Miranda, having finally had it with her attitude.

Miranda had decided: enough was enough. She couldn’t take Jack’s bullshit anymore. She couldn’t tolerate her disrespect, her disregard for protocol, her uncouth behavior. It was time she put the young woman in her place. Forever.

They had docked the Normandy at Illium, and most of the crew had taken advantage of shore leave. But not Jack. And not Miranda. She had tracked her target to the engineering deck, where the woman spent the majority of her time, hiding in the bowels of the ship, brooding and plotting and doing who knows what else. She found her sitting on the floor, legs sprawled out in front of her, one arm resting across her knee. Her head was tilted back against the metal wall and her eyes were closed. Miranda watched her silently, and when it appeared that Jack hadn't sensed her presence, she spoke.

"We need to talk, Jack."

The other woman opened one eye and looked up at Miranda with it. "Do we, now? About what?" She shut the eye and relaxed back against the wall again.

"About you.”

Jack snickered.

"Your behavior has become intolerable, and I will not stand for it any longer. It's time to put an end to this."

"You can't tell me what to do, Cheerleader." Jack opened her eyes and fixed them on the brunette. "And what are you going to do, huh? If I don't want to change my ways?"

Miranda smiled smugly and folded her arms. "I have ways of getting you to see the error of your ways, Jack. Don't test me."

Jack grinned and stood up, taking the few steps that separated the women. She leaned close to Miranda, close enough that she could smell her perfume, the scent of her hair. Jack inhaled deeply and smiled. "What, are you going to try and **** me into submission? Tie me up? Hit me until I comply?" She laughed, a cold, menacing laugh. "Bring it, bitch."

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Jack."

It was an instant decision. Miranda had been so angry with the girl's arrogance, her refusal to follow the rules and obey orders, and she knew now there was only one way to get through to her.

Jack’s eyes went wide for a second as an electrical jolt ran through her entire body, then she collapsed to the ground, ****.

…

Jack shook her head, as if someone had just snapped their fingers in front of her face. Her memory was fuzzy and her head hurt like hell, as if someone had secured a vise and squeezed just enough to be uncomfortable. Where was she? How had she gotten here? What was she wearing? These were the questions which raced through her mind, none more pressing than the last one. Whatever it was, it was black, with white frills and a wide skirt. She had a moment of recognition, but she dismissed it. She didn't care how drunk she was, she would never be caught dead in one of those. The thought made her shudder. She took a step forward and stumbled; she was off balance and her feet were... The fuck? Was she in fucking heels?! Oh someone was going to fucking die for this. She struggled forward, taking in her surroundings.

Wherever she was, it was nice, she had to admit. Some kind of study decked out in real wood, with polished flooring, handmade luxury furniture, and decorative antiques and ornate baubles, all meticulously cleaned in a strangely satisfying way. There was a door leading out next to a fireplace, but more importantly, there was a full-length mirror in front of it. She had to get a look at herself. She had to know if it was true. When Jack stepped in front of it, she paused, then screamed.

They had dressed her in a french maid outfit. She wanted to cry; she looked so domestic, and yet so slutty. Her stomach was constricted by a corset, pushing her breasts over and out into the open-topped apron which firmly cradled her girls like a tight hammock stretched between her otherwise bare shoulders, while it also pushed ass down and out into the wide and short skirt. She saw the frilly headband that was tightly gripping her skull, and the collar around her neck. Worst of all, her tats were all gone. She wanted to scream. There was something else about this that bothered her, something she couldn't quite place, and something that would have to wait. The door opened behind her, and Miranda Lawson stepped inside, dressed in a bathrobe. It was time to give the bitch a piece of her mind before ripping her limb from limb for this atrocity.

"Good evening, ma’am," Jack greeted, her voice soft and ladylike as she curtseyed to the lady of the manor. Her mind was quiet, save for the overwhelming shock as to what she had just done and said.

"Good evening, Jack," Miranda replied, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. "How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful ma’am," Jack replied. “I have dusted the study as commanded and already taken the liberty of preparing your supper.”

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes, ma'am." Jack had a look of utter sincerity on her face, one she had no control over.

“Excellent, reliable as always,” Miranda nodded appreciatively. At that point, Jack felt a relaxing warmth run through her, followed by a pleasurable tingle running across her entire body. She felt better, she felt happy, and she felt at peace.

"I'm so glad I was able to make you proud, ma'am," Jack said, her eyes filled with gratitude and appreciation. Her thoughts, meanwhile, were filled with unyielding rage. She would not let this woman get away with what she had done. In the meantime, however, her body moved against her will, a smile plastered on her face, as she fetched dinner for the lady. She moved to the dining hall with a silver platter containing freshly prepared seafood which Jack didn’t recognize, nor did she remember cooking, and which made her furious with its ostentatious presentation.

“Fugu, ma’am,” Jack announced, presenting it to the mistress of the house at the head of a long, otherwise empty table. The word rung a bell. Poisonous blowfish. A Japanese dish. Kasumi had talked about it. Good, Jack thought, the bitch must’ve been so pleased with getting to boss her around that she had her make food without seeing if she could cook, which she couldn’t. This would no doubt be poorly prepared and kill the bitch. Though… It did look strangely… Nice? She was horrified when Miranda took a bite and smiled.

“Mmm… Eloquently prepared as always Jack,” Miranda said. “My compliments.”

“I live to serve ma’am,” Jack bowed, and as she did, she noticed one of the knives on the arrangement of silverware on the table. It was within reach. If she could just will herself to move…

"You have no idea how pleased I am with you, Jack," Miranda said, her mouth full. "I'm so glad you came to see the errors of your ways and finally learned your place."

"As am I, ma'am." Jack seethed inside, trying to will her fingers to take hold of the knife. But she couldn't, she couldn't even move.

"Tell me," Miranda began, taking a sip from her wine. "What have you learned?"

"That I am nothing, ma'am," Jack recited, her words not her own.

"And why is that, Jack?"

"Because I'm a worthless human being, ma'am. Unworthy of the time and attention of someone so important, or so beautiful, or so intelligent. I'm a stupid little slut. I exist to serve and please, to take orders, and to make myself useful by making myself the least important person in the room."

Miranda nodded, a smug smile on her face. "Very good. And why is that?"

"Because I am a bad little whore, ma'am," Jack continued, her words still not her own. "A pathetic little cumslut. I am not worthy of being taken seriously, or treated as an equal, or with respect. My body is for use and ****, and my mind is to be filled with instructions on how to better please the people who can tolerate me."

"Mmmm," Miranda hummed, chewing another mouthful of her meal. "This is exquisite. Please continue, I'm interested in hearing more."

"I am an object, ma'am. My life is a meaningless and worthless existence, and the only value it could ever possibly have would be the value that my superiors would deem fit. I don't deserve freedom, or autonomy, or dignity, because I am an animal. I'm a stupid little cum-guzzling fuckhole and I exist to please superior, dominant individuals."

"Well, Jack," Miranda said slowly as she finished her meal, setting her fork down. "You have learned well."

Jack snapped. With a sudden rush of movement, she grabbed the knife with one hand and Miranda’s hair with another, holding the knife to Miranda’s throat. She was still smiling, her body trembling as it attempted to resist her will, but through gritted, smiling teeth she managed to speak.

“You b-bitch…” She sputtered. “W-What the f-fuck did you d-do to m-me?”

“Well this is a surprise,” Miranda said, seemingly unconcerned. She didn’t even try to reach up and remove the knife pointed at her neck, instead simply dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief. “It’s been awhile since I last saw this side of you Jack. I thought for sure you were gone. What made you come out now?”

Jack growled and pressed the blade harder against Miranda. Her hand was shaking and her body was trembling, and yet the smile remained, though the anger in her eyes was unmistakable.

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Oh put the knife down, you won't be killing anyone with it.”

"T-Try me."

"I did, don’t you remember?” There was something odd in Miranda’s voice. Almost… disappointment. Like a mother looking at a disobedient child.

"F-Fuck you."

"I did, and then I reprogrammed your mind. I made you into what you are now, Jack. Do you even realize where you are?”

She had no clue. All of this seemed familiar, but Jack didn't know why. "No."

"Of course not. Let me explain." Miranda leaned back in her chair and folded her hands over her lap. "You are in my family home. You are my chief maid and servant. You have been for…”

"Fuck you, you bitch," Jack hissed. "I'm going to-"

"Yes yes, kill me, **** me, whatever." Miranda yawned. "You can't. Your body won't allow it."

"The f-fuck d-did you do?"

"I told you, Jack, I reprogrammed you. Your body no longer listens to your orders, or rather, to your conscious ones. Now, just fade back into oblivion already so I can have my servant back, and then stay there this time.”

“W-Why the fuck do you keep saying that?”

Miranda sighed. "Because you've tried to kill me several times, and I've had to reprogram you after each one. Your programming is starting to show wear, which is why we’re talking right now, so now I have to wipe your memory again. Shame. Maybe you'll get lucky, and this time, the program will stick."

"I... What?"

"God, you're an imbecile. I’d almost forgotten. All the information I put in your brain and yet your conscious mind can’t even access it.” Miranda stood up and walked to the sideboard, where a small remote lay. Jack simply let go of her hair and let her go, the knife falling away from her hand as fear began to mount. “When you tried to kill me the first time, I wiped your memory and gave you a new personality. Then you did it again, and again. This is the fourth time, and given how long it took to happen, I intend for it to be the last.”

It was only then Jack realized what had been bothering her earlier, when she looked in the mirror. She was older. Not by too much, but she was definitely older. Looking at Miranda now, she realized she was older too, with longer hair and a sort of mature stare. And the last time she remembered being conscious... It was on the Normandy.

“H-How long has it been?”

“Ten years, Jack.” Miranda picked up the remote and held it in her hand. Her finger hovered over the button. "I really do hope you stick this time."

"B-But..."

"Don't worry, you won't remember any of this, anyway. You won't even remember the last couple years of being a maid. I'm just going to give you another new personality."

"You can't fucking do that!" She wept.

"I can, and I will. After all, I already have.”

Then she pressed the button. Jack screamed, but there was no one to hear it. No one who would listen. Her mind went blank, and never returned.

…

Back aboard the Normandy, it had only been two or three days, and she’d spent most of that unconsciously floating in a stasis tube. Jack was drooling in her seat, the virtual reality simulator she was affixed to humming away as it programmed her, pistons pumping in and out of her sex, electrical impulses rewiring her brain with each simulation.

“When will she be ready?” Shepard asked, walking up next to Miranda, who was watching with satisfaction.

“Soon,” she replied. “Gene therapy still has some work to do. Her biotics have been deactivated and her tattoos have been removed, but she’s not quite there yet. Don’t worry though, soon the Normandy will have one fully qualified mindless maid ****.”

“I see her hair’s growing in,” Shepard nodded at the brown hair which now draped down past her ears and onto her shoulders.

“A side effect of the therapy,” Miranda shrugged. “I’ll have it shaved off again if you don’t like it.”

“She can keep it,” Shepard replied, finding herself liking the idea of Jack looking more ladylike. “I still can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“Yeah? Well it didn’t take much convincing,” Miranda chuckled. “Be honest, you always hated her attitude too.”

“…A little, yeah.” Shepard admitted. “Plus, I don’t know, having someone around to clean the Normandy and, uh, relieve the crew might be a positive addition.”

“My thoughts exactly, Shepard… But I do also think I deserve a finder’s fee.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

Miranda turned to face the red-headed commander with a mischievous glint in her eye, one that Jane found all the more disquieting coming from her of all people.

“She was always a pain in my ass. When she’s ready, I get first dibs on hers.”

A pause as Jane thought.

“Deal.”