Immediately

Shepard tapped her fingers against her thigh, lips pressed together. “And my part is…?”

Kasumi’s grin widened. “Say yes to everything. Literally. Whatever scenario I set up, you roll with it. No backing out, no hesitation. The viewers love authenticity.”

Shepard snorted. “So I’m basically signing up to be your puppet?”

Kasumi’s eyes gleamed. “More like… a very well-paid performance artist. Think of it as improv with stakes.” She leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “First scenario? You’re ‘accidentally’ locked out of your apartment naked. The building’s security feed ‘malfunctions’ live. By the time you ‘realize’ it’s streaming, you’ve already given the galaxy a full tour of Shepard’s ass.”

Shepard exhaled sharply through her nose. “You want me to pretend to be embarrassed?”

"No. I want you to actually be embarrassed," Kasumi said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "That's the magic of it. Real reactions, real panic—none of that scripted crap. The extranet eats that shit up like Tali at an emergency induction port."

Shepard rubbed her temples. "You're telling me to go outside naked—"

"And flustered," Kasumi added, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "Bonus points if you trip."

Shepard shot her a withering look, but Kasumi just winked and tossed her a tiny earpiece. "Already synced. The second this goes live, half the galaxy's gonna be screaming into their omni-tools. You ready to break the extranet?"

Before Shepard could protest, Kasumi tapped something on her wrist, and the apartment door hissed open—then locked behind her with an audible click. Shepard stood frozen in the hallway, completely bare, the cool recycled air raising goosebumps on her skin. "Kasumi, you bitch—"

"Rolling!" Kasumi’s voice chirped in her ear, way too cheerful. "Look confused! Maybe tug at the door handle like you don’t know what’s happening!"

Shepard lunged for the door panel, fingers jamming against the access pad—nothing. The lock indicator glowed an unrelenting red. "Are you *serious* right now?" she hissed under her breath, pressing her back against the door as if it might swallow her whole. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, sterile and empty except for the flickering overhead lights. Distant elevator chimes echoed. Someone was coming.

Kasumi’s giggle fizzed in her earpiece. "Ohhh, perfect timing! Quick, act natural—well, as natural as you can while—you know—*naked*."

Shepard’s stomach dropped as the elevator doors slid open down the hall. A delivery drone whirred into view, its optical sensors swiveling toward her. She instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, then immediately regretted it—now she just looked like a flustered idiot instead of a pissed-off Spectre. The drone beeped cheerfully, extending a package holder. "Parcel for Commander Shepard. Signature required."

Kasumi's delighted gasp crackled in her ear. "Holy shit, this is *gold*. Quick, sign for it! Make it awkward!"

Shepard glared at the drone's blinking sensor, her cheeks burning. The damn thing hovered expectantly, its servos whirring. With a growl, she snatched the stylus and jabbed at the pad—then froze mid-signature as the drone's camera lens zoomed in with an audible click. "Oh you *have* to be kidding me—"

Kasumi cackled in her ear. "Look at its little red recording light! It's livestreaming to the shipping company's customer service feed!"

Shepard's fingers clenched around the stylus hard enough to crack the casing. The drone chirped again, nudging the package toward her with an insistent bump—as if she wasn't already hyper-aware of the fact that her bare thighs were pressing together, that the chill of the hallway was making her nipples stiffen, that the drone's camera was angled *just* low enough to catch everything below the waist.

"Kasumi," she hissed through gritted teeth, "if you don't override this tin can's feed in the next three seconds—"

"Relax, Shepard, you're trending!" Kasumi's voice was pure glee. The drone emitted a happy beep and rotated slightly—just enough to capture her full-frontal panic in glorious 4K. "Just sign for the package because its just going to keep recording until you do."

Shepard's signature was a jagged scrawl, half-formed before she shoved the stylus back into the drone's slot. The second the package released, she grabbed it like a shield, clutching it against her chest. The drone's lens whirred, adjusting focus.