Jane Shepard, the legendary former N7 commander and current leader of the elite Nikke squad known as the Shepherds, paced the length of her luxurious Outpost apartment like a caged predator. Her combat boots struck the polished hardwood floor with a heavy, rhythmic intensity that betrayed the absolute chaos storming inside her mind. She had faced down Tyrant-class Raptures without her heart rate spiking above resting levels. She had commanded suicide missions into the deepest, darkest craters of the surface wasteland. Yet, right now, her hands were shaking, and a furious blush was spreading across her lightly freckled cheeks.
The source of her uncharacteristic panic had a name: Jacob Taylor.
Less than an hour ago, the man had actually possessed the sheer, unadulterated audacity to knock on her door. Jacob, her ex-boyfriend. The man who had looked her in the eye and broken her heart, claiming that the pressure of her legend was simply too much for him to bear, that she was 'too good' for him. He had abandoned her, chasing after a Cerberus geneticist who offered him a simpler, less intimidating life. But now, seeing her name plastered across the Ark's operational boards as the hero of the new era, he had suddenly decided he had made a mistake. He had stood in her doorway, offering a pathetic, practiced smile, asking if they could 'try again.'
The only reason Jacob had managed to walk out of her apartment with an unbroken nose—and his spine still fully attached to his pelvis—was the Ark's mandatory NIMPH programming. The nanotech paralyzed any Nikke attempting to physically harm a human citizen.
Jack, standing near the kitchen island, was still vibrating with residual rage. The biotic powerhouse's purple aura flared dangerously around her shoulders, the scent of sharp ozone filling the apartment. "I swear to Goddess, Shepard," Jack snarled, her tattooed arms crossed tightly over her minimalist leather jacket. "If it wasn't for that damn programming locking up my muscles, I would have biotically shoved his teeth so far down his throat he'd have to brush them from the inside of his asshole. The absolute nerve of that coward."
Ash, leaning casually against the doorframe with her sniper rifle resting near her boot, vigorously polished a combat knife. Her rigid posture betrayed her own simmering anger. "He's an opportunist. He couldn't handle you before, and he certainly doesn't deserve you now. You're practically a goddess of war. You need to purge him from your system, Commander. A hard reset."
Kasumi materialized from her tactical cloak, appearing suddenly on the plush sofa. She offered a sympathetic, albeit mischievous, smile. "Ash is right. You need a distraction. Someone who isn't intimidated by your shadow. Someone who actually knows how to treat a woman who can bench-press a transport shuttle."
Jack's eyes lit up with a sudden, predatory gleam. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her datapad, and aggressively tapped the screen a few times before shoving it directly into Shepard's chest. "Text Cousland."
Shepard blinked, looking down at the glowing contact name. Arthur Cousland. The Commander of the Outpost. The man with the goddesium legs, the Cerberus-alloy arms, and a reputation that made central command executives sweat. He was also the man who had looked at her with such profound, unwavering respect and raw desire that it made her chest ache. "I... I can't just text him," Shepard stammered, her breathy voice cracking slightly. "He's busy. He runs an entire city. He's trying to synthesize the Vapaus bullet. He's—"
"He could be your boyfriend," Jack interrupted bluntly, stepping into Shepard's personal space. "And, at the very least, he wants to be. And you want him. I've seen the way you look at his prosthetic arms. I've seen the way he looks at you. Now, text the man."
Shepard swallowed hard, her emerald green eyes darting nervously between her three squadmates. They had formed a semi-circle around her, completely boxing her in. She realized with a sinking feeling that she was facing a tactical siege she could not win. Defeated, she tapped the screen to open a new message to Arthur.
"What do I say?" Shepard asked, feeling entirely out of her depth.
"Tell him you want him to use those heavy goddesium legs to pin you to the wall," Jack suggested instantly, a wicked smirk crossing her face.
"Absolutely not!" Shepard hissed, her face burning crimson.
Kasumi giggled, leaning over Shepard's shoulder to look at the screen. "Too aggressive, Jack. Start with something casual. Send him a picture of you in that new dress we bought in Sector Six. The one that hugs your hips."
"I am not sending him a thirst trap!" Shepard protested, her fingers hovering nervously over the holographic keyboard.
"Keep it tactical, then," Ash chimed in smoothly, entirely serious. "Ask him for a joint weapons calibration session. Men appreciate a woman who knows how to maintain her barrel rifling."
Jack groaned loudly, throwing her hands in the air. "You are all hopeless. Shepard, just ask the man on a date. Use your words. You're an N7, for fuck's sake."
Shepard took a deep, steadying breath. She closed her eyes, picturing Arthur's rugged, handsome face, his slicked-back brown hair, and the gentle, grounding warmth in his eyes. She quickly typed out a message before she could second-guess herself, hitting send with a sharp, decisive tap.
*Would you like to go to the shooting range with me?*
Jack stared at the screen for a full three seconds before letting out a loud, agonized groan, dropping her head back in despair. "A shooting range? Shepard, you are a legend, a hero to the people, and your grand idea of romantic foreplay is discharging firearms at paper targets? That is the lamest thing I have ever seen."
Kasumi and Ash burst into a fit of chuckles, watching their fearless commander fumble through the awkwardness of a schoolgirl crush. Shepard crossed her arms defensively, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through her stress. "It's what I know," she muttered. "And Arthur appreciates good marksmanship."
***
Miles away, beneath the artificial sun of the Outpost, Arthur Cousland sat at the massive oak desk in his penthouse war room. The office smelled of dark roast coffee, ozone from the humming servers, and the faint, elegant floral notes of Miranda's expensive perfume. Arthur rubbed his eyes with his hand, the cool metal contrasting with the warmth of the room.
Miranda stood beside him, clad in her immaculate white bodysuit, her engineered perfection on full display as she efficiently sorted through logistical manifests and supply requests. Rapi stood at attention near the window, her long blonde hair catching the amber light, her military-issue uniform crisp and flawless. She was meticulously reviewing the patrol routes for Alpha Squad, her demeanor entirely stoic.
In the corner of the room, sitting comfortably on a plush rug, was Arthur's adopted daughter, Anne. The young N102 Nikke, whose memories had been permanently restored by the Harmony Cube, was happily drawing in her sketchbook. Beside her sat Jackal. The chaotic Nikke of Exotic squad was surprisingly docile today, aggressively chewing on a reinforced rubber bone while occasionally adding crude, explosive crayon scribbles to Anne's careful drawing of the Wall of Heroes. Anne would gently scold her, trade her a different colored crayon, and continue drawing, a beautiful portrait of found family.
Arthur's Omnitool suddenly chimed, breaking the quiet hum of the office. He tapped his wrist, projecting the holographic display. The first notifications were a rapid-fire series of texts from Blanc and Noir, the stunning bunny-sister Nikkes from the entertainment district.
*Pit Boss! We have a massive event being held at Coin Rush in two weeks! You have to come down.*
*We miss you! We need our lucky charm to spin the roulette! Please?*
Arthur smiled fondly, typing a quick reply promising to visit them soon. As he closed their chat, a new message popped up. It was from Jane Shepard. He opened it, his eyes scanning the single, awkwardly formal sentence asking him to the shooting range. His smile widened into a warm, genuine smirk. He could practically see the blush on her freckled face, could almost hear Jack mocking her for the tactical suggestion.
But as he stared at the screen, the silence of the room allowed the darker, heavier thoughts lurking in his mind to rise to the surface. The smile slowly faded from his lips, replaced by the grim weight of command.
His thoughts drifted to Elysion Headquarters, to the secure cryogenic medical bays where his beloved Scarlet was currently trapped in stasis. She had been infected with Rapture corruption. The only way to halt the corruption was to freeze her, leaving her suspended in a twilight sleep while CEO Ingrid and her top scientists desperately tried to synthesize the Vapaus bullet from the sample he had procured. He missed her fiercely. Her deadly grace, the scent of her cooking synthetic beef in his quarters, and the soft, intimate moments they shared in the dark.
And then there was Matis. The premiere Missilis squad, trapped in the exact same frozen condition. Maxwell, his brilliant, fierce Nora, was sealed away in a Missilis vault. The ache of her absence hit him deeply, twisting like a knife in his gut. What made it unbearable was the absolute helplessness. Unlike with Scarlet, he couldn't even visit Maxwell. Syuen, the petty, vindictive CEO of Missilis, had categorically denied him entry to their medical wing, using the tragedy to exert corporate dominance. The fact that his lover was locked behind enemy doors, suffering while he sat in a comfortable penthouse, grated against every protective instinct in his mercenary soul.
Arthur let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound drawing Miranda's perceptive gaze. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her touch a silent offer of support. Arthur patted her hand gratefully, shaking his head to clear the dark clouds.
He looked across the room at his most trusted soldier. "Rapi, how are you holding up? The new barracks rotation seems to be settling in well."
"The transition is running smoothly, Commander," Rapi replied crisply, not taking her eyes off her datapad. "Combat readiness remains at ninety-nine point nine percent."
"I meant you, Rapi," Arthur said softly, leaning back in his heavy leather chair. "How are you doing? We haven't had a moment to talk, just the two of us, since the Sector Eighteen op. I want to know where your head is at."
Rapi immediately stiffened. Her shoulders locked, and a faint, barely perceptible flush of color touched the tips of her ears. She snapped the datapad shut and executed a flawless, rigid salute. "I am functioning at optimal capacity, Commander. My head is entirely focused on the mission parameters. If there are no further tactical assessments required, I should inspect Alpha Squad's gear in the armory. Permission to be dismissed?"
Before Arthur could even grant it, Rapi was already turning on her heel, practically fleeing the penthouse with a rapid, staccato march.
Miranda let out a soft, elegant laugh, shaking her head as the heavy blast doors sealed behind the retreating sniper. "She is absolutely terrified of you, Arthur. Or, more accurately, she is terrified of what she feels for you. Anis has been teasing her mercilessly about it all week. You're going to have to corner her eventually if you want her to stop running."
"I just want her to realize she doesn't have to be a soldier every second of the day," Arthur murmured, pushing himself up from the desk. The heavy clack of his goddesium boots echoed on the hardwood. "But you're right. I'll deal with Rapi's emotional barricades later."
Arthur walked over to the corner, crouching down to press a soft kiss to Anne's forehead, praising her drawing of the obsidian monument. He gave Jackal an affectionate head pat, which the Nikke leaned into with a happy, rumbling growl.
He stood up, grabbing his heavy tactical coat from the coat rack. He slid his Cerberus-alloy arms into the sleeves, the servos whining softly. He was not going to drown in self-pity today. He had a city to run, a war to fight, and cures to find. But right now, he had a date.
Arthur pictured Jane Shepard waiting for him. That incredibly fit, fiery redhead with the sexy, breathy voice that commanded legions but whispered his name in the dark. He thought of her light freckles, her piercing emerald green eyes, and the vulnerability she entrusted only to him.
"Miranda, you have the conn," Arthur said, adjusting his collar and flashing a roguish, mercenary grin. "I have a shooting range to conquer."
He turned and walked out of the penthouse, his goddesium legs carrying him toward the Ark.