"Y'know, I read something in the paper today, taking a break as we were installing that big fusion melter over in USCom- oh yeah, I know, it was a bitch, but hey, we had all this stock of alien alloy there from that supply ship we took down just north of Lake Superior, and that fucking had to get melted fast."
"It said ours was the, per capita, seventh largest economy in the world. That made me spit out my coffee. I think the most funding we ever had was, what, a billion?"
"But it kind of had a point. We've got five bases, with maybe a staff of, uhhhh, fuck, four hundred? Five hundred? On direct payroll. A hundred of them, spread between SwissCom and AsiaCom, are engineers, cranking out laser rifles and personal armor, and it suddenly hits me- how much fucking money do we make off those? We don't use it all, and we all agree funding is short- and looking at all the equipment we use to build that stuff-"
"How much money do we have floating around here, or inside of our equipment? It's a fucking lot! I should be asking for a raise, thinking that I'm working nearly every Goddamn second of the day."
"But, well, it wouldn't seem right, y'know? I mean, we ARE saving the world. And I get that feeling from everybody here, we're all just glad to be working to stop these alien bastards from ravaging the planet."
"But then, I get this queasy feeling in my stomach as I look around at all the high tech toys, stuff that nobody else can hope to duplicate outside of a few tiny labs that have budgets in the billions, and a thought comes to me, I mean you have to wonder what if-"
"Oh fuck, are those warning bells? Oh shit, they're actually fucking attacking! Fuck fucking turn off the go-"
-Recording recovered from the ruins of USCom, after attack of 9/29/02.