Sure

He comes in and you invite him to "have a seat, please" at your table. "Can I get you a... beer or something?" You ask.

"Tea or coffee, if you have, please." He answers.

He's surprisingly polite and cordial for someone in the Hardcore administration. You make some coffee, trying not to puzzle too hard about why he's here, and what kind of trouble you might be in. You'll find out soon enough. Still, it's hard not to wonder.

Finally you join him at the table, handing him his coffee and sipping some of your own.

And finally he starts to explain himself. "My name is Mr. Greene. I've been working with President Hardcore on the slut registration project since the beginning." You nod. He goes on. "As you know, the deadline for submissions is approaching, and there are still many women who have no done their civic duty. Which means that the promised consequences have to be implemented... fines have to be assessed and arrests have to be made. But the President appreciates that he has a robust opposition; an opposition who often forget that he's perverted, not stupid. So he's asked me to take care of the optics of this situation."

"Okay." You say. So far this doesn't seem to have a damn thing to do with you.

But Mr. Greene has plenty more to say. "I've spent the past few months setting up several... facilities around the country for those who we end up detaining."

You interrupt him. "Prisons?" In a way you're surprised that they're actually going through with this.

"That is exactly the type of idea we want to avoid. Retreats, filled with comfort and amenities, fully open to the press to prove just that. We're not keeping secrets here. Women will find it to be like a spa weekend... except mandatory and for a year's stay."

A year is a long time to move someone away from their job and their family, you think. The President isn't kidding about this. A sense of reality hits you about this whole thing. Not that a sense of reality didn't hit you when your girlfriend's sister's tongue was in her asshole. But it's different this time.

Mr. Greene continues to share details. "Of course, the women there will have the option to shorten their stay if they'd like, by participating in our lesson plan. Each lesson they sign up for will shorten their stay by a whole day."

"Lesson?" This is getting interesting, and still perplexing. Where do you fit in?

"Videos, classes, presentations... things that will..." Mr. Greene thinks of the right word. "persuade them to see things the way their President sees them. We're confident that with just sixty lessons under he belt, that's two months shortened time, a woman will return home a better citizen. What do you think?"

You shake your head. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"The President likes your work. He likes the way your mind operates. He needs good men... to run the retreats."

Your eyes jolt open. That's a ridiculous suggestion. "I...." you stumble around for the right words. "I don't know anything about... law enforcement."

"Law enforcement is exactly who we don't want in charge of this. We want normal citizens, decent, reasonable people." Mr. Greene sips his coffee. "Now I know the commitment would be significant. We'd need you for at least the entire first year. But we're prepared to pay $150,000 for that commitment."

You don't think your eyes could open any more than they are until you hear that amount. But still, leaving everything behind, your job, your life, your girlfriend, now that she's getting... open to new ideas.

"And we're willing to waive the fine that would be assessed to your girlfriend." Mr. Greene throws in.

"Fine?" You ask.

"Well, her video does violate the guidelines. It may be well done, but we can't set that precedent can we?" Mr. Greene flashes you a smile that, for the first time, looks a little sinister.

And you wonder what choice you really have in the matter.

"What do you say? Would you like the job?" He asks plainly.