“You mean once the war begins?” The man put his cigar down. “It’ll be the usual.”
His assistant pushed a stack of documents across the table. Their well-suited interlocutor skimmed through the papers and grinned.
The man smirked, then leaned forward. “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.
“We’ll fuck their widows.”
— Bastian Espada