NEWSFLASH, MAGGOTS - X-COM NEEDS MORE RECRUITS! GET YOURSELF DOWN TO THE POSTING BOX AND APPLY ASAP, FOR A CHANCE TO WIN FAME AND RICHES, MAKE LOVE TO BEAUTIFUL ALIEN WOMEN AND DIE GLORIOUSLY IN BATTLE!*
*Only one of these three things will actually occur. The definition of a glorious death is entirely subjective, and may include but is not limited to being shot, burnt, blown up, poisoned, beaten to death, mind-raped, backstabbed by your comrades or possibly all of these things at once. All applications are legally binding. No refunds. Terms and conditions apply. See your local retailer for details.
Alright, dirtbags, listen up. You, in the back, stop picking your nose for one moment and pay attention before I come over there and start making you eat it. You've all chosen, or been chosen, or been drugged and dragged into the recruiting office, to join X-Com, humanity's best and brightest special forces team specially equipped for - ah, screw it, I can't say this with a straight face. Look, all you need to know is that we hunt aliens.
Yeah, I said aliens. Don't look so surprised. Problem is, these aren't the nice grey-skinned humanoids with horns you were all secretly hoping for. No, these are actual, honest-to-god invaders, and they won't think twice about sticking a probe up your rectum or bursting out of your chest like some kind of reject from a H. R. Giger painting. And we need you to stop them. How I ended up with a team of specialists that were exclusively drawn from the nearby Little League team, I have no idea, but I'm just going to have to make do with what I got.
So, first things first, we need meatshields I mean recruits. Regulations forbid me from just handing you a rifle and a shirt that says "Go Team!" on it and just sending you off to your deaths, unfortunately. Instead, if you want to sign-up and fight aliens, you're going to have to tell me your specialities so that I can ignore them. For now, we've got three types of soldier - Demolitionists, Marksmen and Assault Troopers. Demolitionists get large amounts of explosives and a license to destroy civilian property, Marksmen get a big gun and plenty of headshots, and Assault Troopers get a pistol, a cattle prod and orders to bring aliens back alive. We tend to lose a lot of Assault Troopers.
Of course, some of you don't have the balls required to go out there and fight. In fact, I reckon none of you do, but even in a room full of pussies there's going to be someone who makes even your grandma's cats look manly. For these limp-wristed pansies, we also have positions available in our science and engineering departments. You'll get to look at alien equipment and try to reproduce it while people with actual combat skills risk life and limb for the cause.
Now, obviously, before we can go hunting any aliens, we need a base of operations in order to keep all the stolen alien loot we will inevitably be racking in before long. Normally I would just close my eyes, point somewhere on a map and see where we end up, but once again the tea-drinking sissies in the Council of Funding Nations shot me down with talk about "diplomacy" and "promoting a team mentality". So, it's up to you lot to decide where we locate our headquarters. Try not to put it anywhere too pants-wettingly stupid, will you?
That's it for today's briefing. Dismissed - and try not to kill yourselves on the stairs as you leave.
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