“You mean once the war begins?” The man put his cigar down. “It’ll be the usual.”
The man’s assistant pushed a stack of documents across the table. “The rich will hide, the young will die and the poors will eat their boots. From our dead we’ll raise martyrs and saviors, from theirs, villains and traitors.”
“Eventually we’ll make all combatants into heroes. And, once they’ve finished weeping—” The man picked his cigar back up and leaned forward. “We’ll fuck their widows.”
— Bastian Espada
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