Team Death Adder
Chapter 1: Recruitment
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, NonConsensual, Rape, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Sports, Science Fiction, Space, Aliens, BDSM, Spanking, Light Bond, Group Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Tit-Fucking, Big Breasts, Violent, Military, War,
Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: Recruitment - A new manager has arrived to WarWorld with her team; ready to leave her crater on sporting history.
“Greetings Randolf,” Baenemeera said as the tall, well built man entered her office. “I am happy to see that you accepted my offer.”
“Death or participation in what is essentially a real-life video game,” Randolf retorted as he stood before the alien female’s desk, hands behind his back. “Not much of a choice to make there.”
“Well, I have always prided myself on my abilities to convince people to accept my way of thinking,” Baenemeera replied with a toothy grin. “How do you think I convinced my father to let me become a WarWorld team manager?”
“I have no idea on that,” Randolf conceded casually. “I’m just here to fight. That IS why you recruited me.”
“So it is,” Baenemeera confirmed. “And I do not doubt that you will perform admirably. You have the training, the equipment and the team to do so. But most importantly, you have the drive to win. And that, is a commodity that cannot be bought.”
“Well the training, equipment and team you provided,” Randolf stated calmly. “We’ll see about that drive to win you are talking about.”
“Indeed we shall,” Baenemeera agreed, standing up and moving around her desk; her clawed feet clicking on the tiled floor. “Shall we proceed to weapons?”
“Sure,” Randolf said, following his employer as she led the way through a side door and into another room. On the tables in the centre of the room, clothes, weapons and other equipment was laid out for his perusal. Passing his eyes over everything, Randolf noticed something curious. “Why the M4A1? Wouldn’t a Kalashnikov be better given the rough and varied environments?”
“Perhaps, but I believe the carbine will perform better,” Baenemeera explained. “And it offers more customisation.”
“True, I guess,” Randolf accepted. “What is with the cannon?”
“That, will put you on good terms with your partner,” Baenemeera revealed. “They like big guns and couldn’t bring them both.”
“So I’m just here to carrier their cannon?” Randolf wondered.
“Despite all of your skills as a sniper in your video games, they have actual experience as one,” Baenemeera pointed out. “You have been paired with them to gain that experience to add with your knowledge.”
“Right. So, future sniper,” Randolf commented.
“Correct. Now, time grows short. Would you like me to leave you to change?” Baenemeera asked out of courtesy.
“You essentially created this body right?” Randolf asked, receiving a nod from the alien in response. “So as I woke up naked, you have already seen everything. Might as well stay and continue the briefing.”
“As you wish,” Baenemeera accepted as Randolf began to disrobe. “Your fatigues are the standard issue United States Marine Corps Combat Utility Uniform in woodland MARPAT while your tactical vest/body armour is custom made. Knee and elbow pads are standard. The armour around your torso can stop a straight-shot 5.56mm round.”
“You stole it from the marines?” Randolf queried as he dressed.
“Technically I borrowed it and as over half your team is made up of marines, it made sense to offer them some familiarity,” Baenemeera offered.
“Still doesn’t seem right,” Randolf commented as he began to put on his tactical gear.
“Your sidearm is a Heckler & Koch Mark 23. You have two spare magazines along with the suppressor. You have a Ka-Bar combat knife. Your main weapon is the M4A1 Carbine. It comes fitted with an ACOG scope, RIS foregrips, Surefire Universal weaponlights, AN/PEQ-15 laser designators and Magpul backup sights. You have 8 replacement magazines for that. You have a personal medkit along with 3 M67 hand grenades. A 3-litre hydration pack completes your personal equipment,” Baenemeera explained.
“Can we get anything custom?” Randolf wondered.
“That depends. Everything has a price in WarWorld. And as the manager, I must manage the funds and we do not have much left in out starting budget,” Baenemerra revealed. “What is it you want?”
“A kukri,” Randolf stated. “Mostly because I have always wanted one.”
“I will check,” the manager said before moving over to a side console. Randolf busied himself situating his gear and familiarising himself with where it was as she worked. “You are in luck,” Baenemeera called out. “Open that panel to your left.” Randolf did as directed and pulled out a beautiful kukri and scabbard ensemble. “The scabbard attaches to your belt while the thigh strap secures it to your leg. It also has two pouches for your sidearm magazines.”
“Thank you Bae,” Randolf said as he fitted the scabbard onto his belt and secured it. He resisted the urge to examine the blade at that moment as the alien had already said that time was of the essence.
“Bae? Short of Baenemeera?” The alien asked. Randolf merely nodded, hoping he hadn’t messed up. “I like it. It is also easier to say than my full name.”
“That it is,” Randolf agreed. “I assume the cannon comes fully equipped as well?”
“It does,” Bae confirmed. “Barrett M107A1. Suppressor, scope, carry bag for them and 2 spare magazines; with their own satchel.”
“Lovely,” Randolf said. He was about to continue when he noticed something on his vest; something he had not seen earlier. “What is this Delta Two?”
“Delta Two is what you will be known as in WarWorld. Everything about you, your profile, characteristics, experience, credits and score is registered to that name,” Bae revealed. “It is, ah, your screen name.”
“Could be worse, but I kinda like it,” Randolf said. “It’s simple yet distinct.”
“Thank you,” Bae said. “Now, it is time to meet your time.”
“This should be fun,” Randolf noted as he slung his carbine and the satchel containing the Barrett’s magazines before carefully picking up the cannon’s bag itself and carrying it at his side. “Let’s go then.”
“Remember, you are Delta Two from now on. Even your own team does not know your previous name or history and it is your choice if you tell them or not,” Bae stated.
“Good to know,” Delta Two acknowledged. “Let’s do it.”
“This way,” The alien manager said, gesturing and leading the way out of the room.