I stroll through the gates of the orphanage. The metal is rusted from both its old age and from negligence. I run a hand over the sharp points of the top of the fence. My fingers are callous, unfeeling. The rough metal barely registers against my skin.

"Mister Yellow!" I hear a child call. I smile at the nickname he calls me, and I wave to him. His voice is light and high, still filled with the childish glee of someone who had not yet seen the darkness of the world. "Mister Yellow is here!"

Children playing in the yard drop their toys to look up at me. Of course, they barely pass as toys. With the orphanage losing money and funding and getting more children every week, the only playthings they can afford are chunks of wool and stone spikes that they can pretend are swords.

"Hello, Mister Yellow," Sister Iteshop says happily once she notices me. She gives me a bright smile as I tip my hat at her. "The children have been eagerly waiting for you to come back again. Everyone thinks it's their turn to be adopted. You're really putting smiles on their faces, sir."

I shake my head. "No, no, sister, you give me too much credit. I'm not adopting the kids for myself, after all."

"But for the past few months you've been finding homes for so many of them," Sister Iteshop says. "In the middle of a war, no one wants to take in another mouth to feed. Yet, while being a general on the front lines, you've managed to find homes for almost twenty of our kids."

"War is a horrible business." I smile at her. "People need children to feel less hopeless."

"Well, in any case," the sister says, "We are eternally grateful. How many children will you be taking today?"

"I can take three," I tell her. Her eyes shine.

"Three lucky kids." Iteshop calls forward three of the children in the yard. Their faces light up as their names are called, eyes brightening like the sun rising over the hills in the morning. "Silver, Fish, Snow! Mister Yellow is going to be taking you to your new homes!"

Silver is a young girl, obviously named after her white-blond hair. She has a gap between her teeth, but her smile is still pure. Fish is a little boy with brown hair and freckles. His eyes are a bright green. Snow has dark hair and red lips, and her pale skin gives her a striking resemblance to a young Snow White.

Sister Iteshop turns to me again. "Mister Yellow, you really are the hero of this orphanage." I give her a quick goodbye and face the children running towards me.

"Hi, kids," I say brightly. I crouch to be eye level with them, my leather boots crunching as my weight shifts. "Are you ready to go home?"

They nod.

***

Cannon fire from the war front can be heard in the distance as I lead the kids across the bridge. The fireballs being thrown back and forth between sides have wreaked havoc on all surrounding land.

"So," I ask the little boy whose hand I hold now, "Why is your name Fish?" His hand is so small, it fits in mine like I'm holding the paw of a little dog.

"I like fish," Fish says. "We had a pool at the orphanage. I liked to watch them swim."

"Understandable," I nod. "Fish are pretty cool."

"Are we almost there?" Snow asks. "My feet are getting tired."

"Don't be rude," Silver scolds.

"No, no," I say, "Don't be afraid to ask questions. Yes, we're almost there."

I lead them down a road filled with holes. It's so banged up, one might have thought it was made of wool for how easily it fell apart.

I lead them further and further until we can see the front.

"Mister Yellow?" Snow asks hesitantly. "Is that the war front?"

I nod brightly. "Don't be afraid, though, Snow. Home is this way."

The children look afraid, but hopeful nonetheless. They follow me dutifully. I lead them through the ranks of soldiers, armed with bows and swords. Some even hold buckets of water.

"Are these the kids?" One soldier asks.

I nod. "Get them ready, Mark, Shotry."

Mark takes Snow with him, and Shorty takes Silver. I bring Fish into a nearby tent. I give him a helmet and a small knife, and tie both to him with leather straps.

"Mister Yellow?" His voice shakes. "What are you doing?"

"Don't worry, Fish," I say. "This is all part of the process. You'll be home soon."

Fish let's me take him to the very edge of the wall. The enemy is just across the gap. The wall is the only thing between us and their arrows.

I sit Fish down in his place. He's shaking now; he's afraid.

"Don't be scared," I say gently. "You're going home, Fish. Trust me."

"But- But how?"

"Just do as I say, Fish. You're going to feel a lot of wind, but try to land on your feet."

"What?"

"And when you do, stab at their legs. They can't defend their lower bodies as well."

"Mister Yellow-"

"Good luck!" I pull the lever by my side. The catapult fires suddenly, the wood creaking. Fish, before he even has time to scream, goes flying through the air. He's launched over the wall, limbs flailing but dagger in hand. I look to the left and see Snow and Silver being hurled similarly.

Mark and I peek over the top of the wall while Shorty actually makes himself useful by continuing the construction of the tower. The enemy has no wall, just a red banner, so we watch as Silver, Fish, and Snow land in front of them. The warriors drop their bows and pull out their swords, looking bored, having been used to this by now.

"Do you think this time it'll finally work?" Mark asks me.

"I got three this time," I say. "They'll work better than the one."

Of course, I am wrong. Silver, Fish, and Snow are all killed in a matter of seconds. They flash red and go up in puffs of white smoke, not even making a sound. No body is left behind.

The enemy looks at us with bored eyes. "Aren't you tired of this yet?" They shout, exasperated.

"I'll never stop!" I spit back. "You will suffer for what you did to us!"

"You attacked us first!"

"Your friend was a jerk!"

Mark takes the reins from me and spouts some prose about how their friend was a horrible person while displaying his badonkadonk to throw the enemy off, and they point out that he is dead now. I climb down from the ramparts and head towards the road again.

"General!" Bem calls. Bem is only a lieutenant, and thinks the war is altogether useless. Of course, he tolerates it because he likes to build walls. "Are you going to get more children?"

"Yep," I sigh. "I'll keep doing it until it works."

How many kids have been sacrificed for our causeless war? I lost count a long time ago. All I can say is: this is the only warfare I know. 

A/N: Questions? Probably. Answers? None. Hotel? Trivago.