Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

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", a title which personally made Gaz think of massages and not blowjobs (but then the sergeant had never fully bought into the RSOA'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."