Place Your Bets

"The fuck are we even doin' in here, man?"

"How the hell should I know?" Logan Wallace spat back, the former Alliance Lieutenant turned Cerberus soldier equally unpleased with being sent into the damned Heavy Training Yards. The HTYs were meant for mech operators and heavy-lift vehicles, not infantry. The whole purpose of these yards were to train mech pilots how to efficiently operate in combat. Live ammunition was used here, so the walls here were reinforced to withstand even the most powerful of blasts. Anything short of a shell from the main gun of a dreadnought would fail to pierce these walls.

These Yards in particular even doubled as an emergency evacuation point here on Minuteman Station, since its bulkheads could be sealed off and the entire area could be jettisoned from the rest of the station.

But it wasn't meant for 'honing the skills of the lower-ranking squads', as Logan had been told. So now he, and four other troopers from his chalk, were taking part in a vaguely-specified training op.

"What are we even up against?"

"Beats me, man." Sighing, Logan slowly adjusted the sights on his Avenger rifle.

The former Lieutenant then halted, deciding to take a knee. Soon the rest of the squad formed a loose circle around him, talking amongst themselves as they waited for their 'training' to come to them.

He slowly removed his helmet and placed a cigarette between his lips. Checking the compartment on his belt, Logan groaned in annoyance as he looked up at his comrades, "Shit, forgot my light. Any of you boys got one on you?"

The four of his men fumbled through their own pockets on their armor, until one finally produced a lighter.

"Thank," Logan murmured as he lit the cancer stick. "What's your name, kid?"

"DeWitt, sir. Jonathon DeWitt."

Logan smirked to himself, "Son of Booker?"

"What? No, my dad's name was Alexander."

Logan just chuckled and shook his head, "Forget about it, before your time."

Jack slowly approached the group of soldiers before her, standing tall like a proud lioness.

I'm counting five troopers, Jackie. Fuck 'em up.

Cerberus assault troopers, standard grunts, not as highly trained as their commando teams. They were still a threat, no doubt, but definitely not to her.

"Howdy boys. Which one of you Cerberus fucks wants to die painfully?"

One of them turned their head, immediately raising his rifle.

A flash of purple energy and the butt of the weapon was forced through the man's sternum with an explosion of blood, metal, and bone. Whipping her hands in a sharp circle, the biotic spun the impaled trooper around and forced a beam of energy against the weapon's trigger. The rifle that was lodged inside the trooper's chest cavity came to life, sending a round through the helmet of another poor soul.

Holy shit, Jackie! You are one fucked up bitch! And I'm loving it!

As the corpse fell to its knees, the rest of the group unleashed a volley of fire. The bullets sparked as they grinded and deflected off her barriers, harmlessly veering into the ground or the far walls.

The next two targets were simply tossed into the air and disintegrated in a flash of violet, no remains to be seen. Then the fifth trooper dropped his rifle and began to run. Laughing, the woman raised a hand, halting his retreat and enveloping him in a stasis field.

She spun him around and pulled him towards her. He was the only one in the group without a helmet, and between his lips was a slowly smoldering cigarette.

With a blink of her eye, the cancer stick was yanked from the trooper's lips and guided into her own. Taking a long drag, the biotically-enhanced woman gave a wink at the man as smoked puffed out of her nostrils.

"No, wai-!"

Jack split her index and middle fingers and the trooper in front of her was sheared in half, a fountain of red erupted.

"Computer, pause film."

The image of Subject Zero tearing a soldier in two froze.

"Along with increased agility, biotic potential has risen exponentially across the board…and aggression is also extremely high." Doctor Phillip Andrews coolly noted as he observed the seemingly docile subject before him. She was immobile, but wide awake. Her eyes followed him around the room, silently observing him like a panther eyeing its next meal. Every time Andrews came to review the tapes from her previous excursion into the Heavy Training Yards he felt like she was going to pounce on him.

She was being pitted against Cerberus' own soldiers to evaluate Zero's new combat abilities after her recent…augmentations. To date she had killed 76 troopers, destroyed six mechs, and annihilated a team of biotic specialists with ease.

He noticed her skin flashed purple every so often, a sign of her testing the biotic inhibitors. Grunting, the Doctor raised his omni-tool back to his lips, "The cocktail of drugs provided by the Bio-Chem Division have kept the subject in a controllable state and has left her subconscious mind open to suggestion."

As her skin flared a rather lovely violet, the Doctor paused as he activated biotic inhibitors one, two, and six as an extra precaution. The machines groaned in turn, as if struggling to contain the sheer power this girl carried with her. If she ever got out containment in her current state of power…the results would be grisly, to say the very least.

The ghostly man assured him that even if Subject Zero broke her bonds, she would be contained. Andrews took that man's word with a hefty pinch of salt, however.

"Despite my recommendations, the Illusive Man has vehemently stated that we will not attempt to use Reaper indoctrination methods on Subject Zero. He believes the method of suggestion will be a far more powerful tool, since indoctrination has been shown to reduce a subject's biotic capabilities significantly." Andrews studied the heavily tattooed woman. His lips creased back in a grimace of disgust. "Note to self: Get a dermatologist down to the labs to see if these revolting markings can be removed from the subject's skin."

Subject Zero's eyes flared wide with anger, the biotic inhibitors groaned. Andrews unconsciously took a step back.

These markings were about as appealing to him as graffiti. They served no practical purpose other than to draw attention to yourself, and it seemed from Zero's history, that was something she didn't want.

"In any case, the process of suggestion is a slow, tedious process. It will take time for her to 'take'. There's only so much that subliminal messaging and 'brainwashing' can do at one time." He found the term 'brainwashing' to be a bit simple for his tastes, but it was the only term that came to his mind. "And might I add that this whole process would go over a lot more smoothly for me if I knew what exactly the Illusive Man wishes to do with this woman," Andrews let his discontent be known as he whispered into his omni-tool. "It is obvious he wishes to weaponize her, but for what purpose? For who?"

He clucked his tongue as he closed the video program, "Whoever the Illusive Man wishes to throw Subject Zero at…I feel terribly sorry for them."

Sighing, the Doctor turned and marched for the exit, his observations finished for the day. Andrews glanced over Subject Zero again, the woman's still form sent chills up his spine. Notifying security that he was turning in, he quickly shuffled out of the room.

Shepard looked over Zaael's unmoving form with worry. He was in a bad way. A bacterial infection was ravaging the quarian's body, and anything the Alliance carried was either not strong enough to kill it off, or would kill the quarian.

They were now transferring the critically-injured quarian from the Chicago to the Normandy, where Shepard was supposed to take his friend to the Migrant Fleet to receive proper medical attention. The Commander hadn't left Zaael's side ever since they met up in the medical bay.

He had pushed the failure of rescuing the now surely-dead Gorrun Fallon and the pain from cracked ribs that came from him slamming into the Orizaba's hull out of his mind. Shepard had put his full focus on getting the man who got him out of Last Dawn some proper medical care.

The man who smelled of chlorine was also at the heavily-injured quarian's side the whole way, Jim Cummings. He had been assigned to observe the quarian's health and treat him as necessary, but the Alliance didn't have the necessary medication to treat Zaael's bacterial infection, which was running amok in his body.

Nervously clucking his tongue, the Major kept a keen eye on the stretcher that carried his patient. He didn't trust these floating contraptions, he preferred the older models, the ones that had wheels still touching the floor. Snapping back to Shepard, Jim warned him for the fourth time in the past ten minutes, "As I've said, I highly recommend you start for the Migrant Fleet as soon as you have Zaael onboard."

He snatched the data pad that was clipped to his belt, "I've compiled the list of meds he's going to need. He'll need to maintain a very strict and consistent regimen if his condition is to improve."

As they approached the docking umbilical, Shepard took the data pad and thanked Jim. The Commander assured the doctor that he would do everything in his power to make sure Zaael got the proper medical attention he needed. The quarian didn't go through hell just to die now.

Seemingly satisfied, Jim took one final look at his patient and then smiled, "Good luck, Zaael'Mirku." His eyes went to Shepard, "Tell Doctor Chakwas 'Jim says hi.'"

With that, the Major signaled a nearby marine to take Zaael's stretcher across the umbilical and into the Normandy. As the doctor marched off, another approached the Commander.

A freshly-christened Second Lieutenant. The marine officer wore a freshly-pressed dress blue uniform, with golden bars resting upon each shoulder. Various commendations and ribbons rested on her chest, showing the officer's vast range of experience and service.

Shepard smiled as he closed the gap between the two.

"You look a little shell-shocked, Lieutenant Williams."

Ash immediately wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his neck. "I never thought this day would come," she said in a shaky voice as tears stung her eyes. "Never did I think a Williams would ever wear an officer's uniform again. Never." The woman lifted her head and smiled, "Dad would be so happy for me." She chuckled, "If he saw me, he'd probably salute me right on the spot." Eyes tearing up again, she hid herself in her lover's neck, "Thank you for everything."

Shepard slowly cupped Ashley's cheeks with his hands, his eyes locking in with hers. "Ash. You earned this. I didn't do a thing, this…this was all you."

He was going to say more, but her lips stopped his voice in his throat. Immediately taking advantage of the situation, he pushed her up against the far bulkhead. A slender hand snaked around the back of the Commander's neck as two tongues fought for dominance.

"Commander."

It was Joker.

They both smiled against each other's lips and ignored the pilot's call for but a moment longer, trying to hold onto their last few moments together before going their separate ways again.

Ashley slowly broke the kiss, cheeks flushed, "You best get going, Skipper." She then wrapped a hand tightly around his shoulder, "When Zaael's better…come to the Citadel. I owe you and your entire crew a drink."

"I'll take you up on that." He said with a wide grin, but it then immediately faded. Sighing, he couldn't put this off any longer.

Ashley noticed his sudden change in demeanor, brow furrowing in confusion.

"Ash." Shepard swallowed. "What happened in my cabin the other night-"

"Don't worry, Skip. You were a tiger-"

"Ash!" He grabbed her hand and squeezed, not hard enough to cause pain, but with enough pressure to get her full attention. "You locked up on me. You were murmuring about Virmire, about saving Kaidan…"

Fear immediately surged through Ashley's body like lightning, the memories and flashbacks. Vivid images of the past played out in her mind, taking her back to her own personal hell. Every moment she was back at Eden Prime, back at Virmire, it felt real. The heat of the gun in her hands, the warm trickle of someone else's blood dripping down her face, "No…it's nothing, Skipper. Bad memor-"

"No, Ash. It is not nothing." Her entire arm was shaking as she held onto his hand with weak fingers. "I'm no doctor…I don't know if this is PTSD or anything like that but what you're going through isn't normal." Shepard moved to the side, and behind him was a smiling Kelly Chambers. "I've asked Kelly to go with you. She'll be here to talk to you about what you've been going through."

Shepard knew Ashley was the kind of woman who kept her problems to herself, intent on solving them on her own. It came with her family name, her heritage, but this was something the Commander knew the woman couldn't just bottle up forever and expect her to be okay.

Ashley just looked back and forth between Shepard and Kelly with a confused and bewildered look. She squeezed her lover's hand and released, backing away slowly as she barely whispered, "S-Stay safe…"

Watching with sad eyes, Kelly gave the Spectre next to her a reassuring squeeze of the shoulder.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll make sure she'll be okay."

Tank was getting frustrated. Almost extremely so.

With an amused smile, Gordon sat and watched from the ground floor of the Chicago's weight room, staring up at a very annoyed Tank. He was being put through some very slow physical therapy trials, all to make sure his body was acclimating to his cloned heart. While he couldn't make out exactly, Gordon could tell Tank was hooked to an EKG and blood pressure monitor.

Pulling his eyes away from the second floor, the engineer found Jane in the far corner of the weight room, doing what must've been her thousandth pushup. He first caught eye of the sniper roughly ten minutes ago and she was still going strong. Other marines tried to join in and compete, but they all eventually petered out and stopped, now watching to see just how long the Corporal could go before failure. Gordon had a feeling they'd be there a while.

Doug was working a sandbag that was setup in the corner of the boxing ring. Sweat dripped from the soldier as he let loose a torrent of hard punches, forcing the bag to recoil and sway with each blow.

Then Guns showed up. Donning only a sports bra and a pair of shorts, she marched for the boxing ring with a stony expression. Gordon noticed the small scar on her left thigh, from where she took a bullet back on Kalgha, though her stride seemed to be unaffected.

Without a word she slid through the ropes and lifted a hand, her fair skin immediately turning a shining violet. A biotic field held the sandbag at an odd angle, causing Doug to miss his next punch.

The Texan turned around in confusion, then grinned. He pointed a thumb back at the bag, asking for her to let it go.

A smirk lifted one corner of Guns' lips, shaking her head. She said Doug was about to receive discipline for crass remarks on the field of battle.

Snorting, the man gave an incredulous look, "What? 'Crass remarks'? When?"

She approached him, her smirk turning into a full-blown grin, "You offered to help 'clean out' the sand from certain areas of my body?"

Gordon had to suppress a chuckle when he saw Doug's eyes go wide and his cheeks redden. He stumbled out an apology and backed away from the Gunnery Chief, hands up in a defensive posture.

Guns chuckled and threw the Texan a pair of navy blue sparring gloves. She slipped own her own pair, which were a bright, almost neon yellow.

Looking confused, the marine looked at the comparatively tiny woman, "You want us to spar? How is that discipline, Guns?"

Tightening the glove on her left hand with her teeth, she gave Doug an almost feral leer, "Because I am going to thoroughly and utterly kick your sorry ass."

"Such confidence coming from a woman who has biotics," Doug said. "How well can you fight without your fancy 'powers'?"

Guns rolled her neck, exposing the scars that traced down the right side of her neck, which ended at her collarbone. Grimacing, Gordon could only guess how the woman acquired them.

Doesn't look like frag scarring, he thought. Too uniform…a knife, perhaps? If so, that must've been extremely painful. How did anyone hold her down long enough to do that to her?

Slipping a kinetic faceguard on, Doug shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The faceguard worked similarly to a kinetic barrier, except in this case it was designed to protect the user's face from blows at slow velocities, and no one was allowed to spar without one equipped. Now this wasn't to say it prevented any pain when struck to the face, but it upped one's chances of not breaking a nose or orbital bone.

"Guns," Doug said as he got into his sparring posture. "I really don't wanna embarrass you."

The woman almost chuckled as she activated her faceguard, "You couldn't do embarrass me even if you tried, Doug."

Gordon glanced over at Jane, who was also watching the current scene unfold. The sniper looked back at him and gave him her trademark 'wanna place a bet?' look.

The engineer mouthed, Fifty credits on Guns.

Jane replied, Fifty on Doug.

Doug's head hurt. His ribs hurt. His gut hurt. His muscles hurt. His everything hurt.

Guns seemed to have a counter to everything he did. When he initially probed her defense with some initial strikes, she easily batted them away and responded with lightning-quick blows to his ribs. Then when he opened up with a haymaker followed up with a kick, he was met with an elbow to his solar plexus and then a knee into the small of his back. He then tried grappling with her, only to receive a freaking headbutt in return.

The few blows he actually did land didn't seem to do much damage at all, even when he felt like one or two of his punches made great contact, she seemed to brush it off.

Anything Doug has tried so far, Guns has had a response to it. In short, Guns had so far made good on her promise and was kicking his ass, and it was frustrating as all hell.

It didn't help much that now a crowd of crewman and marines had gathered around the ring, cheering on as the two traded blows. Doug could hear some calling out bets…a lot were being placed on Guns.

The Gunner chief bounced on her feet, hands up and eyes focused in on her opponent. Guns looked like a calculating predator, counting away the moments until her dying prey fell.

Beginning a slow circle to his left, Doug tightened his right fist and quickly approached the woman, giving what appeared to be a very heavy swing. When she committed both hands to deflect his blow, Doug quickly wound up and released his left hook.

It caught the woman square on her chin, and her head jerked with the blow hard. Doug smiled, hoping that maybe this would be the end of the fight.

It would be for all the wrong reasons, however.

Guns used the momentum from the blow to spin on one heel, while her other leg scythed up and cracked against his temple.

Doug's vision flashed white and his ears rang. He instinctively stumbled backwards, hands coming up to protect his face.

They wouldn't arrive in time.

He couldn't tell if the next blow came from a hand or a foot, but it didn't matter. It came too fast, too hard. Doug's head and neck craned sideways as he felt the muscles in his legs fail, followed by his arms falling limp, and then his vision tunneling.

The last thing he heard was the crowd of onlookers go wild.

The last thing he saw was a field of violet wrapping around him, slowly letting him fall to the ground without any more injuries.

It felt good, knowing Guns cared about him enough to not let him slam face-first into the mat.

Then he blacked out.

Gordon pumped his fist, and found Jane in the crowd.

She gave him that icy glare that she usually reserved for the people she found in her crosshairs.

That didn't stop his grin, though. He was fifty credits richer now, after all.

"Come on…wake up, Dougy."

The pain in his temples came in waves. Constant, agonizing waves. A soft hand patted his cheek, which didn't help the pain any, but was strangely soothing

The voice that beckoned for him sounded almost angelic as well. Doug didn't know why, but he felt safe.

"You're okay, Dougy, you're okay."

Forcing his eyes open, the marine's blurry vision quickly focused to see the soft features of Guns hovering over him. His throbbing head was resting upon her thighs, the back of his neck propped up on her knees. His hands laid down at his sides, legs were splayed out in front of him. They were outside of the ring, on some soft mats next to it.

Guns held out four fingers, "How many?"

Wriggling his tongue, Doug tried to get his dry mouth working.

"You…fuckin'…You fuckin' kicked my ass!"

The Gunnery Chief couldn't stifle a smile, which gave way to a laugh.

It was music to Doug's ears. Sweet, angelic music.

Her slender arms wrapped under her comrade's shoulders, and with a little biotic assistance, she carefully pulled him up to a sitting position. She asked him if he thought he could stand.

Simply chuckling, Doug nodded. Guns then started lifting again, helping this man to his shaky feet. She threw his arm over her shoulder and helped him walk, "Come on, Dougy. Let's get you to the showers."

"'Dougy'?" The man questioned through his headache with a grin. "That's real cute, Chief."

Laughing again, Guns helped him out of the weight room and down to the showers. Very few people were in the room, so she carried her friend towards the closest stall and carefully propped him up against the wall.

Turning to face the man, she halted as she caught his gaze.

She never really noticed until now, but Doug's eyes were a remarkably deep hazel.

Doug stared back into her own bluish-green orbs. For the longest time, Doug had always made comments on this woman's looks, but he didn't realize how truly beautiful she was until right now. If this is what angels looked like, Doug wouldn't be surprised.

Ignoring the throbbing that racked his temples, he slowly brushed a lock of sweat-matted black hair out of her face, then his fingers found the back of her neck.

One of her hands ended up on his chest, the other on the stall behind him. Guns could feel his heart beating hard against her palm.

The held each other's gaze for what felt like minutes.

Then they pulled each other in for a desperate lock of lips, both immediately vying for dominance over the other.

Somehow in their little 'duel', what little clothes they both wore soon became discarded between the two of them, ending up in a pile by their feet.

Both soldiers pressed against each other, arms wrapping around backs and legs entwining with each other.

He tasted like sweat against her tongue.

She tasted like blood against his.

Doug couldn't help but smile and interrupt with shaky breath, "Did I…Did I make you bleed, Guns?"

He felt the pressure of her hand against his chest increase.

"Please…" She said in an almost begging tone, biting down on his lower lip. "Call me Kendra…my name is Kendra."

Slapping the panel next to them, hot water began to pour down over them. "Okay," he whispered as he kissed the tip of her nose. "Kendra…"

Kendra then pulled him back in.

So, yeah, this story isn't dead. Look at that!

Basically, life hasn't been too great to me over this past year. In fact, it's been somewhat shitty.

Forgive me for making whoever read this story wait this long. I hope to get consistent updates out again.

Oh yeah, I finally got around to playing BioShock Infinite. Awesome.

Peace.