TIME TO RETIRE AN OLD CLASSIC
One of my more unfortunate traits as a gamer is my insistence on playing things chronologically. If a series has a continuous storyline—like Baldur’s Gate or Assassin’s Creed—you can forget about me jumping in halfway. I want the full context. And even when a franchise like Final Fantasy offers standalone entries, I still feel compelled to play them in order, just to follow the evolution of its design and mechanics.
The Metroid series checks both boxes. Its gameplay has evolved over time, and its universe frequently references past events, recurring characters, and familiar threats. Unfortunately for me, it all began in 1986 on the NES—a platform I largely missed growing up. Much of its library now feels hostile and punishing, so much so that the term “Nintendo hard” was coined for a reason. Going back to those games today can be a painful experience.
Although Metroid isn’t considered especially difficult by NES standards, I’ve bounced off it every time I tried. The limited controls, scarce checkpoints, and early difficulty spikes made it impossible for me to persevere. For years, I assumed I had simply missed the boat—that this legendary series would remain a glaring omission on my gaming résumé.
Then came remakes.
When I learned about Metroid: Zero Mission—a modernized retelling of the original—something clicked. The prospect of experiencing Samus Aran’s first mission with contemporary design sensibilities felt like a fair compromise. Apparently, my brain agreed.
And what a compromise it is. Zero Mission is a full-scale overhaul, transforming the 8-bit original into a polished 16-bit experience. It boasts detailed pixel art, refined interactivity, and smart design across the board. Quality-of-life improvements abound, and crucial information has been pulled from the old instruction manual and integrated directly into the game. Simply put, this remake allows the original to retire with dignity.
You play as Samus Aran, the galaxy’s most formidable bounty hunter. Story moments are delivered through brief, unobtrusive narration and visual vignettes. The plot itself is straightforward but effective: after the Galactic Federation fails to reclaim a research vessel overtaken by Space Pirates, Samus is dispatched to Zebes to shut down their operation. There, the pirates attempt to exploit the Metroids—jellyfish-like creatures capable of draining life energy—and Samus must infiltrate their base and destroy Mother Brain, the mechanical intelligence behind it all.
The rest, as they say, is history. Metroid went on to define an entire subgenre—the Metroidvania—by marrying platforming with exploration. It combined Mario’s movement with Zelda’s sense of discovery, offering a sprawling map that gradually opened up as new abilities were acquired. Today, this structure feels commonplace, but in 1986 it was revolutionary.
Zero Mission’s level design remains its greatest strength. The game subtly guides you forward while rarely holding your hand. Seven distinct regions, each with unique hazards, music, and atmosphere, stand between you and the finale. Some areas are flooded with toxic waste, others with extreme heat and lava—conditions that are manageable only after acquiring the appropriate upgrades.
The automap marks your objective but leaves it to you to figure out how to reach it. When progress stalls, careful observation reveals solutions: cracked walls, hidden passages, or destructible obstacles that yield to the right tool. Exploration feels deliberate and rewarding rather than obtuse.
Controls are smooth and intuitive, and movement feels responsive despite my less-than-ideal controller. What truly drives the experience, however, is the constant teasing of secrets. Inaccessible ledges and suspicious corridors nag at your curiosity until a newly acquired ability suddenly makes them reachable. Each upgrade meaningfully expands your options, and the game cleverly teaches their use through level design instead of intrusive tutorials.
By the end, I had grown careless. After the credits rolled, I discovered I had missed nearly a third of all collectible items. Instead of frustration, I felt temptation. What else did I overlook? Were there even more transformative abilities waiting to be found? Few games inspire an immediate desire to replay quite like this.
Boss encounters are more uneven. They range from fair to outright aggravating, and they’re not the game’s highlight. One late-game fight—formerly the final boss in the NES version—nearly broke my patience, turning me into equal parts pinball and damage sponge. While save points are generally well placed, a few surprise twists toward the end would have benefitted from additional checkpoints.
Atmospherically, Zero Mission presents a striking H.R. Giger–inspired world, complete with eerie backdrops and a haunting soundtrack. Many players recall the original Metroid as a lonely, oppressive experience, but that feeling is less pronounced here. The action is faster, the visuals more detailed, and Samus grows powerful quickly—perhaps too quickly.
That doesn’t make it worse, just different. If the original Metroid felt like Alien (1979), Zero Mission resembles Aliens (1986): more confident, more aggressive, and more action-driven. Both are exceptional, but in distinct ways. Zero Mission excels at conveying the thrill of mastery—only to briefly strip it away near the end.
Metroid: Zero Mission is a short but demanding action-platformer, clocking in at around six and a half hours. It rewards curiosity, observation, and dexterity, and its pacing is impeccable. Most importantly, it finally gave me a proper entry point into a series I had long admired from a distance—something the original never managed to do.
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