"Out of the many we are the chosen few. We must grow to be greater than ourselves, because we hold the fate of humanity in our hands."
The sound of the Skyranger's engines was a dull thrum in my ears, the vibrations vibrating up through the metal floor and into my bones. The Commander's words struck a chord within me. An unexpected echo of trust resonated in the crevices of my thoughts. His faith in me, in us, was overwhelming. But it was a responsibility I gladly accepted.
I glanced around at the team, their faces illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the cockpit. The tension in the air was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to amplify the anticipation thrumming through my veins.
I am sergeant James "Hawkeye" Rogers, appointed squad leader of XCOM's first response team STRIKE-1. As an ex-Navy SEAL, the roles of leadership were a familiar mantle. However, the stakes had never been this high. This was not the usual geopolitical power play or territorial dispute. This was about defending our home against an unknown adversary, an attack from the stars.
"Listen up, we going to be dropping you deep in the Nigerian interior for the next operation. The site is clear, collateral damage is not a concern. Keep them safe sergeant."
"You got it Bradford, Big Sky how far out are we?"
Five minutes to drop point,"
"Roger"
"Big Sky," is the name of our pilot. No one knew his real name, but it didn't matter. He was one of the best pilots in the world, and he'd proven it time and time again, flying them into the heart of danger and pulling them back out again.
Across me is Dr. Elena "Medusa" Morozov, my first recruit. A Russian field medic, her icy exterior was as formidable as her reputation. I watched her navigate the training course with the precision of a ballet dancer and the lethal intent of a predator. She was always one step ahead, anticipating threats, responding with swift and decisive action. Her mind, sharp as a scalpel, could dissect complex problems with the effortless grace of a master surgeon. Her quiet confidence and cool demeanor would serve as a beacon of calm in the storm that was surely coming.
Next, I turned my attention to Private Samuel "Bullseye" Barnes. An Australian sharpshooter with an Olympic past, he exuded a steady confidence that was as reassuring as it was infectious. The rifle in his hands was more than a weapon; it was an extension of his very soul. His precision was uncanny, his focus unwavering. Each pull of the trigger was a testament to his mastery, each round finding its mark with unerring accuracy. His skill would undoubtedly be a linchpin in our battle against the invaders.
Lastly, there was Private Miguel "Titan" Rodriguez standing by the ramp. A mountain of a man hailing from Brazil, his past as a Marine was etched into every line of his battle-hardened face. His physical prowess was matched only by his unwavering loyalty and iron will. The heavy weapon he bore was a testament to his role - our bulwark against the alien onslaught. His steadfast presence was a clear message to our foes: we will not be moved.
As our Skyranger cut through the night, the hum of the engines grew louder as we neared our destination, the alien crash site. The anticipation was building, the reality of our situation settling in.
I rose from my seat, addressing the team.
"Listen up," my voice echoing in the cavernous space. "We are about to step into the unknown. We don't know what we're up against, but I have faith in each one of you. Remember your training, stick together, and watch each other's backs. We're the chosen few. We're XCOM,"