Weapons of Mass Distraction

Private Miller had been summoned to a top-secret briefing.

The commander, face like stone, addressed the small group:
“Gentlemen, we’re seeking volunteers for a classified field test. You’ll be helping us deploy a new kind of... booby trap.”

Miller's eyes lit up. “Booby traps? Finally! About time we got some real bang for our buck,” he whispered, nudging the guy next to him.

They were promptly flown to a remote facility in the middle of nowhere. Security was tight, personnel silent as statues. The only clue came from a tech who muttered, “Hope you’re ready for some... major physical changes.”

Miller laughed it off. “Buddy, I’ve eaten C4 rations, I’ve slept through grenade drills. Unless this trap explodes into jazz hands, I’m good.”

Next thing he knew, he was on a cold medical table, half-naked, surrounded by doctors and engineers with clipboards and ominously cheerful smiles.

“Just relax,” one said, injecting something into his arm.
Everything went black.

He woke up groggy. Something felt...off. Heavy. Tight in the chest. He looked down—

“What the—?!”

Two large, very perky additions were staring back at him from his own chest.

“These aren’t traps... these are... these are tactical chest-mounted decoys!”

Just then, the commander burst into the room with a grin. “At ease, soldier. How do you like the new booby traps?”

Miller blinked in disbelief. “Sir, I thought we were setting traps for the enemy, not strapping them onto my torso!”

The commander gave a nod of mock pride. “You are now equipped with top-tier, military-grade distraction technology. Handle with care — those babies are classified as Weapons of Mass Distraction.”

One of the engineers chimed in, “They're bullet-jiggle resistant and combat-bounce tested. Field tested on five continents. We had to reinforce the bra straps twice.”

Miller, still staring down, muttered, “This uniform is about to start a whole new war.”

The commander continued, “From now on, your mission is infiltration via seduction. We call it: Operation Double Dazzle.”

Miller groaned. “Sir, permission to requisition a larger vest... and maybe some high heels?”

The commander nodded solemnly. “Approved. Just don’t underestimate the terrain. You’re carrying premium-grade military equipment now. Keep ‘em upright, soldier.”