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Breeder	By : Larania Category: +M through R > Mass Effect Views: 9431 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Mass Effect belongs to Bioware and EA, not me, and I make no money from this work of fanfiction.

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Breeder
Chapter One
Disclaimer: Mass Effect belongs to Bioware and EA Games. This is a work of fanfiction, and I make no money from this fan work at all.
Warnings: adult language, sexual situations, slash, dub/non-con, threesomes, gender bending and mpreg. If I have missed something, please inform me and I will add it.
Characters/pairings: Colonist/War Hero paragade ManShep/Kaidan, ManShep/Garrus and a little ManShep/Zaeed.
Summary: Mindoir's strategy for survival was one that was not well-known to the greater galactic community. Derek Shepard carried this legacy with him, dormant, through the Skyllian Blitz and through the battle with Sovereign. However, after his death at the hands of the Collectors and revival due to the machinations of Cerberus, he must cope with his body no longer being his own.
~*~*~*~*~
There was a new hole in his head.
It was the thought Commander Shepard kept coming back to, like a broken record. The one thought that managed to float to the top of the other flotsam and jetsam of his confused and scattered mind.
While there were worse things bouncing in Shepard's skull, for example: 'Two years dead? What the hell?' 'How did Cerberus get me?' and 'Why are my hips wider?' All competed for space in the throbbing ache behind his eyes, but those he could suppress. Those he could bury under the urgency of klaxons, the sound of gunfire. Yet when the woman had urged him off the operating table, he had paused a moment to take stock.
He hurt. All of him hurt: joints creaked, his muscles trembled, his gut felt bloated and heavy. He was naked, wrapped in a flimsy plastic sheet. His face stung, either from surgical incisions or deep cuts, he didn't know. His head...
He rubbed the back of his skull, and that was when he found it: a small indention, rimmed in metal, almost completely covered by his hair, with a small pip in the center. Something was embedded in his skull. His fingers scrambled around the smooth edges in panic, trying to gain purchase and yank the damn thing out-
"What the hell did you do to me?" he had roared, mind blanking in fear.
"Shepard, there's no time-"
"I'm not going anywhere until you answer me. What the fuck have you put in my head?" Shepard screamed as he stood in front of the locker, hands shaking. He felt- god, he was about to get sick-
There was static from the woman over the intercom. "You had been gravely injured, and we had to do extensive reconstructive surgery. You," the voice broke into static. "Potential wasted. We outfit... biotic implants."
Shepard's fists unknotted, mind clearing. His biotics hadn't been worth cultivating before, but this was something he understood. His hands went back to the back of his neck as he traced the outline- remembering when he had touched an implant before- and relaxed. He opened the locker, getting out a suit of N7 armor (which chafed against naked skin) and grabbed the pistol.
When he found Jacob, he discovered he had been dead for two years. That was okay, it made no sense, his mind refused to compute. Then he found that Cerberus had him, and that in the absence of all rational thought, he had to work with them. Still, he could forge on, focus on getting off Lazarus Station. He could ignore the heaviness and bloat, because it was probably some by-product of his surgeries.
He had then agreed, reluctantly, to go to Freedom's progress and see for himself what was going on. He found himself still poking at the hole in his head; he had discovered that his new biotics worked well, but using mnemonics he had never learned. He could not shove this into a box and deal with it later.
And next, there was Tali, sweet Tali rejecting him to return to her people. He could understand her reasoning, but his mind had not yet accepted that it had been two years since his he had last (lived, breathed) captained a ship. It was almost as bad as losing his family all over again, almost had him weeping, when she had left him alone without anything familiar to hold on to. He was left wondering if he truly wasn't in some form of hell.
Then Joker had walked (walked!) back into his life, and he felt hope kindle once again. His mood had swung so high that he had all but hugged the pilot, only the memory of Joker's fragile bones keeping him from crushing him in his exuberance. After that, came the surprise that sealed his deal with the devil.
The new Normandy was... brilliant. She all but glowed in the bright lights that gave the ship an almost sunny ambiance. Warm and humming, it almost erased those last few moments of memory before the blackness had taken him. Those last moments of helpless rage that someone had tried to murder his crew-
He shook himself free of those morose thoughts for an adrenaline high chat with the lovely Ms. Chambers, who kindly asked him to visit Operative Lawson in her office. Then he frowned. For all that he was supposed to be in charge of this ship, he was aware that he had a handler. Derek Shepard was too well trained to sigh like a sulky child, but he did feel his face fall. It seemed he had been summoned.
~*~*~*~*~
"You wanted to see me, Miranda?" Derek asked, frowning, as he stood before her desk. His armor creaked. He had yet to change out of it; they had rushed him from Lazarus Station to Freedom's Progress and back to Minuteman Station with no time to himself. A cynical part of his mind thought that this was deliberate. Keep him uncomfortable and off balance and he might agree to more than he wanted.
Then he reminded himself (still detached, still unbelieving) that he had been dead for two years. While there was a persistent ache in his right shoulder, he wasn't craving salty brains. He should be grateful... not swallowing down hysterical laughter at the mental image of himself groaning like a husk and chasing Kelly Chambers.
"Yes." She paused, and for the first time she met his eyes without contempt. Rather, she looked uncomfortable. And slightly embarrassed. "First, I would like to discuss your biotic training."
Derek reached up to brush the back of his neck. "Yes. I'm curious as to why you did that," he said, feelings more than a bit mixed. On the one hand, incredible cosmic power. On the other... He had known his body, knew what it could and could not do. He wasn't happy about having a metaphorical 'property of Cerberus' stamped on his ass.
"Your biotic potential was greater than you knew," Miranda began, but she was holding herself too still, too poised. Her eyes met his, gauging his reactions to the hair. Her voice was as delicate and fragile as kid gloves. "Your particular style of fighting would greatly benefit from biotic implants." She licked her lips before going on. "You had been observed, during one of your altercations with our military division, using a weak biotic attack. We assumed you had tried to hone this ability and would not object to having it enhanced."
Derek paused. His head was still thick, giddy, but he could recognize this moment would set the tone of their future interactions. "I understand why you did it." Though that doesn't mean I approve. "However, if our working relationship is succeed, I would appreciate it if you give me a rundown of any changes you made, as well as refraining from making any future changes without my knowledge." Or I blow shit up. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He had not eaten, drank or slept since awakening on Lazarus Station; even an N7 would start feeling the strain.
"Believe it or not, Commander, I do have some empathy for your situation." Her back was rigid, fingers threaded together on her desk. "I take it you have not had time yet to relieve yourself?"
"No." He lifted an eyebrow at her, crossing his arms. "That's where I'm heading after we've spoken. Never been fond of my armor's plumbing."
Miranda's weight shifted back and away. "You might want to have a seat." She gestured to the chair before her, putting her hands under her desk. She waited for him to get comfortable, crossing his legs, before continuing. "I take it I do not need to remind you of your particular in vitro modifications?" She asked, voice rising in the end. "Most records were lost when Mindoir was attacked, and what was left was kept under wraps by the Alliance. However, I was able to find out-"
"Most people born on colony worlds get some form of genetic modification before birth," Shepard said, cutting her off, face flushing. "I don't see why-"
"Cerberus has no issues in working with people who have genetic modifications, Shepard," Miranda interrupted him, lifting a hand, but her tone was still sympathetic. "What I'm trying to tell you is that we, Cerberus, did not initiate the results of those modifications." She frowned. "That had apparently started when you missed three weeks of the hormone therapy the Alliance used to keep your metamorphosis in check." She pointedly did not ask why that had happened.
"Are you sure?" Derek asked, going pale after his flush, a surge of cold washing over his skin to settle in his stomach. He tried to remember, but there had just been too much to do in those last few months. Constant calls for help. Virmire, Ilos, and Kaidan... A sense of detachment about today, the previous day, fell over him and he had to wonder if this was some kind of bizarre dream. He recalled that his implant was due for a change. Surely, a few weeks wouldn't have- "Is there anything we can do to fix it?"
Miranda shook her head. "I researched all that I could. This is a transformation, Commander. Not an injury to be healed." Her face gentled. "It was built into you before you were born. The best we can do right now is give you the same kind of hormone regulators that female Alliance personnel receive in basic. It will prevent pregnancy and the kind of uneven mood swings and symptoms that are associated with," she licked her lips, before pulling them thin in an unhappy grimace. "With menstruation."
When Shepard didn't respond, just looked down at his clasped hands, she sighed. "Your particular genetic alteration was surprisingly well-classified. I didn't find out until after it was too late to fix out mistake, and unfortunately, most of the researchers on Lazarus Station were male. The prolonged interaction with a mostly male workforce meant that your body's hormone levels continued shifting, and we didn't catch the change until a critical moment in the revival process. Your brain had just begun to function at that stage; altering any of your chemical makeup would have put us back months, if not years."
"Couldn't you have done something after?" he asked, just above a whisper.
"There were too many unknowns, Commander. Your female reproductive system intertwines with your male; removing one would permanently damage the other. As much as the body is governed by the mind, is the mind part of an organic body. We wanted to bring you back as who you were. If we had changed this..." Miranda sighed, and shrugged. "We will do our best to keep this managed, Commander. We need you."
Derek made a choppy nod. "I understand." He took a deep breath. "I take it the ship's doctor has been informed of my... status?" he spat out the word, standing and looking at the door behind him.
He couldn't see Miranda's face, but he could feel her eyes on his back. "Yes, she has. She will also be discrete." She stopped, her pause making it seem like she was about to say more, but when nothing came he continued on. There really was nothing left to say.
~*~*~*~*~
He recalled the day he had been informed of Mindoir's choice, their peculiar strategy for survival. Some of the adults thought it was bankrolled by BinaryHelix, or maybe Sirta Foundation, but Derek didn't know. Others thought some mad scientist was living in the colony and wanted test subjects. But nonetheless, all of the initial investors and colonists had agreed that it was a viable decision.
The day had been warm, muggy, the air still. He remembered that he had hit a growth spurt, making his desk uncomfortably small for his long legs. The prefab building was open to the non-breeze and he was more interested in looking at the insect-analogs than listening to his teacher tell the girls to go to a separate room. As there were only about three in their shed-used-as-a-school, this seemed to be a big deal.
The speech had been about what he expected; his parents had already told him where babies come from, what sex was, and why he woke up with wet sheets.
Then had come the... unexpected news.
"What the fuck?" Derek knew he wasn't supposed to use that word, at least not in class. Yet at that moment, it best summed up his feelings. "We're girls?"
"When the colonists and backers signed the Mindoir Charter, they all agreed that this was a sensible survival method for an otherwise small, backwater colony," Mr. Greer said, voice dropping, his tone sad. "If something were to happen to our colony, we can't always count on the Alliance coming to our aid. If we're to survive, we also can't count on advanced technology. Things break down over time. This was something we could use once, and it won't become an issue provided our numbers stay high, and the sexes remain even."
"But we didn't even get a chance to-"
"Most humans get some form of genetic enhancements, Derek." Mr. Greer hadn't corrected his language earlier, but now there was a definite rebuke in his voice. "All we've done is make sure there will be enough people to repopulate if we lose most of our women. Provided the colony remains safe, you shouldn't be bothered by the gift you've been given at all. Your family breeds cattle- you know you don't need many bulls."
Derek remembered squirming, hugging his belly and the sheer sense of the alien that had overcome him. It had felt wrong, disgusting, to be told about what his parents had allowed to happen. Around the room, the eight other boys were doing the same, looking green.
"I can't believe our parents did that to us!"
"Mom and Dad lied to me?"
"What the fuck, can we fix it?" Again, the one with the potty mouth was Derek. This time, Mr. Greer frowned at him.
"It's not a matter of being fixed," Mr. Greer said, this time gently. "You aren't broken. This is something that was done to your generation as an emergency backup. The odds are bad out here: something will eventually happen, and we need all the help we can get in case of the worst. If you decide to go off-world, you can use hormone regulators so that you don't change. But we need to be prepared in case something does happen."
For years after that, Shepard had wondered if he was better off not knowing. He found out later, after the batarian slavers came, that Mindoir had run their experimental program without Alliance knowledge. There were rumors of other colonies out there that had attempted similar programs: in order to bolster their numbers in case of their female population being reduced, male children had been altered. They had been given vestigial wombs, and the associated organs would ripen and mature in the event that there was a large gender imbalance in their colony. That way, all available bodies would be able to birth new colonists instead of just half the population.
Mad? Yes. But as given how slow humans were to reproduce, and in the event of major infrastructure on the colony being destroyed...
For the most part, the genetics program on Mindoir was buried and forgotten after the batarian slavers arrived, neatly showing how quickly an enemy could show itself and destroy a colony. They chose to discontinue it, without a word, burying it in the past even if it might still continue in the more far flung colonies.
Of the handful of male survivors of Shepard's generation, most had stayed to help repopulate. Shepard had not. Instead he had chosen to flee, revealing to Alliance medical what had happened to him and coping with the consequences. Outside of a few extranet rumors, no one spoke of what had been done to the sons of Mindoir.
~*~*~*~*~
It was a short walk from Miranda's office to the med bay. An even shorter one to the elevator. Yet he wanted to get this over with, before the numbness of Miranda's revelation wore off and he had to deal with the events of the past few hours (years). It felt like trying to hold off a krogan with a feather, but he managed the few steps, and surprised to see a familiar sight within.
"Holy- Doctor Chakwas?," he said, blinking in both joy and dismay as he walked in the door. Joy, because Doctor Chakwas had been the person to treat him while he was on the original Normandy. The dismay came from the obvious. "I never thought I would see you on a Cerberus vessel."
Her smile was tired, but comforting at the same time. She didn't speak at first, just ushered him to sit on one of the bio-beds, and had him peel off part of his leg pieces. She administered a local anesthetic to the big muscle of his right thigh before using a large syringe to insert the hormone implant that would regulate his cycles. Neither said much, and Shepard was grateful.
"I'm sorry, Commander," Chakwas said, finally, after applying medigel to the hole to seal it. "I knew you were due for your old implant to be replaced. But, we had just lost Williams, and you were mourning. I had thought we would have more time."
"It didn't seem that big a deal right then," he said, trying to absolve her. He almost succeeded; after all, he had a calendar of his own. "The ship had an even compliment of men and women. Even without the implant, I should have been fine. Nothing about the old Normandy could have triggered this."
"No, nothing on the ship should have," she said, but her eyes said something different, and Shepard had to fight to stop himself from squirming under her gaze. The comfortable silence from a few moments ago was but a memory, this time lost beneath things unsaid and remembered. Shepard closed his eyes; he couldn't bear the weight of hers.
"On the up side," Dr. Chakwas said, smiling, attempting to distract him. "After your long bout of death, you are now healthy as a horse. There's no reason you couldn't sire any children, or, if you so wish, carry them. You've just opened up your options, Commander." She patted his shoulder. "No doors have been closed here."
He didn't answer her, just reattaching his armor, and grabbed some of the sanitary supplies that the Doctor had so kindly laid out for him. "We'll talk later," he said, still unable to look at her, leaving the med-bay like he had a demon on his heels.
His retreat to the elevator, and then to his quarters, seemed almost a blessing. Barely an hour ago he had come from boarding the Normandy, overwhelmed but coping... but this?
He looked around, catching a strange reflection in the fish tank that took up most of the left wall: himself? Derek swallowed. He was afraid to find out.
There were probably bugs throughout his quarters, but there was no one there to see. He started with his shoulder guards, dropping them to the floor. That was followed by chest piece, then his leg guards, all shed as he stepped past the empty display cases. Closing his eyes against the sight of himself, naked, he shivered in the artificial cold of his cabin. Then he exhaled, and turned towards to the bathroom, hearing the door hiss open. Slow steps, and hands touching the walls got him to the toilet, then the sink, and his fingers brushed the cool smooth surface of the mirror.
Then he opened his eyes.
Now he knew why Tali had treated him as a stranger, and why Doctor Chawkwas had seemed slow to speak. Hellish orange, almost red light shown from jagged gashes along his jaw, at his brow. His eyes looked like his own, but they did not feel like his- too hard, a little too large. Even blinking felt strange, like he was wearing thick contacts. He touched himself, his face and head, working his way down.
His hair felt about right, perhaps longer than he remembered, but still thick and black. His old scars, the ones he got fighting on Elysium that had slashed his lips, and the one clipping his left brow, were gone.
The glowing lines extended down his chest, and he felt himself touching skin that was too soft, too smooth. It wasn't the same skin that had worked with his sister and parents out in the fields of Mindoir. Old vaccination scars, calluses from wielding a shotgun, that place on his ass where his Mom's cat had gotten pissed off- all gone. No moles, no freckles. He had never lived in this skin before. A shudder, bone deep, rattled through his frame before he sat down on the toilet to inspect his legs and feet.
They told the same story. The old, squashed and misshapen toenail that had come from getting his foot smashed by a horse as a kid was gone. The scars from the slaver's attack, also gone. His feet, too, were soft as a baby's. Even the hair of his legs was fine, almost nonexistent.
Swallowing, he pulled his attention back up, to his crotch.
The changes weren't obvious to look at- he still had his cock, hanging there as normal. His balls... There was still some excess skin, but it seemed that the actual balls were no longer there. He guessed that they had retreated, up into body, as he had been told they would when he could... He swallowed. He couldn't complete that thought.
Closing his eyes again, Shepard plunged his fingers behind his penis and for the first time, touched his labia with trembling fingers.
He jumped. His hands were cold. The skin was sensitive, and he had known it would be. Sheer nerves and vague nausea kept away any arousal, and he pressed his fingers deep into himself.
It wasn't too hard to find his cervix. Biting his lip, he slid his hand free. It was damp, and the smell was strange. Him, but not.
Getting to his feet, Derek stumbled to the shower, hitting the button for the hottest water possible. Then he scrubbed his new skin raw.

To be continued.
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