Ned paced the luxurious apartment that apparently came with his new gig as "Super Spy Trainer Extraordinaire." His reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows showed a man who looked like he could seduce a nun while disarming a nuclear bomb. Inside, however, he felt about as spy-like as a fifth grade kid with anxiety issues.
"Okay, think, Ned," he muttered, running a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. "You've gotten out of tighter spots than this. Remember that time you had to speedrun the Kazakhstan mission with a wrecked game controller?"
[SYSTEM ALERT: That was in the game. This is real life. Difficulty level: Ironman mode.]
"Not helping!" Ned growled at the air. He was starting to hate these system alerts. They were like having a snarky conscience with a user interface.
He flopped onto a couch that probably cost more than his old apartment's yearly rent. "What am I going to do? Those girls are going to eat me alive if I don't come up with something fast. Not that I'm against the idea of being eaten by angels."
As if on cue, his phone buzzed. Ned picked it up, wincing at the message displayed:
[From: Director Mustache
Subject: Training Progress Report
I expect a full briefing on your training plan by 0800 hours tomorrow.
Failure is not an option. Neither is faking your own death to avoid this meeting.
Trust me, we've seen it all before.
P.S. The last instructor who failed is currently testing our new line of
underwater breathing apparatus. In the Mariana Trench. Without a submersible.]
Ned gulped. "Right."
He closed his eyes, desperately trying to channel his inner super-spy. What would Agent xXx_SpyGod69_xXx do in this situation?
Suddenly, a memory surfaced. Not of the game, but of a late-night gaming session fueled by enough energy drinks. He'd been stuck on an "impossible" mission, one that had the forums buzzing with rage quits and conspiracy theories.
Ned's eyes snapped open. "That's it!"
He leapt to his feet, nearly tripping over the obscenely expensive rug in his excitement. Grabbing a tablet, he began furiously typing out his plan.
Hours passed in a blur of frantic scheming and what could generously be called "creative interpretation" of standard training protocols. As the first rays of dawn peeked over the city skyline, Ned sat back, a manic grin on his face.
"It's perfect," he chuckled, eyeing his creation. "It's absolutely insane, probably illegal in several countries, and might get us all killed... but it's perfect."
[SYSTEM ALERT: Plan analyzed. Probability of success: 0.0001%]
[SUGGESTION: Write your will.]
Ned waved away the alert. "Never tell me the odds, you glorified pop-up ad."
He strode to his closet, pulling out a suit that made him look like s*x on legs had a baby with tactical efficiency. It was time to face the music.
The conference room fell silent as Ned entered, seven pairs of eyes watching him with a mix of curiosity, disdain, and in one case, mild indigestion.
"Goddesses," Ned began, injecting every ounce of false confidence he could muster into his voice. "I know our first meeting was... less than ideal."
"You mean when you almost got us all arrested and possibly executed for treason?" Atara, the redheaded spitfire, chimed in.
"Yes, thank you for that delightful recap," Ned replied smoothly. "But today, we start fresh. I have here," he paused for dramatic effect, waving his tablet, "a training plan that will turn you into the finest covert operatives this agency has ever seen."
The blonde, Ursula, raised an eyebrow. "Does this plan involve more unauthorized hacking, or have you branched out into other felonies?"
Ned grinned, looking away from the mountains she chested. "Oh, it involves so much more than that. Tell me, my goddesses, have any of you ever participated in a completely off-the-books, unsanctioned mission to infiltrate our own agency's most secure facility?"
The room erupted in a discord of protests and questions. Ned held up a hand, silencing them with a gesture that felt way cooler than it probably looked.
"I know it sounds crazy," he continued. "But think about it. What better way to prove your skills than to successfully breach the very organization that trained you?"
"But... that's insane," whispered Zeta, the team's resident tech expert. "The security systems alone are-"
"Designed by agent xXx_SpyGod69_xXx," Ned interrupted, pointing at himself. "Which means I know them better than anyone. Their strengths and weaknesses."
He turned to Atara, eyes probably drawn to the tip of her nipples projecting through her dress. "You've got the fastest reflexes I've ever seen. We'll need that to navigate the physical security measures."
One by one, Ned addressed each team member, outlining how their unique skills – the very ones that had gotten them labeled as washouts – were exactly what this insane plan needed.
But he wondered how skilled the highest ranked officials would be if these lovely goddesses were considered washouts. Then it struck him. He was the highest ranked official. Still, who in their right minds would turn down a pair of pleasure buttons on giant globes of sensitive flesh? Someone who's gay perhaps.
As he spoke, he could see the spark of interest growing in their eyes. The impossible challenge, the chance to prove themselves, the sheer audacity of it all – it was getting to them. A deep warmth settled between Ned's thighs, he was getting closer to his goals.
"So," Ned said, clapping his hands together. "Who's ready to make history? Or possibly end up in a black site prison for the rest of our lives. Either way, it'll be one hell of a story."
For a moment, silence reigned. Then, slowly, Atara stood up. "I'm in," she said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, followed by a swoon. "But if this goes sideways, I'm using you as a human shield."
[SYSTEM ALERT: BoinkBoink rate: Squad member, Atara's 'LOVE METER' increases by 3%]
[Description: A squad member's love meter must reach 100% before user can initiate boinkboink!]
[SUGGESTION: User should activate some charm traits.]
'They have Love meters?' Ned almost had a dizzy spell. He'd seen this before, in most erotic games he'd played. And "boinkboink" was the game's ridiculous euphemism for s*x. According the system, the willingness of a squad member to 'boinkboink' was available only when their love meters reached hundred percent.
'That would take centuries.' He saw his world crumbling before his eyes.
He quickly pulled up his skills panel and assessed the charm skill.
[CHARM: 96
Traits:
Magnetic Attraction [unchecked]
Enchanting Aura [unchecked]
Charming Whisper [unchecked]
Tempting Caress [unchecked]
Seductive Scent [unchecked]
Captivating Charm [unchecked]
Irresistible Allure [unchecked]...]
[SYSTEM ALERT: All user's charm traits are unchecked. Do you want to activate?
WARNING: Activating all traits would get you potentially 'gangbanged' by your squad! Advance at your own discretion.]
'Sweet Jesus! What's better that an orgy with seven goddesses?' Despite the system's warning, Ned decided to go all in on the "charm" traits to make himself a true ladies' man, checking the boxes for "Magnetic Attraction", "Enchanting Aura", "Charming Whisper", "Tempting Caress", "Seductive Scent", "Captivating Charm", and "Irresistible Allure".
'There, that should be more than enough to get me all of the action I've ever want.' He turned, mind reeling like a horny dog's, short-circuiting a few times. He was literally waiting to get laid.
One by one, the others voiced their agreement. Soon, the room was filled with a nervous but palpable excitement. But that was all, no sudden thirst to have him for dinner.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Team confidence in leadership: 51%]
[MISSION UPDATE: Don't die. Seriously. We cannot stress this enough.]
'No, no, no, Wait, why aren't they enthralled by my presence?' Ned chimed at the system, expecting some kind of answer for not getting raped on the spot.
[ERROR: Turns out squad members are immune to user's charms.]
[Possible reason: Each squad member might be a transmigrant like the user.]
'What the actual fuck?!'
***