Miranda's eyes widened as she began to recognise bits and pieces of the 'conversion' headset they were preparing to strap her into. It was less elegant in design, less powerful, and clearly man-made, but there was enough similarlties that she could recognise
co-opted Reaper tech in it. From the weird dulling hum she could feel even several meters away, she guessed mostly based on what little they understood about indoctrination. Only instead of gradual worship of the massive AIs, this one seemed to be intended
to turn innocent women into airheaded, wanton fucktoys. As far as Miranda knew, indoctrination wasn't reversible, but she hoped this jerry-rigged facsimile wasn't that good, or she'd never get Ori back... Oriana back, she corrected herself. Ori was this mockery
of her teenage sister, all fake surgical enhancements and false sweetness, designed to humiliate the previously naturally pretty and acerbically witty and cynical girl. And by extension, to do the same to Miranda.
"How come you're sad, Miri?" cooed the Antipodean accented-bimbo that had been her sister, "Mr Stacker says only frigid bitches are sad, happy girls get lots of big cocks to fuck and their cunnies are drippy all the time, see?"
She slid two fingers into her reddened, clearly just-used pussy and they emerged coated in a combination of juices that she smeared on Miranda's lips. The older woman's tongue snaked out to lick it off hungrily, before she paled, aghast that the device was
already having an effect before she was in it.
"In ya go, betcha won't be such a cunt to the Illusive Man when this is done..." the thugs laughed as they fastened the restraints, and one-by-one stepped over to the preening, vapid, skanky figure of Ori, one fondling her clearly too-round and too-firm tits,
one sliding his hands around her hips, his hands contrasting her pale tummy, then she was bent over, as the two undid their belts, and revealed their stiffening cocks. Miranda gasped, trying to look away, trying to think of something else, but every time she
tried, her mind went blank, and her clit throbbed. So she forced herself to look, to focus on those big, hard dicks and how jealous she was that Ori was going to be used by them... wait... she wasn't jealous... she was... um... something else... but she was
Miri Lawson, she didn't let lowbrow thugs fuck her hot little twat....
Another wide-open snap of her eyes. She wasn't going to let this thing change her. Her name was M... Mi... Miri! And she was supposed to be genetically perfect, so that meant the perfect mind. The perfect, empty, giggly mind... No... that wasn't right, it meant
she had the perfect... body... yeah, the perfect, taut, toned tummy, the perfect full, round tits, the perfect tight, soaked snatch...
"mmmph, oooh, you're in the happy helmet, huh, Miri?" squealed Ori as she sucked one cock while another teased and taunted her waiting pussy...
***
The pleasant, feminine tones of EDI's synthesised voice rang out from the intercom in the Captain's office area of Shepard's cabin.
"Jeff and I just picked up a faint comm signal from a Normandy ship-to-shore frequency, Commander. The signal was too weak to decipher content, but the frequency, plus the tranjectory makes it likely to have come from ex-Operative Lawson's disembarkation point.
Shall we alter course to investigate?"
The red-headed woman who commanded the SR-2 leaned back in her chair, contemplating. She was due back on Earth for what most likely would become a court martial, and the human members of the crew were likely to fare little better, unless she could cut a deal.
Delays wouldn't make things any easier.
Then again, when were things on the Normandy ever easy.
"Not exactly EDI. Get Joker to plot a course to the nearest Mass Relay to that station. I'll ask Samara, Jack, Tali and Thane to take a shuttle out there. They can pose as Samara's prisoners. Tali could be the pilot, see if she could alter the designs on her
suit to play at being exiled." she ordered, "I'm kind of conspicuous out here now, best to keep my distance til we're sure..."
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