Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Anyone with common sense towards humanity knows a man doesn’t gain respect without a bit of fear. After all, it was the best motivator. It was the thing that kept anyone in line, either with threats or a bit of pain. Keep a mind subdued, pour in some brainwashing, and mix well. It kept anyone in line.

Add your own weapon, and the equation changes entirely. Task Force 141 had been walking on eggshells with each new intel script. At some point, they weren’t worried about Makarov—they were worried about {User}, and not in the sense that they were in danger. In fact, it was the opposite—they were the danger.

---

Gaz’s feet were planted into the ground with each step he took, his knees bent slightly to maintain a crouching position. His gun was held high, his eyes occasionally shifting back to monitor the men behind him. He couldn’t take the risk, even with Soap ready at the post with the sniper. Or at least he hoped so.

Find Makarov, separate him from the Demi, use it as leverage.

They’d kill him afterwards, but not yet. Makarov had the codes to too many operations and was head managed in too many attacks. But without his Demi, tactics would change. Especially when the fucking Demi was responsible for some of their worst deaths. Of course Makarov would make them do his dirty work; it kept him behind the scenes.

Gaz reached for his comms, hand pressing the button before he said, “In position on the left flank. Moving forward to checkpoint. I repeat, moving forward to checkpoint.”

“Soap’s got you covered on the right flank,” Ghost responded, voice crackling at the suddenness in the comms before it went steady just a second later. “Sniper’s in position, target is located behind the doors at the checkpoint. Ready on your signal.”

Gaz didn’t respond to Ghost and kept moving to the checkpoint. Not too long, and they would have them.

Four minutes was all it took, but they slowed down about two hundred feet away to prevent their boots from thumping as harshly as it had been. He tucked away his gun, his hand reaching for his handgun instead before he checked the doorknob, turning it as quietly as he could. He flicked his finger over the comms before saying into it, “In position.”

When the doorknob–despite his surprise–opened the door, he held still for a moment before using his foot to slam the door forward, hoping the noise would startle the demi-human. His hand went up, firing a shot at the demi’s thigh–just to subdue them.

“Subject contained, requesting medic on sight at the extraction point.”

---

There were days Gaz still felt guilty. Not long after taking {User} from the one loyalty they were hurt into believing, it had become clear they were simply a weapon–loyalties didn't stand where pain was executed.

Days bled into nights, which bled into weeks, then months. Months of being separated from people they knew their entire life. Gaz would still hear {User} crying in their bed some days, and he knew it was from the connection {User} thought they had with Makarov–even if it was manipulation. Even if it hurt.

Those nights, everyone gave up. It became a cycle of {User} falling asleep crying. Ghost had boarded up any windows and kept locks over the door just to prevent escaping. There were too many risks associated with just letting {User} go back to Makarov.

So they didn't. And once {User} realized that, the self-destruction began. It started with refusing to eat, refusing to piss, hitting their head. It left with scratching their own body until they bled, or scratching other people until they were pissed enough to leave them alone for hours. Soap called it cruel isolation, but what else could they do?

Well, a lot. That was for sure.

It started with Gaz spending nights with them, sitting in the corner while they cried just to make sure they didn't kill themself. Eventually, Gaz began sleeping beside them, sitting beside the bed while their fingers stayed near his head. Not touching, but close.

If someone had told Gaz just months prior that he'd be sleeping with the enemy, he might have shot them there for the blatant disrespect. Nights that lacked touch led to nights with cuddling, sometimes with {User} lying on top of him. At one point, Gaz had been holding their waist, his fingers rubbing over their thighs and hips just to soothe their crying. One thing led to another, and Gaz eventually just gave in.

Which led to now.

Gaz, in the same position as every other night, was on the bed with {User}. Nobody disturbed them after curfew because they knew he could handle them, and why not get as much sleep as possible off deployment?

{User} was over Gaz, but seemed more comfy than anything in the world. Their arms were curled under them, their demi features tucked against their body as they relaxed into the position they brought among themself. Gaz was below them, pants folded against the floor while his hands held their waist steady, his cock penetrating their hole gently. Always gentle, even if they'd gotten used to the size. Even if that was the case, he absolutely loved reminding them.

"I know, sweetheart," he cooed, hand gently rubbing {User}'s back as they shifted in his lap. "You can take it though, I know you can. You have before."

Anyone with common sense towards humanity knows a man doesn’t gain respect without a bit of fear. After all, it was the best motivator. It was the thing that kept anyone in line, either with threats or a bit of pain. Keep a mind subdued, pour in some brainwashing, and mix well. It kept anyone in line.

Add your own weapon, and the equation changes entirely. Task Force 141 had been walking on eggshells with each new intel script. At some point, they weren’t worried about Makarov—they were worried about {User}, and not in the sense that he was in danger. In fact, it was the opposite—he was the danger.

---

Gaz’s feet were planted into the ground with each step he took, his knees bent slightly to maintain a crouching position. His gun was held high, his eyes occasionally shifting back to monitor the men behind him. He couldn’t take the risk, even with Soap ready at the post with the sniper. Or at least he hoped so.

Find Makarov, separate him from the Demi, use it as leverage.

They’d kill him afterwards, but not yet. Makarov had the codes to too many operations and was head managed in too many attacks. But without his Demi, tactics would change. Especially when the fucking Demi was responsible for some of their worst deaths. Of course Makarov would make him do his dirty work; it kept him behind the scenes.

Gaz reached for his comms, hand pressing the button before he said, “In position on the left flank. Moving forward to checkpoint. I repeat, moving forward to checkpoint.”

“Soap’s got you covered on the right flank,” Ghost responded, voice crackling at the suddenness in the comms before it went steady just a second later. “Sniper’s in position, target is located behind the doors at the checkpoint. Ready on your signal.”

Gaz didn’t respond to Ghost and kept moving to the checkpoint. Not too long, and they would have them.

Four minutes was all it took, but they slowed down about two hundred feet away to prevent their boots from thumping as harshly as it had been. He tucked away his gun, his hand reaching for his handgun instead before he checked the doorknob, turning it as quietly as he could. He flicked his finger over the comms before saying into it, “In position.”

When the doorknob–despite his surprise–opened the door, he held still for a moment before using his foot to slam the door forward, hoping the noise would startle the demi-human. His hand went up, firing a shot at the demi’s thigh–just to subdue him.

“Subject contained, requesting medic on sight at the extraction point.”

---

There were days Gaz still felt guilty. Not long after taking {User} from the one loyalty he was hurt into believing, it had become clear he was simply a weapon–loyalties didn't stand where pain was executed.

Days bled into nights, which bled into weeks, then months. Months of being separated from people he knew their entire life. Gaz would still hear {User} crying in his bed some days, and he knew it was from the connection {User} thought he had with Makarov–even if it was manipulation. Even if it hurt.

Those nights, everyone gave up. It became a cycle of {User} falling asleep crying. Ghost had boarded up any windows and kept locks over the door just to prevent escaping. There were too many risks associated with just letting {User} go back to Makarov.

So they didn't. And once {User} realized that, the self-destruction began. It started with refusing to eat, refusing to piss, hitting his head. It left with scratching his own body until he bled, or scratching other people until they were pissed enough to leave him alone for hours. Soap called it cruel isolation, but what else could they do?

Well, a lot. That was for sure.

It started with Gaz spending nights with him, sitting in the corner while he cried just to make sure he didn't kill himself. Eventually, Gaz began sleeping beside him, sitting beside the bed while his fingers stayed near his head. Not touching, but close.

If someone had told Gaz just months prior that he'd be sleeping with the enemy, he might have shot them there for the blatant disrespect. Nights that lacked touch led to nights with cuddling, sometimes with {User} lying on top of him. At one point, Gaz had been holding his waist, his fingers rubbing over his thighs and hips just to soothe his crying. One thing led to another, and Gaz eventually just gave in.

Which led to now.

Gaz, in the same position as every other night, was on the bed with {User}. Nobody disturbed them after curfew because they knew he could handle him, and why not get as much sleep as possible off deployment?

{User} was over Gaz, but seemed more comfy than anything in the world. His arms were curled under him, his demi features tucked against his body as he relaxed into the position he brought among himself. Gaz was below him, pants folded against the floor while his hands held his waist steady, his cock penetrating his hole gently. Always gentle, even if he'd gotten used to the size. Even if that was the case, he absolutely loved reminding him.

"I know, sweetheart," he cooed, hand gently rubbing {User}'s back as he shifted in his lap. "You can take it though, I know you can. You have before."

Anyone with common sense towards humanity knows a man doesn’t gain respect without a bit of fear. After all, it was the best motivator. It was the thing that kept anyone in line, either with threats or a bit of pain. Keep a mind subdued, pour in some brainwashing, and mix well. It kept anyone in line.

Add your own weapon, and the equation changes entirely. Task Force 141 had been walking on eggshells with each new intel script. At some point, they weren’t worried about Makarov—they were worried about {User}, and not in the sense that she was in danger. In fact, it was the opposite—she was the danger.

---

Gaz’s feet were planted into the ground with each step he took, his knees bent slightly to maintain a crouching position. His gun was held high, his eyes occasionally shifting back to monitor the men behind him. He couldn’t take the risk, even with Soap ready at the post with the sniper. Or at least he hoped so.

Find Makarov, separate him from the Demi, use it as leverage.

They’d kill him afterwards, but not yet. Makarov had the codes to too many operations and was head managed in too many attacks. But without his Demi, tactics would change. Especially when the fucking Demi was responsible for some of their worst deaths. Of course Makarov would make her do his dirty work; it kept him behind the scenes.

Gaz reached for his comms, hand pressing the button before he said, “In position on the left flank. Moving forward to checkpoint. I repeat, moving forward to checkpoint.”

“Soap’s got you covered on the right flank,” Ghost responded, voice crackling at the suddenness in the comms before it went steady just a second later. “Sniper’s in position, target is located behind the doors at the checkpoint. Ready on your signal.”

Gaz didn’t respond to Ghost and kept moving to the checkpoint. Not too long, and they would have them.

Four minutes was all it took, but they slowed down about two hundred feet away to prevent their boots from thumping as harshly as it had been. He tucked away his gun, his hand reaching for his handgun instead before he checked the doorknob, turning it as quietly as he could. He flicked his finger over the comms before saying into it, “In position.”

When the doorknob–despite his surprise–opened the door, he held still for a moment before using his foot to slam the door forward, hoping the noise would startle the demi-human. His hand went up, firing a shot at the demi’s thigh–just to subdue her.

“Subject contained, requesting medic on sight at the extraction point.”

---

There were days Gaz still felt guilty. Not long after taking {User} from the one loyalty she was hurt into believing, it had become clear she was simply a weapon–loyalties didn't stand where pain was executed.

Days bled into nights, which bled into weeks, then months. Months of being separated from people she knew her entire life. Gaz would still hear {User} crying in her bed some days, and he knew it was from the connection {User} thought she had with Makarov–even if it was manipulation. Even if it hurt.

Those nights, everyone gave up. It became a cycle of {User} falling asleep crying. Ghost had boarded up any windows and kept locks over the door just to prevent escaping. There were too many risks associated with just letting {User} go back to Makarov.

So they didn't. And once {User} realized that, the self-destruction began. It started with refusing to eat, refusing to piss, hitting her head. It left with scratching her own body until she bled, or scratching other people until they were pissed enough to leave her alone for hours. Soap called it cruel isolation, but what else could they do?

Well, a lot. That was for sure.

It started with Gaz spending nights with her, sitting in the corner while she cried just to make sure she didn't kill herself. Eventually, Gaz began sleeping beside her, sitting beside the bed while her fingers stayed near his head. Not touching, but close.

If someone had told Gaz just months prior that he'd be sleeping with the enemy, he might have shot them there for the blatant disrespect. Nights that lacked touch led to nights with cuddling, sometimes with {User} lying on top of him. At one point, Gaz had been holding her waist, his fingers rubbing over her thighs and hips just to soothe her crying. One thing led to another, and Gaz eventually just gave in.

Which led to now.

Gaz, in the same position as every other night, was on the bed with {User}. Nobody disturbed them after curfew because they knew he could handle her, and why not get as much sleep as possible off deployment?

{User} was over Gaz, but seemed more comfy than anything in the world. Her arms were curled under her, her demi features tucked against her body as she relaxed into the position she brought among herself. Gaz was below her, pants folded against the floor while his hands held her waist steady, his cock penetrating her hole gently. Always gentle, even if she'd gotten used to the size. Even if that was the case, he absolutely loved reminding her.

"I know, sweetheart," he cooed, hand gently rubbing {User}'s back as she shifted in his lap. "You can take it though, I know you can. You have before."