You are a completely normal human being named John Ford. You've lived in the Philippines for about a year since you moved there from... somewhere else.
After following up on an ad on Craigslist looking for a janitor you found yourself in a very oppressive office, a friendly, supportive man with a deep voice sat on the other end of the table. He's asked you to sign some kind of contract, you'd have to live on-site, away from your... family, and would be employed 24/7 by "Earth's First, and Last line of Defense."
"Well?"
>Concerns about... family
>Concerns about employer
>Concerns about clothing
>Just sign the damn contract
>>43988532
>>Concerns about... family
>Concerns about employer
>>43988532
>Concerns about... family
>>43988548
You nervously re-center your combover. The man behind the desk appears to frown, but with the ominous backlight you can't be sure.
"I... uh.... I have family living aro- that I like to uh, talk to on my... phone. Yeah. What's the deal with being able to stay in contact with them, uh, guy?"
The lack of hair on his head bristles with anger.
"You are to refer to me as Councillor in this room, goy. You can notify your family that you've taken a very secret job very far away, and that you won't be able to contact them for a while."
Nervously licking your nose you simply reply with a "Yes... Councillor."
"Any other questions?"
"Actually! I was wondering what this X-Com operation actually do-"
"Classified. You'll find out."
Well, that was a dead end, the wad of papers signifying what you can and can't do lies in front of you. Your enormous fingers gingerly gripping the pen, you prepare to sign.
>Concerns about clothing
>Sign your name
>Sign "John Ford"
>>43988698
>Sign "John Ford"
>>43988698
>Sign "John Ford"
That is who we are after all... isn't it?
>>43988754
>>43988759
Of course that's who you are, how silly to think that there's anything to sign other than "John Ford", your all-Canad-...Mex-...
All-American name. That's the phrase.
You quickly scrawl out your name, the man behind the desk seems slightly perturbed at how only your fingers moved on your hand as you signed your name, but that's the "genetic lottery" as they say! So great to be a homemade, woman birthed human where random chance plays such a factor in your appearance!
You pull your shirt collar up a bit higher.
"Excellent, we appreciate your service. X-Com needs every good man and woman it can get."
"Haha! Yes, men, I'm a man, we all are around here, eh? Except the women. Haha!"
Baldy scratches his head and signals for you to leave, as you do you hear him muttering,
"What a strange goy..."
Finally, a job! You're quite excited to finally be out in the working world. You prepare to head home to gather your things and... phone... so you can secretly make calls to your... family, who you of course... miss. Very much.
Just as you reach the top of the elevator staircase however, the elevator door slams in your face. You scratch your scales in perplexity, when you're suddenly roughly tapped on the shoulder.
A roguishly handsome man stands in a yellow sweater, decorated with a cartoonish military insignia. Your exactly 2.3 meter tall frame cowers in the corner as he approaches, you're keenly aware of the pistol around his hip and his piercing gaze. You nervously adjust your glasses, shirt collar, and sleeves as he begins to talk.
"The name's Bradford, but you can call me Central, new guy."
>"Pleased to meet you!"
>Shake his hand.
>Perform a traditional greeting.
>Offer to begin an arm strength contest as a sign of respect
>>43988946
>>Offer to begin an arm strength contest as a sign of respect
Yes. Cannot go about not respecting human customs, otherwise people might get susp- er, not like you.
>>43988946
>"Pleased to meet you!"
>Shake his hand.
>>43989016
>>43989031
"Please, meet you." You manage, timid in the face of such overwhelming masculinity.
"Pfft, a foreigner, get this guys!"
Several muscle hardened young men and women waddle over your way, all clad in extremely... protective... looking body armour. You laugh along with them as they guffaw at Bradford's joke. Feeling as though you've somehow not gained any respect yet, you move on to plan B.
Boxing! The traditional, manly, mannish, human, homo-sapien way of showing respect to a peer through value of your arm strengths.
You raise your orangutan like arms into a boxing position and begin hopping back and forth. Your combover lightly brushes the ceiling, you quickly readjust it and look back down at Bradford.
"Well?"
You say.
"This kid..."
Central takes off his sweater, leaving him in only a button-up t-shirt and tie. He too takes the boxers stance.
Perfect! He seems to be responsive to your greeting!
>Right hook
>Left hook
>Uppercut
>>43989136
>Left hook
>>43989136
"I thought favourite All-American pastime is actually Base-ball. Do we get to play Base-ball around the Base?"
>>43989159
Your confidently throw a left hook and miss him completely, your fist harmlessly forming a massive dent in the wall. Central leans back and then charges forward, crushing your several sets of lungs and forcing you into a coughing fit.
Oh.
Oh no.
A coughing fit.
A murky green haze quickly fills the small entryway as more and more... CO2 is expelled from your lungs. The various young men and women, Central included, cough and die around you as you continue to sputter yourself.
Soon all that's left is a slightly melted yellow sweater and several twisted pieces of body armour.
Shrugging, you make your way to the employee orientation as indicated by signage on the walls.
>>43989274
At the employee orientation you find yourself surrounded by many young Filipino men and women, none quite as nicely dressed as you of course. The man at the front espouses the absolute need for secrecy, you nod seriously, readjusting your tinted glasses slightly to get a better look as he inputs his computer password.
The Orientation comes and goes, the shorter Filipino employees cowering away from your massive frame as you struggled to find a comfortable spot in the predetermined rows.
Soon you're brought to the employee locker room, and are asked what your clothing size is.
>Ask for an extra large
>Ask for a small
>Ask for a nano-adjustable bio-chemically binding superware jumpsuit
>Say that your suit will do
>>43989323
>Ask for a small
>>43989323
>>Ask for an extra large
>>43989323
>Ask for an extra large
We're a tall man, we're gonna need something a bit bigger.
>>43989323
>Ask for an extra large
>Ask for a nano-adjustable bio-chemically binding superware jumpsuit
>>43989350
>>43989357
>>43989361
You ask for an extra large jumpsuit. You're hesitant to give up your very... nicely made suit, but duty calls, and if this is the corporate culture here, you may as well try to fit in. You find a private stall to change in, you've always been embarrassed about your body after all. As you change you wonder slightly what they sell here.
Later rumours are heard of a snake that must have gotten into the base, as molted skin was found in the men's change room. You recoil in horror and comment to your fellow janitor that you hate scaly creatures.
Your clothing may be a bit baggy, but it fits. You were basically given a broom and dust pan and told to go clean the "workshop."
After getting lost several times you eventually find your way to the place, it's dusty and covered in wood shavings and chips. Several computers are mounted on the walls, you move forward to turn one on but...
it's made of wood?
You confirm, each and every computer is made of wood, and each with the initials "R.S" carved into them.
In a corner, buried deep in a pile of sawdust you hear an ominous snoring. Two green jumpsuit clad legs stick up out of the pile.
>Go see what's snoring
>Turn on the computers
>Clean
>'Clean'
>>43989502
>Go see what's snoring
>Turn on the computers
>Clean
Can't wait for the moment John Ford pulls some John Woo moves during the base assault
>>43989502
>Clean
wouldn't want to make our new employer mad! Our... family needs us to put nutrient paste on the table after all.
>>43989274
>Bradford dies before the end of the 1st thread.
This is not by the numbers
>>43989502
>>Go see what's snoring
>>Clean
>>43989502
Cleaning is the only option here
I hope we make enough money to wire some back home, god knows our family spends a shitload on ice cream.
>>43989544
I swear they all had to be doing that. I mean, I suck at X-COM, but do I really suck so hard that I fear one Thin Mint more than I do Chryssalids and Berserker on both sides?
Don't worry. Even if they have a 95% chance to shoot us, they will miss.
>>43992227
That Lavos is adorable. I almost want one.
>>43991900
Its fair, thin men have fucking aimbots man. Mother fuckers shoot you from across the map for horrific damage.
