be about getting lost and using your own agency to find the correct way forward!

And I couldn't deny that the game controlled a bit awkwardly at times.

I wasn't in love with its default input-assignment, but also I couldn't find a fully comfortable scheme no matter how much I played around with the game's custom-control system. I could create schemes in which I was able run and shoot fluidly or run and jump fluidly but never one that allowed me to comfortably do all three at the same time.

Also, Samus had a tendency to take an extra step after horizontal directional input had ceased, and resultantly I was always slipping off of narrow passages--particularly those that were placed above spikes or those obnoxious carnivorous plants.

And I found the inputs for wall-jumping to be incomprehensible. I didn't know what, exactly, I had to do to execute the wall-jump, and more than half the time, I'd fail to perform the move and limply fall back to the ground. Hell--I was lucky if I could string together more than two wall-jumps!

Had the designers decided to craft challenges that required the wall-jump's use, I might have lost my mind and walked away from the game! (I can reliably execute the wall-jump now, but that's only thanks to my 20-plus years of experience playing the game.)

I also felt that parts of the game were a little too easy.

It was my expectancy that Super Metroid's action would, like the previous series entries', be designed to seriously test Samus' endurance and physical abilities, but it didn't always do that. It didn't always make me work.

The Kraid battle was indicative of this shortfall: His new Godzilla-like form was impressively rendered, and his large increase in size made him seem like a major terror, but in reality he was a joke! He went down so easily (I killed him with maybe two or three Super Missile shots) that it hardly seemed worth the designers' effort to scale him up to five-times his original size. Because he would never live long enough for you to fully appreciate how large and intimidating-looking he was!

(As an aside: I loved that they included a mini-Kraid as an homage to the fake Kraid from Metroid. I was, as I've explained a countless number of times, deeply fond of the original Metroid, so I had a special appreciation for any reference that was made to it.)

But really, none of these issues ever served to dampen my enjoyment of the experience. They couldn't because Super Metroid wouldn't let them. It would consistently use its special ability to trivialize my complaints by overwhelming me with the power of its emotional conveyance (it was more powerful than even the original Metroid in this regard).

Take the final Tourian sequence, for instance: I was disappointed with how easy it was to cut through the Metroid horde and how both of Mother Brain's forms went down with little resistance (my best friend, Dominick, shared my sentiment that these fights were too easy). But it didn't seem worth it to further explore these negative feelings at a time when I was deeply engrossed in one of the most powerful, most emotionally charged storyline sequences in the history of video games.

I'm of course referring to the events that led into the sacrifice that was made by the enormous Super Metroid, which moments earlier latched onto Samus and proceeded to rapidly suck her away her life-force before relenting for what was supposed to be an "unknown reason." (It was obvious to me, and presumably everyone else who played Metroid II, that this mutated Metroid was the hatchling that I came across after defeating the Queen Metroid. What had happened, I immediately deduced, was that the Super Metroid relented because it suddenly became cognizant of the fact that it was killing its own "mother.")

The Super Metroid's death hit me hard because I'm an animal-lover, and I can't stand hearing the pained wails of dying or wounded creatures. In that moment, I was pissed at Mother Brain for how she mercilessly killed my gelatinous friend and couldn't wait to get even. And when the Crateria music kicked in and began lifting my spirits with its revitalizing energy, I firmly grasped my controller and readied myself to furiously wail on Mother Brain. I did that with my newly obtained Hyper Beam--the Super Metroid's final gift to me. I ceaselessly assailed her with super-charged lasers and fried her!

The entire scene evoked so many different emotions from me, and it did so without using a single line of text. That was a testament to the sheer power of its visual conveyance.

I was moved by everything the scene did. Each element of it was highly impactful.

And I loved everything that the escape sequence did, too. In particular, I thought that it was an amazingly clever design design decision to have the new Tourian spill into the old Tourian and reveal an unsuspected link between the two areas! Before the shroud fell, there was nothing to suggest that they were adjacent to each other the whole time. (Those sneaky Space Pirates!)

Super Metroid didn't turn out to be a particularly difficult game, no, but honestly, that didn't matter much to me in the end. Because my play-through was, in general, intended to be purely about the experience. It was about immersing myself in the game's world and enjoying all of the ways in which it sought to engross me with its powerfully evocative visuals, music, and atmospheric qualities. And in that context, I had an amazingly fun time. The game gave me everything that I was looking for and more.

That Super Metroid also happened to be a mind-blowingly great action game was just a large bonus.

And when it was all over, I didn't hesitate to declare that Super Metroid was one of the best video games I'd ever played. And I had no doubt that I would return to it dozens of times in the months and years ahead.

Super Metroid resonated with me like no other game ever had before, but at the time, I couldn't adequately explain why it did so. Whenever I was attempting to describe its allure, I'd find myself using overly simplistic terms like "lonely atmosphere" and "feeling of isolation." Because at that point in my life, putting feelings into words was difficult for me. I hadn't yet learned how to express myself and, honestly, I still lacked the vocabulary and the literacy necessary to sufficiently articulate my thoughts. (Though, ICOM Simulation's point-and-click adventures and games like them were helping me to grow in this area.)

It wasn't until decades later that I was able to find the words to explain how Super Metroid managed to evoke such powerful emotions from me.

But still, I knew how I felt inside, and I understood why Super Metroid had so profoundly impacted me. And I was quite certain that the game was going to be a big part of my life going forward.

The Follow-Up

Indeed, as I predicted, I returned to Super Metroid dozens of times in the weeks and months that followed. I spent hours re-exploring every one of the game's charted rooms and intently observing and examining its every background, foreground and sprite-layer detail.

I thought about the game constantly. I spent many an hour wondering about its world and particularly the existence of areas like the Wrecked Ship. "How long has that ship been there?" I'd obsessively wonder. "And was it parked there on the planet's surface even during the original Metroid?"

Also, I'd try to come up with logical explanations for how Mother Brain was able to resurrect Ridley and Kraid. "Does she use a specially designed machine for that?" I'd wonder. "Or does she have some type of innate reanimation-type power?"

And at other times, I'd talk about the game with my friends and record their thoughts on how they felt about its special moments (or, rather, those that I considered to be its special, most memorable moments).

In that period, Super Metroid was always on my mind.

When Nintendo Power Volume 60 arrived with feature coverage of Super Metroid, I feverishly compared its map illustrations of old Tourian and Brinstar to older issue's Metroid map illustrations to see if the areas truly matched up to each other tile-for tile. There were a few noticeable differences, of course, but still I felt that the games' respective areas were remarkably close in design. And that made me feel even more appreciative of the Super Metroid's team's visual-design efforts!

What shocked me the most was the older issue's visual confirmation that the southeast vertical passage in Metroid's Tourian lined up perfectly with the game's starting screen. I couldn't believe that my theory was actually correct! So it indeed made sense, then, that Super Metroid's Tourian elevator led down to the same exact screen!

While studying the two games' Brinstar maps, I came to the conclusion that Super Metroid's red vertical passage (the one with all of the Rippers) was one and the same with Metroid's mile-long blue-colored passage. "So Super Metroid does contain more rooms from Metroid!" I excitedly proclaimed.

Also, I figured, Maridia's lower portion had to be the flooded ruins of Kraid's hideout because it, like the latter, was directly south of Brinstar and positioned just about identically. "That must be why Kraid had to move his operations up to Brinstar!" I thought.

I spent a lot of time engaging in this type of activity. Because I simply loved comparing the two games' worlds and discovering their similarities and putting together theories as to how Super Metroid's new areas might have been transmuted or metamorphosed versions of Metroid's.

And I derived enjoyment from Super Metroid in plenty of other ways.

I found an alternative way to enjoy its music, for instance: I used my tape recorder to record my favorite tunes, and then I listened to those tunes at the appropriate times. On a rainy autumn afternoon, I'd pop open the windows and listen to ominous-sounding Crateria (Raining), which was the perfect accompaniment to my reading sessions and the stretches in which I was working on my monster-based art projects.

If I was daydreaming about exploring a Zebes-type planet, I'd listen to the spooky Wrecked Ship theme or the downright-evil-sounding boss-statue theme and let it shape my visualizations. If I was feeling down or depressed, I'd listen to the positively charged Brinstar and Crateria themes and let them infuse me with spirit. And when I was feeling reflective, I'd listen to the sad-sounding "Red Brinstar song" (as I called it) and depend on it to provide wistful and nostalgic texture to the memories I was revisiting.

Also, I had fun with the game's characters and made sure to incorporate its major enemies (Phantoon, Crocomire, Draygon, Botwoon, and the Super Metroid) into my "Master of Evil" card series. And because I had so much affection for the game from which they originated, I naturally overpowered them. (I gave the bipedal Super Mother Brain, in particular, extra-special treatment and put her up there with top-ranked beings like Dracula, Sigma, Doomsday, Satan, and even the Master of Evil, himself.)

For years, that's how it was. Super Metroid was with me wherever I was. It had a presence in every part of my life. That's how much it meant to me.

Modern Times

In recent years, I've had some breakthroughs in my endeavor to articulate why Super Metroid (and each of the previous series games, for that matter) is so endlessly alluring and powerfully resonant, but still I struggle to find the perfect terms.

What I like to say is that its world, more so than any other game world, is like a living breathing organism. Though its long passageways, haunted caverns, and branching corridors appear to be self-contained, they're all interconnected, in mysterious ways, and they function like blood vessels in a complex cardiovascular system. And consequently they create a world that's as alive as we are.

And it's a world that has the ability to express itself in an organic manner. Its environments are rife with the type of motion and ambiance that tells stories that require no textual interpretation.

Crateria's ominous acid-rain downpour speaks of the planet's bleak long-term outlook. Old Tourian's eerily flowing mist obscures the area's ravaged, abandoned spaces and creates the sense that they're still somehow rife with living energy and that unseen danger is lurking somewhere within the metallic ruins.

Pink leaves perpetually shower the floral environments of Brinstar's jungle area, and their ceaseless abscission tells the sad tale of a cold, lonely alien world's silently decaying ecosystem.

The sweltering heat of Norfair's fiery depths manifests in pulsating, shimmering cavern walls, the sight of which is enough to evoke feelings of discomfort and a strong urge to hurry along and leave the area as soon as possible.

The Wrecked Ship's ghost-infested interior shifts from undoubtedly lifeless to alarmingly operation, and thereafter, the glowing energy created by the newly operational mechanical and computerized components works to ward off the lost spirits and illuminate newly functioning threats.

The foreground of Maridia's aquatic subterrane is layered with an undulating texture filter that simulates the flowing movement of water, and the layer's heavily saturated, murky appearance functions to greatly enhance the area's dreary, hopeless atmosphere. (Some of Maridia's spaces once belonged to Brinstar's drylands, I've recently read, and this lends credence to my theory that Maridia is partly formed from the ruins of Kraid's old hideout!)

When Crateria is mercifully spared of rainfall, its washed-out-yet-still-resiliently-luminous skyline becomes a welcome sight and becomes a source of optimism for a player who's been lost within Zebes' depths for hours. It speaks of changing fortunes and inevitable victory.

And because the game communicates with us in this manner, we feel connected to it. We understand what its world is telling us, so as we explore it, we feel as though we're a part of it.

That, I think, is the lasting appeal of Super Metroid.

And the entire time, the game's unconventional (and masterful) music does something wonderful: It functions not only as amazingly augmentative accompaniment but also as synchronized environmental conveyance. Its incorporated crackling, bubbling, rumbling and gurgling sounds play a major role in supplying environments their foreboding, spine-chilling atmosphere.

In truth, some of the game's music can, much like Metroid II's, be described more as "otherworldly ambiance." Tunes that are designed in that style function as alien-sounding compositions whose purpose is to supply the game an unmistakably unique personality and consequently differentiate it from others in the action and adventure genres. And Super Metroid's collection of ambiance-creating tunes does that job at the highest level; it provides the game what I'd say is the most outstandingly unmistakable alien atmosphere a game ever had.

The best example of such tunes is the unsettlingly dissonant ditty heard in the item and elevator rooms. The original composition from Metroid is comprised of a string of high-pitched beeps and an accompanying pattering noise, and thus it comes off as merely weird- and curious-sounding. But Super Metroid's updates turn it into something far more evocative. The new version adds in strains of unmelodic bleeping and eerie humming, and this works to transform the tune into an unearthly composition that's instead unsettling and unease-inducing. And as a consequence, it now fills you with the sense that the walls around you are somehow alive.

There's not an area or even a single screen that isn't enhanced by the soundtrack's characterizing, animating influence, and that's a big reason why Super Metroid always feels like a living entity. Even when you're in rooms in which nothing appears to be happening, you can't help but feel that some creature is lurking in a nearby space--in the foreground or background or beyond one of the walls--and waiting to jump out and attack you. "The room, itself, might be a living creature waiting to bite down on me!" you might be inspired to think.

The game's characters, too, work to create the sense that Zebes is real and perpetually functional.

Indigenous creatures like the tortoise-shelled Tatori and its offspring (which, amusingly, look like Buzzy Beetles) occupy their marked territory and operate as though they've been living there for years. The speedy Dachora and the nimble Etecoons dash and wall-jump about as if they know the place inside and out and consider it their playground. A single Choot rests in one of Maridia's tiny, out-of-the-way pockets, and seeing it makes you think that it migrated over there to get away from the other Choots and build its nest in a quiet, isolated space.

And these characters' presence makes you believe that Zebes has its own working ecosystems and has always been alive and rife with activity (even before Samus' ship touched down in the original Metroid).

There's so much going on in every corner of Zebes--so many interesting visual details that help to imbue it with life energy. I want to talk about all of them. I want to say so much more about Super Metroid's world and tell you why its environments are so alive and alluring, and I want to provide hundreds of screenshots in accessory. Because every pixel of the game has special meaning to me, and I'd like to explain, in detail, what each one makes me feel.

But I can't do that. There simply isn't enough space on the Internet to accommodate the amount of content I'd like to share. So I'm going to stop for now and begin the process of wrapping up this piece.

Because I think you get the idea.

So 20-plus years later, my reasons for frequently revisiting Super Metroid haven't changed. I return to it because it's a top-tier action-adventure game, foremost, but also because I derive great enjoyment from leisurely and thoroughly exploring its world and soaking in its amazingly evocative atmosphere and being enchanted by all of its imagination-stirring visual and aural elements.

Super Metroid's is a masterfully crafted, beautifully designed world, and it still feels fresh to me all these years later. And I'm sure that I'll still feel that way 20 years from now, too.

And for certain, I'll continue to be astonished by Super Metroid's hidden depth.

Because really, this game never seems to run out of secrets! It's been surprising me nonstop since 1994! I remember, for instance, being blown away by the discovery that you could score a cheap victory over Draygon by using the grapple beam to electrocute it as it's grasping you.

Also, until maybe 10 years ago, I didn't know that you could execute a "Crystal Flash" and thus replenish all of Samus' health (this ability is showcased in the game's demo, so I'm not sure how I didn't know about it). (Admittedly, though, I'm still not sure how properly execute the move. Its input process seems arcane to me.)

And I was shocked by other discoveries, too: the fact that each beam had a special attack assigned to it; that it was the extra sting of Super Missile shots that was making Phantoon act so aggressively; that I could make a quick stop in Crateria's Torizo room during the escape sequences and rescue my friends, who had become stuck in that room (and I always make to save them!); and that it's possible to beat the game without seemingly mandatory items like the Varia and Gravity Suits.

And I know that there's still so much more to discover! I'm sure that there is because I see it happening all the time! I watch Super Metroid speedrunners, who are constantly finding new things (unknown game mechanics, interesting glitches, cool sequence-breaking techniques, and the like).

I'm always eager to see what they find next!

I can further quantify the magnitude of Super Metroid's impact by telling you that it's one of the most enormously inspirational games that I've ever played (it stands atop a list that includes games like Castlevania, Shadowgate and Rygar).

It has influenced my life in multiple ways: It has shaped me as a person and as a creator, taught me important lessons about world-building and emotional conveyance, inspired me to improve as a writer and a thinker, and helped me to define who I am as a video-game enthusiast. Basically, it has managed to weave its way into pretty much every fabric of my being!

The seeds that Super Metroid planted continue to bear fruit even today. The game's powerful resonance is a huge factor in why I've grown so passionate about the idea of exploring my video-game history in print and sharing all of my great memories with others. It's one of the biggest reasons why this blog exist.

So for certain, my world would be a much emptier place without the game's influence.

The only other thing that I can say is that Super Metroid is my favorite entry in the Metroid series and high up there in my pantheon of all-time-favorite video games. It's unlikely that any other action-adventure game will ever be able top it or impact my life as profoundly.

It is, quite simply, the best action-adventure game ever made.

I mean, sure: The GBA sequels improve upon the series' formula mechanically and control-wise, but still, they're not able to negligibly surpass Super Metroid or truly replicate what it does. They're not able to recapture its spirit or inspire you in the same way.

That's because Super Metroid is already the perfect version of itself. You can't improve upon it or recapture what it does. Trying to do so won't result in the creation of a better game, no, but rather the construction of a pale imitation that will only serve to remind people of how amazing and irreplicable the original work is.

The only thing that you'll succeed in doing is reminding everyone that no other game will ever be Super Metroid.

So after my adventure came to a close and all of the totals had been calculated, I was assured by Nintendo and Intelligent Systems that they would see me "next mission," which I saw as a desirable prospect. "I can't wait to see what comes next for Samus!" I thought to myself as I stared at the game's final screen.

It took a long time before that promise was delivered upon (nearly eight years, which seemed exponentially longer to my younger self), but I was fine with that reality. In those years, I never lamented the fact that a Metroid sequel didn't arrive in timely fashion, nor did I ever spend time complaining about lost opportunities.

I didn't have to.

Because, after all, I owned Super Metroid, which, I could say knowingly, was good enough to last me a lifetime.