Summer, June 27th, 1989

"Don't worry Ma, I know, shower as much as I can, wash clothes twice a week, follow orders- blah blah blah." He said as he kissed his mother's forehead.

"Oh, why did I ever agree to this? Why couldn't you just be a mechanic like your father?" The short, greying woman asked as tears pricked the sides of her eyes.

"I said I wanted to make a difference Ma, I could never do that here, this town is too small for me." He said as the he was embraced by his mother.

As she stepped back, she let out another sniffle, "Look at you, all grown up and off to war. Oh, Jeffery why did he have to be so courageous!? Why couldn't he be a little more cowardly?" She said as she sobbed into her husband's arm.

As his father stepped up, he put a hand on his son's shoulder with a serious expression, "I'm proud of you. As long as you don't look back and follow through with your decisions, I'll always be proud of you." He said, his own eyes glazing over with tears as the family embraced each other.

Finally, he turned to the small girl standing next to his parents. "Amy, you be good and treat Ma and Pa well now ok? You gotta protect them for me while I'm gone. Alright?" He said to his adopted sister.

She smiled brightly with her broken teeth and saluted to him. "Sir, yes sir! I promise nothing bad will happen to em! We'll be right here when you get back!" She said with an innocent sparkle in her eyes.

He let out a chuckle and ruffled her dirty blonde, frizzy hair. "Of course you will." He said as he opened the trunk of his car and tossed the last of his bags inside.

Closing the trunk, he sent his family one last smile before driving off to the airport. This was his new start, his chance to make a difference in this world, and he wasn't going to miss a beat.

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"Jones reporting for duty sir!" He said as he looked at his new commanding officer.

"Jones? Jones what?" He asked with a bore expression.

"Peter Jones."

"Alright, well from now on you'll be in my squad, and I've seen your scores on the tests. You've got the brains but your physical tributes are basically garbage." He said looking up from his clipboard with a smirk. "Im here to change that."

With a little hesitance he nodded and saluted to the decorated officer in front of him. "My name is Commander Wells, cmon fresh meat, let's introduce you to your new friends."

"This here is our squad, McCarthy, Hunt, Ross, Johnston, and Santos. Boys, meet our newest recruit. Jones." He said as each man waved hello at their name being called.

"Don't worry about Wells, newbie. He's all bark and no bite." Santos said with a smug expression before getting hit in the face with the clipboard in Well's hands.

"How's that for bite Santos? Or should I get Pepper to come kiss your ass?" He said with a stern expression and a roll of his eyes.

"No Sir, Commander Wells." He said looking to the side, embarrassed as the rest of the men started to laugh.

"Um- Who's Pepper?" Peter asked as he looked around for another person who might be in their squad.

"Pepper? Oh- she's Commander Wells' dog. German Shepard, absolutely huge, and hostile- very, very hostile." Ross said gaining an amused huff from the commander.

"Alright ladies, enough gossip lets get to work. We've got a newbie to break in." Wells said as all of them quickly shoved Jones forward.

The next few weeks for him would be absolute hell. The physical strain put on his body was almost inhumane, but the mentality of the army and his squadron were what kept him alive. They quickly earned his respect and he was one of the best shots in the new recruitment batch. He was making his mark on the world and soon enough his squad was called to battle. It was here when he learned that he couldn't look back.

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Guns blazed across the battle field, bodies dropped like flies beside him as his squad held their positions on the border of Czechoslovak. McCarthy was down and bleeding at his feet. He hid behind a large boulder as their plane had crashed about a mile away from their current position.

Ross and Santos were to his left, both of them held their own weapons, sending fire power back to their enemies. Ross was injured in his left arm and he swore it was infected by now, and Santos had a 2nd degree burn on the side of his waist.

To his right were Commander Wells, Johnston, and Hunt. Luckily they had managed to make it out with nothing but bruises and scratches and were hitting the enemy as hard as they could before back up came.

Peter Jones himself was not as lucky as some of his comrades or as unfortunate as McCarthy who was dying before him. He had taken a flesh wound from the crash, a large gaping scratch from the side of his left leg. It was bleeding quickly and was covered in cloth and sulfur to stop the bleeding but it did little to stop the pain.

McCarthy looked Jones in the eyes, it was almost as if the man before him had given him his last wish without saying a word. It was now when he ground his teeth together and stood up from behind his hiding spot and shot his weapon with a certain natural expertise.

Slowly the enemy line receded back, their squad let out their battle cries and cheers, but it was cut short. Out of the blaze and smoke, a large metallic figure strutted forward. It's back and white paint job showing a bright purple badge in the middle of it's chest as its hand transformed into a blaster.

Their hearts dropped into their stomaches and Santos had closed his eyes and began praying for his life. They all turned to their commander as he stood there, starstruck at the alien life form. Everything was still, bullets flying past in slow motion, and their breathing seemed to take lifetimes. That was when Peter's eyes drifted back to the dying man in front of him. McCarthy had struggled to pull the grenade from his pocket as he looked at Peter with determination.

"Finish this Jones." He said as set the last grenade into his hands and took his last breath on the fiery battle field.

In a spur of the moment decision, Peter Jones watched as his friend died right at his feet, his dying wish being set directly into his hands. Peter pulled the pin, and turned around to see the advancing metal figure. Using his good arm, he waited a few seconds, counted them in his head and threw the grenade directly at the creature's face plates.

It exploded on impact, the close proximity creating a deafening noise as he covered his ears. A screech could be heard along with an angry yell. He made eye contact with it, it's purple optics burrowing into his own eyes.

'I'm going to die here.'

That was his last thought before a yellow flash appeared from behind him and tackled the other. The clang of metal on metal was heard throughout the entire battlefield, and the designation, "B-127." was the last thing he heard before passing out from blood loss.

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A/N: Seems as there's a bit of confusion, so the guy Peter Jones is the Reader's past life, the first few chapters will be about him before shifting gears to the reader.