War was messy business. Thousands of people die every battle, buildings are destroyed, lands polluted, stockpiles burned and fortunes lost. The bloodshed was horrifying in both scope and scale, the death tolls second only to the injured and missing. It took decades for the first stages of the recovery process to take root, and hundreds of years later, the ache still remained. Memorials to the fallen, ambiguity between nations, ingrained hatred between people for reasons left buried between blood and soil.
In this age of enlightenment, war has been turned into a clean, civilized sport rather than the barbaric slaughter it once was. In the sea of stars, our great Commandants direct their Mechanized Infantry in strategic competition to vie for planetary resources based on galactically agreed upon schedules. The battles follow distinct rules and death is kept at a clear minimum and limited only to those willing to die. No innocent lives lost in vain! No legions of unknown soldiers! War has become sport! War has become entertainment! War has become everything!
We bring you.. The Sport of War!
Brought to you by the Galactic Federation of Empirical Civility.
You have heard these advertisements as a child. You grew in a culture that believes that to fight means to puppet machines, following special rules to bring about good, clean entertainment. Progress is determined by the empire with the greatest champions. Politics ruled through sport, people guided by the media-circus of this 'good, clean war'. Civilized society believes itself to have risen above the muddied trenches and bloodied fields.
What fools they are.
You have seen the battles first hand through the cockpit of your massive war machine. You have brought low enemies in the name of victory. You have brought glory to your empire through these continental gladiatory bouts. You have seen the true cost of these battles and for your own reasons, you have grown sick of them.
I can see it in your eyes; the glimmer has dimmed, your spirit has been wounded. The soul living inside this fleshy shell screams against the acts it's forced to commit. You want out. You want people to know the truth. You want to end the hypocrisy and to bring the truth to the world.
You will have the chance.
If I am right about you, you will mark your barracks door with a smear of red. Then, when you are next brought to battle, your unit will be unleashed, and we will collect you. Together, we will turn their war games around, and reveal to the galaxy the truth behind war.
War is not clean. It is not controlled. It is not sport. War, is simply war, and they will know it by its true name soon enough.