(Imma use some creative license on this one, seeing as how the backronyms kind of hinder things)
April 5, 21XX
I'm in a position that most find themselves in as well these days. My name's Effington. Jay Effington. I wised up early on in life, see. I knew there were others smarter than me. I worked my ass off trying to get to the top, finished in the middle. Got a scholarship to the Mrs. Margaret C. Whitman School of Economics. Did my undergrad education just fine, but as soon as I was out, I was drafted by Omnimeat, one of those big warring corporations. The corps own everything nowadays, so they can do whatever they want to us, the plebes, see. They filed my 3-year contract under "involuntary service for posterity", citing some cloudy legal jabber allowing them to use the United States Army to "address potential threats to the economy". Naturally, they just reached over the Department of Defense and did the drafting in their place. I don't care about the war or whoever wins it, I just want to get out of this rut. Higher-ups haven't disclosed all the details on my next assignment, but they have mentioned that we'd have to watch out for the United Kingdom's very own Royal Order of Fishing Labor, which is like a company and a labor union combined, overseeing everybody in Europe who touches fish without eating 'em. We clash a lot with the Royal Order because of Omnimeat's recent efforts to push into the fish industry. I got nothin' else today. I'll write more on this once more happens, see.
