"Tensions are getting higher and the stakes on both side are stretched to the max. The americans are not gonna sit still and watch while some fucked up emerging, asian nations conglomerate is sucking the world dry of petrol!" Francis was angry. I could tell. His head was red and started turning purple. I smiled and watched a woman in a fancy working dress pass by.
"Hey, Francis! Listen! The political situation is of no importance to me. Its gonna get solved somehow, anyhow." I said, preparing my real statement, which was the reason we were sitting in this cafe. "I killed this guy. We both know he was a fucking idiot. Nobody liked him. Everybody hated him. Even his own mother. He sold drugs, he cut women. He was a lunatic. His dayjob was just a deceptive facade!" I started to get into this. "What I really need right now is some help." looking deeply into his eyes, hoping for some remorse. He turned his head, teeth grinding. I could tell he was considering the situation. He fumbled for a cigarette, ignition, succking hard on. "Look dude, the world is going to hell. That's a fact. People in charge are way to busy to lock you up for this!" he was trying to be cool. Obviously it was my ass hanging out of the window, not his. "You know, what works best in wartimes? Its bureaucracy!" I had nothing more to say and left Francis.

-- warrant and arrest

-- conviction

-- war breaks out & patriotism

(A SIDE STORY EXPLAINING HOW THE WAR STARTED)

Hopped up and sweaty, Paddy McCoughlin tripped on a cable on his way to the podium. He farted. Normally he moved with that strange grace that large men seem to have. But today, with waddles of fat jiggling like petulant children that grace was nowhere to be seen. "Doesn't matter," said Hank. "He'll have their panties wet by the end." The room full of equally sweaty middle managers seemed eager to forgive the mans crudeness, averting their eyes doveishly. Paddy McCoughlin was still who they wanted to be.

Paddy McCoughlin was Americas most loved, feared and hated demogoge. He is the type of man who starts wars. And now, brimming with righteous indignation, and a raging hard on to destroy those fuckers who made him feel small, he has.

He tapped the microphone. And then he beamed. His smile was almost beautiful.

* * *

-- prisons still work

-- Francis's visit in prision / he got drafted / "I'm not talking to murderers"