Why the World Needs Writers

Perhaps an introduction would be moot. It would make this an uncomfortable situation, as I've never been one for niceties such as that. In truth, there's no need to introduce each other. You're the user and I'm the categorizer. We can leave it at that.
But, if you must know, my name is Sergeant Major. In truth, that's my job title. Though, I do like it when people call me that.
I don't have a real name. I gave it up along with countless others when I decided to join the military. Don't know what I'm talking about? Well, you'll forgive me if I digress a bit; it's one of my most annoying habits.
And most useful.
I serve in the ultra soldier military, home to the biggest and baddest soldiers in the galaxy. We protect the world and its inhabitants, solving problems that useless institutions can otherwise overlook. We are the best of the best, and that's not hyperbole. When a job needs doing, we're the only ones capable of accomplishing it.
Also not hyperbole.
That can be said for our more… efficient squadrons, like Delta Squad. They work out of this Hangar, treating it as their base of operations and debriefing center. I don't mind the extra company - because, it can get quite lonely in here.
I am one of the nobodies of the military. I am a categorizer. Simple as that.
My job is to categorize military hardware that comes into the Hangar and military hardware that comes out of the Hangar. It really couldn't get more simple than that.
Or more boring.
I'd much rather be out fighting the good fight alongside the powerful men of the army. They know how to have a good time, even when under pressure. But, since I'm stuck here, organizing crates and whatnot, I may as well vent. And I have the perfect canvas to do it on.
A realization hit me recently. I was given an assignment by my superior to organize the first of many crates. It seemed like any old job. But, at the same time, it was a completely new one. I realized whilst stacking this crate that my job was important. That I was making a difference in the military.
That I mattered.
Some people would say that's dangerous thinking for a grunt. Not me. Because, more than anything, it got me thinking.
It got me thinking about how instrumental a boring job like categorizing is. If not for people like me, the soldiers, who arm themselves with the denizens of those crates, would have nothing to fight with. They'd be utterly powerless in the face of terror. My duty is not just simply to stack crates, but to utilize my brethren and sisters with powerful weapons to use for the greater good.
I do not personally know what resided in this first crate. It's not my job to know.
It's yours.
You are my soldiers. By visiting my Hangar, you arm yourselves not just with the tools but the knowledge to vanquish your foes. By visiting my canvas, you are able to discover a side of you that never existed. A side that can only be unlocked by knowledge.
And that's the clearest form of expression on the battlefield.
Hangar 11 is more than just a storage unit for decommissioned hardware. It is a vibrant area, filled with crates, aircraft and more. But, most importantly, it's filled with what you put into it.
I should've realized sooner that categorizers - writers - have possibly the most important job in the universe. Because, it is only through them that the world can achieve great things.
As I continue to vent, more crates will appear. It is your job to read through them. Else, my job would be immaterial.
Let this be the beginning of a journey neither of us will forget.
Welcome to Hangar 11.