He forced a smile that looked worse than crying: "You're right, Thomas, there's no need to call. It won't help. They will politely ask my secretary to leave a message, and then throw it into the wastebasket. Or worse, have some aide reply with a 'message received, will convey to relevant parties'."
Thomas remained silent, unsure of what to say.
Comfort? This position doesn't need comfort. Advice? Any advice seems ridiculously pale in the face of reality.
"Capital has to make money, Thomas."
Wilks murmured, his gaze vacant, "The Military Industrial Complex needs to make money, politicians need to gain political capital and real kickbacks, the country? What is the country? The country is their ATM, their chessboard, their bargaining chip in deals with others. If the country is gone... then it's gone. They can build another one, or like now, divide it into several pieces, which might be more convenient for them to manage and easier for bloodsucking."
