First mission: Your rookie panics. Shoots your best assault in the back. Critical hit. Killed instantly.
Prevents your soldiers from taking damage and removes the need for weapon reloads.
You enable infinite money. The gray market becomes irrelevant. You build six firestorms before the first terror mission. You research psionics before the aliens even deploy a muton. The game’s tension—that beautiful, terrible knife-edge between hope and extinction—dissolves like smoke.