Samus gets off... at the wrong stop

The journey lasted five minutes and a thousand years. Each lurch of the train sent her bare skin brushing against the starched collars and polyester fabrics of the other passengers. Samus kept her eyes squeezed shut, willing herself to become invisible, a tactic that had never once worked in her entire career. The silent judgment felt heavier than any gravity plating. Every averted gaze, every cough, every whispered comment that she couldn't quite make out was a fresh brand against her already scorched dignity.

A chime sounded. "Next stop: Forbidden Oasis. Please mind the gap."

The doors hissed open. Samus didn't wait for an invitation. She bolted from the carriage like a plasma burst from a cannon, a blur of pale skin and frantic motion. She didn't look back. She hit the platform and kept running, the cool air on her sweat-slicked body a momentary relief. Freedom.

She skidded to a halt, her bare feet squeaking against the polished obsidian floor of the station. She finally took in her surroundings, expecting to see sandy dunes and people basking in the glorious freedom of total nudity.

Instead, she saw a colossal holographic sign that pulsed with lurid pink and gold lettering: WELCOME TO THE FORBIDDEN OASIS – VEKA’S PREMIERE ADULT PLAYGROUND.

The air didn't smell of salt and sunblock. It smelled of cheap cocktails, stale perfume, and desperation. The gentle lapping of waves was replaced by the incessant chime and jangle of gambling machines that lined the concourse. People milled about, but they weren't naked. They wore shimmering, skin-tight outfits, gaudy animal-print swimwear, and leather harnesses that left little to the imagination. They were clothed, but only by the thinnest technicality.

Samus’s arms, which had been clamped firmly over her chest, fell to her sides. Her self-conscious pose evaporated, replaced by a dumbfounded stillness. Here, she wasn't an anomaly to be shielded from children's eyes. Here, she was just… underdressed for the party.

The stares changed. The shock and awkward amusement were gone, replaced by something slower, more calculating. A trio of men with slicked-back antennae and matching gold chains grinned, their eyes tracing the lines of her body. A woman draped in sequins looked Samus up and down, a single, perfectly plucked eyebrow raised in what could have been appraisal or contempt. The gazes felt oily, slithering over her skin. This was worse. This was so much worse.

"Wrong stop," Samus muttered, her throat dry. She spun around, spotting another platform across the way. The sign above it read: SUN KISSER’S SHORE – NUDIST BEACH EXPRESS. "There. That one."

She started toward it, trying to ignore the murmurs and the way the men with the gold chains leered at her behind. She broke into a jog, her ponytail whipping behind her. As she reached the boarding area for the correct tram, a gate arm descended, blocking her path. A sleek chrome robot, taller and more imposing than the park bots, rolled into her path. Its face was a blank, polished screen.

"Halt," the robot intoned, its voice a perfectly modulated baritone. "Present transit pass for boarding."

Samus froze, her chest heaving. "I... I don't have one. It's an emergency. I have to get on that train."

The robot’s screen remained blank. "A valid transit pass is required for all passengers."

"Look, you don't understand," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "I'm in a situation here. Just let me pass."

She tried to duck under the gate arm, but a steel-plated hand shot out, not grabbing her, but planting itself firmly on her shoulder, halting her progress with immovable ****.

"Attempt to bypass fare payment protocol detected," the robot droned. "Individuals without a valid transit pass must vacate the station premises."

The robot’s other arm extended, the palm flat. It pressed against her back, not violently, but with an inexorable, hydraulic pressure. Her bare feet slid backward on the polished floor.

"No, wait!" she protested, her hands flapping uselessly.

The robot pushed her back through the main station entrance, a pair of glass doors hissing open to accommodate her undignified exit. It escorted her right to the edge of the station's property line and stopped. The doors hissed shut behind her. Samus stumbled forward onto the garish, neon-soaked street of the Forbidden Oasis, the sounds of slot machines and raucous laughter washing over her. The robot stood behind the glass, an impassive, silent guard. She was out. And she was stranded.