"I agree." Rusty didn't even think—he replied before the system could count to three. There was no other choice.
Especially when the offer looked this good.
No stress about money. No pressure to perform. Just the freedom to explore everything he'd only read about—worlds still untouched, truths still unknown.
Milfy smirked. "Rusty Coke, I'm glad that just like your name, only your cock was on the verge of going rusty. At least your brain still works."
Before Rusty could fire back, a glowing screen flashed in front of him.
Milfy floated up and perched on his shoulder.
Weird—definitely weird. But not the concern right now.
His eyes locked on the screen, trying to make sense of the words flickering there.
Rusty blinked, reading each line as it appeared, one after another, like a contract drafted by some overconfident system god.
This is a binding system pact. Any violation leads to automatic deactivation and permanent mental backlash.
He scoffed under his breath. What the hell does that even mean? But the next line shut him up quick.
Mental backlash: Total loss of sanity, libido, and memory or stuck in time loops.
"Damn," he muttered.
Milfy chuckled beside his ear. "You'll be fine—as long as you don't act like a dumbass."
Rusty didn't respond. His gaze stayed locked on the screen, eyes scanning faster now.
Benefits:
• Unlimited resources during missions
• No death penalty unless by betrayal
• Access to hidden zones and forbidden archives
• Sexual evolution perks unlocked with compatibility growth
•Beautiful Women
He didn't even need to read further. That line alone had already hooked him harder than anything.
Sexual evolution? Hidden zones? Women?
This was no ordinary mission—it was a goddamn fantasy buffet with benefits stacked higher than a porn star's heels.
The screen flashed again, shifting to something new:
Do you accept the terms and bind with Milfy.exe?
Below it, two options pulsed in blood-red:
[ACCEPT] or [DECLINE]
Rusty didn't hesitate.
He raised his finger—and tapped ACCEPT.
A low hum vibrated through his bones. The air shifted. His body jerked once as if the system yanked something out of him, then shoved something new in its place.
Milfy purred. "Good boy."One of his slick tentacles patted Rusty's head as he lounged on his shoulder like a smug parasite. "Now we're a team. You'll get a new dick—and a lot more."
Rusty flinched. "Can you stop talking about my dick?" His voice cracked with frustration. The topic just wouldn't die. "And don't pat my head."
Milfy floated up, meeting him eye to eye mid-air. His grin widened. "Ready for your first mission?"
Sweat gathered on Rusty's forehead.
He hadn't thought this far. Not really. His whole life, he'd avoided anything remotely physical. No sports. No gym. Hell, even running to catch the bus felt like cardio hell.
And now this?
His legs stiffened. Palms damp.
Why does it feel like I just signed my death certificate... with a bonus upgrade to humiliation?
Milfy spun midair, tentacles stretching. "Relax, my host. You'll be fine—as long as you don't trip over your own weak human instincts."
Rusty didn't reply. He just watched as the screen shifted again, replacing the pact text with a glowing mission window.
[INITIATING FIRST MISSION...]
MISSION TYPE: Trial Quest –Compatibility Sync
OBJECTIVE: Survive. Sync. Submit.
"What the hell does that mean?" Rusty muttered, heart thudding.
Milfy's voice dropped an octave, almost whispery. "It means you're about to meet your first beast."
The place shattered into pixels before Rusty could ask anything else.
"Ah!" He hissed as his ass slammed into the grass. Dirt clung to his palms as he pushed himself up, wincing.
His eyes darted around.
Trees everywhere. Thick, towering, damp with mist. The air smelled like wet bark and something feral.
"A forest?" he whispered.
A sharp ping echoed in his head.
[Trial Mission: Tame a Wild Pig]
Rusty squinted. "What the fuck? A pig?"
Another ping.
[Clarification: Not your average pig.]
The ground rumbled beneath him—soft at first. Then heavier. Louder. Twigs snapped somewhere to his right. Leaves rustled like something massive was barreling through them.
Rusty scrambled to his feet. "That better not be what I think it is."
Milfy's voice crackled in with unholy cheer. "Oh, it is."
Something burst out of the undergrowth.
Massive. Hairy. Snorting like a chainsaw.
And foaming at the mouth.
Its eyes locked on him—red, glowing, full of violence.
Rusty didn't move. Didn't breathe.
That's not a pig. That's a goddamn demon boar on steroids.
Beast Profile:
Name: Cinnamon Tusker
Type: Mutant Wild Boar (Beast-Class)
Level: 5 (Unstable)
Status: Enraged | Heat Phase Active
Breed Traits:
• Enhanced aggression during mating cycles
• Immune to standard tranquilizers
• Attracted to pheromones and scent signatures
• Weakness: Rear spine, inner ear nerves
• Current Tameability: 4%
Warning: This beast is in a breeding state. Proceed with dominance, not diplomacy.
"What the hell—where are you, Milfy?!" Rusty shouted, spinning in place. "Why the hell did you throw me at a Level 5 beast—and one that looks like a rotting warthog in heat?!"
The screen flickered beside him as the beast snorted again, lowering its massive, foam-drenched tusks.
Rusty pointed at it, half-shouting, half-panicking. "How the hell does this disgusting thing have a name like Cinnamon?! Are you shitting me?!"
The Cinnamon Tusker—clearly offended—scraped the grass with one hoof, steam blasting from its nostrils. The earth trembled beneath its weight.
Milfy's voice finally crackled in. "Don't insult his name. He's sensitive during the heat phase."
"Sensitive?! He's trying to eat me alive!"
The boar roared—a deep, gurgling, throat-splitting sound—and charged.
Rusty didn't think. He turned on his heel and bolted. "Save me! Save me save me save me—!"
[SYSTEM: Host Basic Stats]
• Name: Rusty Coke
• Class: Pending Assignment
• Level: 1 (Useless Human Variant)
• HP: 50/50
• Stamina: 32/100
• Libido: 88/100
• Strength: 3
• Speed: 2.5
• Intelligence: 7
• Charisma: 4
• Tame Potential: 0.4%
• Combat Potential: Please don't.
Status: Panicked | Pheromones Active (Mild Attractant Detected)
Rusty crashed through branches, stumbling over roots as Cinnamon Tusker exploded after him like a furry missile of sexual rage.
"I have no stamina! I'm dying! I'm literally dying!"
"Correction," Milfy said cheerfully. "You're not dying. You're bonding."
Rusty barely avoided a swipe of the boar's tusk. "Bonding?! This thing wants to skewer me like a cursed kebab!"
"You just have to show dominance!"
"How?!"
"Climb on it!"
"What?!"
"Mount the pig, Rusty! Mount it before it mounts you!"