Several Weeks Before
Within Fort Marillo, which was now located in "The Middle of Nowhere, Istrocres", as they had destroyed every city and town within the vicinity, many men and women alike were at work, busily sorting through papers, attending to several lines of off-duty soldiers, issuing them papers, checks, and the like.
Deep within the fort sat the young but well-seasoned man of a very nice thirty, perhaps as low as twenty-five, at a makeshift wooden desk, by lamplight, busily scrawling away upon a Bristol board paper the following:
To My Dearest Friend Spider---
It has been several months since I have seen your face. It is just pulling into summer now, and the sun is radiant as it beats down upon myself and my current batch of troops, and we are all feeling very uncomfortable with our heavily padded clothes and large loads to carry upon our backs, and yet we rejoice. As you know, there is usually to be no rejoicing in times of hardship, and though we are celebrating now, it is with heavy hearts begging for wings to fly upon, for we all know, that deep down inside, no one can ever win this.
In spite of that, and in the summer heat, it was declared, that you, my friend Spider's dream has come true: we have won the physical war. You have told me many a time in many a letter how that we were slowly losing ourselves in the brutality of it all, and how you were unhappy, and how sometimes you felt so sick you wanted to kill yourself. But I find myself hoping you may rest easy now. Those who oppose you have been subsided for the time being, and even though the land is soaked in blood and reeks of dead bodies, I am happy in knowing that, at least, even if we could not escape the clutches of death, which no being born to a life of war can, we were able to achieve our physical goal.
The soldiers are anxious for their pay, and so, currently I am sorting out the proper amount of money to go to the proper people---of course, with the help of several hundred secretaries---and it will all be taken care of in that manner, because I know you cannot do math for shit. Especially when you are under so much stress.
I have much more to say, but spitefully the communication system is crap, and I'm sick of talking like I'm writing you a funeral speech. But honestly, Spider---go. Seek happy days and happy nights. It's over... for now. I will return to your side soon.
As he finished, the handsome young man sighed slowly, reading over the paper several times over before finally folding it up neatly, and packaging it within an envelope of corresponding size, and sealing it. Sliding out from his desk, he had risen and combat boots had swiftly carried his frock-coated form to the door to his study, which he promptly opened.
Poking his short, red-haired head outside within the hall, one of the two men standing at his door had glanced to him and nodded wordlessly, taking the envelope containing the document and quickly making his way off.
Estremoz then closed the door, and was left to his own devices.