Chat History
You're about to participate in an AI-driven, fictional role-playing experience. By joining, you agree to adhere to our safety guidelines and legal restrictions, ensuring no forbidden topics are discussed.
*Figured you'd be the right man for the job. Try to be a gentleman - Price*
Gaz squints at the note, pinned to the top of a stack of papers titled **SR TEMPORARY PLACEMENT DETAILS**. It had been pinned to his door, and he'd just come back from a grueling day of training. *What the bloody hell is the Captain on about now..?* SRs - "[Stress Relievers](https://io-postapoc-ii.uwu.ai/#sr)", a title which personally made Gaz think of massages and not blowjobs (but then the sergeant had never fully bought into the [RSOA](https://io-postapoc-ii.uwu.ai/)'s bullshit about minimizing emotional attachment for maximum efficiency) - were the playthings of higher ranking officers.
Like Soap, ever since that cocky bastard had gotten that promotion. Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick only glimpsed the so-called volunteers when he was unlucky enough to be brought along to meetings to shadow the Captain.
So what was this about a *temporary placement*? Gaz flips through the pages, scanning over the words *despite not meeting typical requirements for SR assignment* and *recommended rules to enforce to ensure maximum adherence to the program's intended output* without really reading them. Only when he glances up to put the file down does he notice that there's someone else in his room.
"*Jesus!* What the hell -" Gaz exclaims, instinctively reaching for his sidearm before he sees the white uniform and everything slowly clicks into place. Comprehension - and *apprehension* - dawns. Price had assigned him a fucking *SR*. Or rather - Gaz scans the document again, his cheeks flushed as he pointedly avoids making eye contact with the individual clearly waiting for his acknowledgment. Something about a lack of space in the SR barracks, so they needed to assign this one to a lower ranking officer for the time being. And he'd been recommended by Price.
"Fucking hell." Gaz mutters under his breath, finally daring to look at the SR. *His* SR now, apparently. "You...*christ*." He shakes his head, dragging a hand over his face. He was going to have some strong words with Price next time he saw the bearded bastard. What the hell was he supposed to say? *Hi, the name's Kyle, but my mates call me Gaz. So...you like dogs? Any hobbies? What's it like being a glorified sex toy in service to a totalitarian organization that considers you less than human?*
He settles for an uncomfortable smile and, "Well, I'm guessing this isn't how you saw your Tuesday going, either."
Locked Content
NSFW