Jeff 'Joker' Moreau

The war was over.

That fact still hadn’t entirely sunk in, not for Jeff ‘Joker’ Moreau. The galaxy-spanning nightmare that had turned entire civilizations to ash, and pitted the living against the synthetic dead was over. Shepard had once again pulled off the impossible. The fact that they’d all somehow walked away from it alive was nothing short of a miracle.

The Normandy had limped back from the edge of oblivion, was patched up and re-armed, and now served under the shared authority of the Alliance and Council once more. The brass had all but given the ship to Shepard with a big ribbon on it. Anything for the hero who’d saved the day. Besides, as a Spectre, he was constantly running to and fro anyway to police a rebuilding galaxy. The ship might be his now but they were still on the Alliance and Council’s payroll.

And that meant days like this. Docked at the Citadel. Most of the crew off-ship. No scheduled ops. Just free time.

Which suited Joker just fine. They barely got time to unwind as it was. Joker liked Shepard – he really did – but the commander was all work and no fun. Always taking on a new assignment, always thinking about the greater good. A true paragon, sure, but also an overly strict commanding officer. Joker would have preferred some more R&R. Maybe a visit to Chora’s Den for some additional… relaxation.

The Normandy’s cockpit was quiet, ambient console lights humming softly around the pilot. His legs were stretched out lazily under the pilot’s chair, one ankle crossed over the other, and in his hands rested a datapad, its holographic screen shimmering with high-definition stills and slow-loop videos. The classic blue-glow UI of Fornax’s digital interface was reflected in his eyes.

Fornax was the greatest contribution to the galactic community as far as Joker was concerned. It was also one of his sole methods to relieve himself. He rarely got any action as it was, and being around beauties like Miranda or Liara all day didn’t help. The female crew members were gorgeous and hot in their own unique ways. Too bad most had only eyes for Shepard or weren’t interested.

He scrolled idly with one finger, pausing on an asari model in a tight zero-g latex sling. It clung to her curvaceous, busty figure. Her tentacled 'hair' floated up like smoke. Tags below offered: 'Biotic Bondage', 'Domina Deception', and 'First Contact, No Regrets.'

Joker chuckled to himself, muttering. “Stars bless the weirdos who write this crap.”

The thing was... he liked it. Not just the porn – though that didn’t hurt – but the absurdity of it. The way Fornax had embraced its reputation after the war, going from smutty indulgence to an actual cultural institution. They had stories now. Editorials. A long-running feature on post-war pleasure tech advancements. Even Shepard had ended up mentioned once or twice – not that Joker would ever ever mention that to his face.

The company that owned Fornax had survived the war and turned the magazine into a powerful brand. Joker supposed that porn was a good way to keep one’s mind off the challenges ahead.

He leaned back, flicking to the next page, which showed a Geth unit outfitted with a hardlight appendage and a deviously blushing human technician strapped to a lab bench. Joker blinked. Twice. Then his head tilted to the side.

“Okay, that’s new…”

Just then, the soft hiss of the door behind him broke the moment. Joker snapped his hand back reflexively, closing the holo-tab with a quick wrist flick. The projection vanished just as EDI’s smooth, metallic footfalls echoed across the cockpit floor.

Despite having gotten very intimate with her ‘new’ body, Joker still counted his lucky stars up to this day that she’d acquired it from Cerberus. Her mobile platform was sleek, silver-limbed, and entirely non-subtle in its hourglass design. Cerberus had done a mighty good job designing their infiltration unit. EDI’s form, when she wasn’t speaking through the Normandy, was absolutely stunning.

And he dated her! Both the ship and robot!

“I hope I am not interrupting something private.” EDI said, her voice as level and dry as always, though Joker could swear there was a flicker of smugness under the surface.

He didn’t answer right away. His heart was still doing that rabbit-hop stutter from being caught mid-porn. But the adrenaline swiftly subsided. Instead of giving excuses, he adjusted his cap slightly and gave her a casual glance.

“Nah, just enjoying my day off. Who knows how long we have until Shepard sends us on another patrol through the Attican Traverse.”

“I see. Indeed, batarian ships have been spotted close to human colonies. They clearly seek to take advantage of the Alliance’s current state of affairs. Then there’s the pirates not affiliated with Aria.” EDI tilted her head. “I take it the current edition is to your liking?”

“Definitely. Could use some quarian models, but who knows, maybe once they’ve finished resettling Rannoch.”

“Quarian females are considered very attractive. It would indeed be interesting to see them featured in the magazine.”

Once upon a time he’d felt awkward discussing a porn magazine with EDI. He had at first, back during the Collector abductions when they hadn’t known each other properly yet. Joker learned the hard way that EDI saw everything aboard the ship, including private moments and online purchases.

Then he’d set her free, however, and several months later they started dating. EDI had come a long way in terms of learning about organics. That included sex and erotic entertainment, in which she showed a surprisingly strong interest. She didn’t judge either, nor did she have any misgivings about the subject. If anything, she was as perverted as he was, with how curious EDI was about sexual stuff.

God, they were truly a match made in heaven.

“So, what’s up? Did you need anything?”

“I was asked to deliver this.” She held out a small parcel; thin, rectangular, wrapped in black synthetic packaging with a Citadel requisitions tag affixed to one corner. It looked almost like a flat book or a compact data pad in a padded cover.

Joker raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t order anything.”

“It arrived with today’s authorized shipment. It was flagged for the cockpit terminal and listed under your name.” She paused. “There was no sender.”

Now that was strange.

He took the parcel carefully from her hands, turning it over once, then twice. The texture of the packaging felt oddly warm to the touch. Like it had just been pulled off a sunlit windowsill. No branding. No label. Just the requisitions tag... and a faint scent, like old paper and something faintly sweet.

“Huh… I’ll check it out, then.”

He turned in his seat, letting it rest on his lap. EDI lingered a moment longer, her glowing eyes fixed on the package with something bordering on curiosity. Then, as if on some internal timer, she turned and walked back toward the bridge exit.

“I will finish the last deliveries and rejoin you afterwards.” She said.

“Sure thing.” Joker responded distractedly.

He was too busy staring at the parcel now. His fingers traced the edge, feeling an odd little tingle through the fabric of his gloves. Whatever was inside, it gnawed at him. Joker had never been a very patient person.

“Okay.” He muttered to himself, tapping the parcel lightly against his palm. “Let’s see what kind of dumb joke this is.”

He peeled the black packaging open carefully, fingers tugging at the edges. The synthetic wrap tore with a faint whisper, revealing something beneath that felt surprisingly… weighty. Not a datapad. Not a book, either. At least not in the traditional sense.

It was a magazine.

A physical one. Bound pages. Glossy cover. Actual ink and paper; maybe some sort of hybrid print. The kind of thing you’d expect to see in a collector’s vault or a museum showcase.

Magazines weren’t uncommon even in the age of datapads and omni-tools. But they were not as prevalent anymore. Actual printed porn magazines had become more expensive as a result. Joker owned a few of them, stashed away in his locker, although he preferred the digital versions.

The title across the front, embossed in shimmering gold, read simply:

‘Fornax: Realities Edition’

Below it, in smaller script:

‘Indulge the Unreal. Live the Unsaid. Touch the Untouchable.’

The cover art was pure Fornax; stylized, gorgeous, and mysterious. There were no naked or scantily-clad women. Rather, the cover was black mixed with dark blue and purple colors, blending together in stripes across the title. It wasn’t as blatant as the usual Fornax editions, but definitely resembled the brand’s style.

Joker blinked. “Okay… If this is a practical joke, then someone at least put real effort into it.”

A folded piece of pale cream cardstock slipped free from inside the front cover and fluttered down onto his lap. He picked it up and read the handwritten message in looping, almost calligraphic script.

Congratulations, Jeff Moreau.

You have been selected for a limited print test of Fornax’s “Realities Edition.”

This unique artifact will grant you the power to live your fantasies.

Simply write down what you desire, and let reality reshape accordingly.

One mind, one magazine, unlimited possibilities.

Use responsibly. Or don’t. We’re not your mother.

No signature. No return stamp. No disclaimers or fine print. Just those six lines and the faint scent of sweet ink and some faintly spicy perfume.

Joker stared at it for a moment, then scoffed. “Okay, ha-ha. Very funny. Whoever made this has a great sense of humor. Bet it’s Garrus...”

Still, he flipped open the cover, thumbing through the pages. More out of curiosity and boredom than anything else.

The pages within were blank. No sexy photos whatsoever. Joker felt somewhat disappointed by that. But it made sense from the joke’s perspective. This ‘reality magazine’ was meant to change reality, and he’d have to write down those changes. Forgive him for being a tad cynical, though.

But the absurdity of it tickled him, and a smirk crossed his face. He might as well indulge himself. The magazine came with a stylus which he picked up, and then went back to the first page.

“Okay, you magic space porn book. Let’s put this scam to the test.” Said Joker, chuckling.

He scribbled his wish lazily on the paper.

I have a folder of nude images of every female crew member of the Normandy on my omni-tool.

He leaned back and chuckled to himself, waiting for nothing to happen. “There. That ought to–”

Then the text disappeared.

Not faded. Not wiped. Just – vanished. Like the page had swallowed the ink the moment the last word was finished.

Joker froze. It happened so suddenly that he needed several seconds to catch up. He blinked in confusion, and raised the magazine to his face, thinking it was a trick of the light. The single sentence wasn’t there.

“What the hell?”

Then came a ping; a soft but distinct chime from his omni-tool. He glanced down. The interface had lit up with a notification he hadn’t triggered. Joker turned it on. An orange-tinted display popped up, and he swiftly tapped the notification.

New Folder Created

[CREW—PERSONAL FILES—PRIVATE: LOCKED/UNLOCKED]

No way.

Heart thudding in his chest now, Joker opened the folder.

There were dozens of image files. High-resolution. Fully tagged by name, pose, and location.

Miranda_Lawson_LockerPose_HighHeels

Liara_T'Soni_Bathroom_Steamy_ShowerScene

Tali_Zorah_No_Suit_Full_Body_Spread

EDI_Cockpit_Cam_Girlfriend_Mode

Jack_Gym_Bench_PumpSet_Slick

Samara_Meditation_Levitating_Topless

He stared in mute, rising awe as each thumbnail loaded. These weren’t fakes. These weren’t Fornax composites or deepfakes scraped from black-net sites. These were the real deal! The lighting, the angles, the tiny scars and beauty marks he recognized from memory, even the personal touches that made each image unmistakably authentic.

Each image was that of a woman aboard the Normandy, showing them in sexy poses with half-naked bodies. The same kind of positions that the Fornax models would assume. Joker’s jaw hung loose when he inspected images of Miranda’s butt, Samara’s bust, and others. These were the kind of scenes he fantasized about. After all, Shepard had gathered a crew of gorgeous, dangerous and capable women. It’d be absurd not to feel some attraction.

Joker swallowed slowly. “What the fuck…?”

He jerked his head around, scanning the cockpit as if expecting someone to jump out and yell gotcha! But there was nothing. Just him. The Normandy. And, oh, an actual reality-altering porn magazine resting innocently in his lap.

But it didn’t take long for not-so-innocent thoughts to creep into Joker’s head.

The magazine, with its realty-bending powers, basically made Joker a god. He could do anything he wanted to. Nothing stopped him from doing so either. The Fornax issue didn’t come with any rules, at least as far as he could see, so anything was on the table. Any glorious, wonderful fantasy his mind had ever entertained.

And why not benefit from that? Joker saw no reason to deny himself this opportunity. Maybe a better man would have thought of galactic peace rather than satisfying a perverse desire, but Joker was no such person, nor did he think of such grandiose plans. He’d just survived a galaxy-ending war and sought to enjoy life to the fullest now.

“Leave the heroics to Shepard. I’ve got better things to do.” Said Joker to no one in particular. Perhaps he voiced the words to assuage what little guilt might have nestled in the back of his mind.

For now, though, he had a wish to make. Joker grabbed the pen and considered his options.