Gary "Roach" Sanderson had always prided himself on being adaptable. As the newest recruit to Task Force 141, he knew he'd have to prove himself. What he didn't expect, however, was to find himself face-to-face with androids—Nikkes, they called them. Soldiers who weren't entirely human but fought just as hard, if not harder.

Roach had heard stories about how the Nikkes worked alongside 141, their skills as deadly as they were unique. Some were tactical masterminds, others were demolitions experts. But Roach? Roach had somehow ended up under the watchful eye of Mary, the squad's medical Nikke.

And that was… a problem.

Mary was nothing like the field medics he'd worked with before. She was calm, professional, and somehow always gave off an aura of perfection. But that wasn't the real issue. The issue was the way she looked—dark brown hair with noticeable blue streaks, shoulder-length and styled like she hadn't just walked through a war zone. She wore a short white medical jacket over a snug, short blue sweater dress that left little to the imagination. Her figure, well… Roach had tried not to notice, but it wasn't exactly easy when she was standing two feet away, holding a syringe.

Which was how he ended up in this mess.

"Hold still," Mary said, her voice calm but firm, like a teacher correcting a rowdy student.

Roach grimaced, looking at the oversized syringe in her hand. "Uh, what's that for?"

"It's a stimulant," she replied, as if that explained everything. "You sprained your shoulder during the training exercise, remember? This will help with the pain."

"I'm fine!" Roach protested, trying to wave her off. "Really, it's not that bad."

Mary raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. Her violet eyes—half-hidden behind her dark lashes—seemed to pierce straight through him. "You're sweating."

"It's hot in here," Roach shot back.

"It's sixty-five degrees."

He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could get a word out, Mary reached forward and pressed a hand to his injured shoulder. Roach winced as pain shot through him, and Mary's lips curved into a knowing smile.

"See?" she said simply, pulling back. "Now stop squirming."

Roach sighed, slumping in his seat. He was trying to keep his composure, but it was hard not to notice how graceful Mary was, even when she was busy preparing to jab him with what looked like a comically large needle. Her every movement was smooth, precise—like she didn't even need to think about what she was doing. Which, apparently, she didn't.

"How do you even know where to aim with your eyes closed?" he muttered, watching her work.

Mary paused, the syringe halfway to his arm. "Excuse me?"

"You do everything perfectly, but half the time you're not even looking at what you're doing," Roach said, leaning back slightly. "It's like you've got some kind of sixth sense or something."

Mary tilted her head, clearly amused. "I do have sensors, you know. Advanced targeting and diagnostic systems. I don't need to look to know what I'm doing."

"Right," Roach muttered, feeling a little silly. Of course she didn't need to look. She was a Nikke, after all.

Still, it was unnerving how flawless she was at everything. While he was tripping over his own feet during training exercises, she was probably doing advanced medical procedures with her eyes closed.

"Alright," Mary said, stepping closer. "This might sting a little."

"Wait, what do you mean—ow!" Roach yelped as the needle pierced his arm.

"Relax," Mary said calmly, pressing the plunger down. "It's already done."

"Could've warned me," Roach grumbled, rubbing his arm as she pulled the syringe away.

"I did," she replied, her lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smile.

Roach rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for her efficiency. She was quick, precise, and didn't waste time with unnecessary explanations. It was impressive, really.

And frustrating.

Because every time Mary got close, Roach found himself struggling not to stare. The way her sweater dress hugged her figure, the subtle sway of her hips as she moved, the blue streaks in her hair that seemed to catch the light just right—it was all distracting in the worst possible way.

"So," Mary said, crossing her arms as she looked down at him. "Do you feel better?"

"Yeah, yeah," Roach muttered, standing up and rotating his shoulder experimentally. The pain had already started to fade, much to his annoyance. "Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome," Mary replied, adjusting her jacket. "Next time, maybe try not to injure yourself during a training exercise. You'll make my job easier."

"It wasn't my fault!" Roach protested. "Soap pushed me into the obstacle course."

"Hmm," Mary said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Sounds like an excuse."

"It's not an—" Roach stopped himself, realizing he wasn't going to win this argument. "Never mind."

Mary smirked, clearly pleased with herself. "Good. Now go get some rest. And try not to do anything reckless for at least twenty-four hours."

"No promises," Roach muttered, making his way toward the door.

As he left the room, he could hear Mary chuckling softly behind him, her voice carrying that same calm confidence that seemed to follow her everywhere.

Later that evening, Roach found himself in the mess hall, trying to focus on his food and not the fact that Soap and Gaz were openly laughing at him from across the table.

"So," Soap said, grinning like a cat that had just caught a particularly juicy mouse. "Heard you had a little visit with Mary earlier."

Roach groaned, slumping in his seat. "Don't start."

"Did she lecture you?" Gaz asked, barely suppressing his laughter. "She's got that tone, doesn't she?"

"She doesn't lecture," Roach muttered, poking at his plate with a fork. "She just… points things out."

"Oh, mate," Soap said, shaking his head. "You've got it bad."

"What are you talking about?" Roach asked, narrowing his eyes.

"You're smitten," Soap replied, his grin widening. "Head over heels for the Nikke nurse."

Roach felt his face heat up. "I am not!"

"Denial," Gaz said, nodding sagely. "Classic sign."

"Shut up," Roach muttered, but his voice lacked conviction.

The truth was, he didn't know what to make of Mary. She was efficient, professional, and calm under pressure—everything he wasn't. She made him feel like a clumsy rookie, fumbling his way through missions while she effortlessly handled everything thrown her way.

And yet… there was something about her. Something he couldn't quite put into words.

"Alright," Soap said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Here's what you do. Next time you see her, just tell her how you feel."

"I don't feel anything," Roach snapped. "She's just… good at her job."

"Uh-huh," Soap said, clearly unconvinced. "Whatever you say, mate."

Gaz chuckled, shaking his head. "You're not gonna live this down, you know."

Roach sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I hate you both."