"We can rebuild him," said the Illusive Man. "We have the technology. We can make him whiter. Caucasianer. Genericer."

"Can we fix the other problem?"

"The penis size? No. No, it has to all be the same. All of it."

"I didn't mean the penis, I meant the personality issues. They say if the Collectors hadn't destroyed the ship, Shepard would have had his throat cut. There were half a dozen conspiracies to murder him already in motion. Besides, being an asshole can't really be essential to—"

"All of it, Miranda. All of it."

The Dinner Date

In Which Commander Shepard Prepares for one of his Many Romantic Occasions

"Oh hey Jack, how's being a psychotic bitch who can't express herself working out for you? What's with the tattoos-are you planning on audition for a dyke porn parody of Prison Break? Furthermore you are socially useless, mentally stunted, tactically brain dead, martially retarded and overall an absolute failure both as a human being and as a warrior. You lack merit in every way it is possible to be lacking."

Bastard Shepard checked gnarly stubble in the mirror and cleared his throat. He blinked at his reflection and turned his head every which way. "Hmm…That was about a seven, maybe a six I'd say." He forced a cough and wiped his thin skeletal lips on the back of one hand. The facial reconstruction surgery had botched in only one area: he now had the horrific bacon lips of Shia LaBeuof.

EDI's buzzing hologram popped up all the way back at his desk. Her voice managed to reach him in the washroom.

"Commander Shepard? What are you doing in there?"

Shepard sucked his upper lip dry. "I'm trying to figure out the best way to crack our favorite convict's emotional barriers and intimacy issues. Somewhere in there is a delicate flower, I tell you!" He turned around and pointed an accusatory finger at the toilet. "Hey you—yeah you, orange krogan! How does it feel to be an orphan! Feel the burn!" B. looked back at the doorway to the bathroom. "Hey EDI—what's that thing in the cargo hold called?"

"Jack?"

"No, the fatherless alien."

"Ah. Tali."

Shepard's eyes lit up. "Good one. I should remember to use that. But I was actually thinking of the Krogan. Not Zaed—he only looks like one."

"Grunt?"

"Yes, Grunt. The gentle giant who doesn't know his own strength. We should just call him Lennie and be done with it—I already had to shoot him once." Shepard looked back in the mirror. "I'll have to work on this later. Right now it's time for dinner with Kelly Chambers!"

He skipped happily back to his desk. EDI was still there.

"What the hell do you want, Caprica?"

"You have a call on your terminal, Commander," said the AI patiently.

"Oh thanks. So, how're Joker and you doing? Have you seen the male masturbator made to look like your computer core that I gave to Joker?

"No," said EDI in what almost sounded like a disturbed tone. "I wasn't aware that Jeff had acquired any such thing. I need to go." EDI blipped away and Shepard sat down with a grin. He leaned back in his chair and hit the answer button with the heel of his boot. Kelly Chamber's voice flooded the room.

"Commander, as the ship's psychologist I am responsible for the mental well being of the crew. I've been hearing some…disturbing rumors."

Shepard ignored her words. "So how about that date, Kelly? You know I love red heads. I told you that already, right? Why don't you wear that dancer's uniform. Or if you prefer we can eat dinner…au natural."

"That sounds unsanitary."

He waved a hand at the voice box. "Pff. The genitalia are some of the cleanest parts of the body. Unless you have AIDs. Do you have AIDS, Kelly? Do you have alien AIDS?"

"Actually I was talking about being near you; Private Wilkins says you made jokes about how inbred the colonists on the colony 'Harvest' are."

"So?"

"So he's from Harvest. So are his wife and kids. They were all born there."

"I know." Shepard picked his nails. "And in the same house too."

"And the entire colony was abducted by the Collectors."

"Collectors smechtors. Wilkins knows I was just having a bit of fun."

Kelly sighed. "Wilkins has been depressed ever since he got the news, sir."

"So is that my fault now?" asked Shepard, sitting defensively up in his chair.

"He said you started making the jokes right when the news arrived. In front of him. And then you followed him in the bath room and punched him until he cried. So yes, it is your fault."

"What a whiny bitch. Well I'll tell you what Kelly, you can forget about this dinner date and you can forget about my famous casserole too. I didn't hire you so that you could saddle me with the fucking stupid problems of my crew."

"Right. I was getting to that. I don't think we should talk anymore, unless there's something I need to give you. Like a bullet."

"Oh come on! Why not?" Shepard brought up his holo computer and began playing Minesweeper as he talked. "I thought we were really getting along really well. Of course you get along with everything really well now don't you?"

"See, right there is the problem."

"What problem."

"You're a bastard."

B.'s eyebrows rose. He left the game and picked up a pair of sunglasses, sliding them on. "I'm renegade."

"Nope. My bastard sense is tingling."

"Maybe that's not what you think it is. Maybe it's Scale Itch."

The call went dead. Shepard stared at the silent box. Another love lost, another heart broken. Two more souls passing by each other in the endless night of space—touching once, but never truly connecting. Sorrow for the stars. Tragedy for the planets.

"God damn it I'm hungry."

He pressed a button. "GET UP HERE GARRUS AND MAKE ME MORE OF YOUR FAMOUS TURIAN SOUP!"

"Ah!" Garrus screamed back in surprised anger. "I told you Shepard: IT. WILL. KILL YOU."

Shepard slammed his fist down on the desk. "IT IS DELICOUS!"