Phi-Fic Chapter 940
Chapter 940
The room was very warm, but everyone felt like they were sitting in an icebox.
The huge American flag on the wall drooped listlessly at one corner as the air conditioner vents blew on it.
The coffee in front of General Hughes had gone cold, a thin layer of grease solidifying on the surface. He stared at the black liquid, as if he could see the faces of the thirty thousand soldiers who had turned into monsters before their deaths reflected in it. From yesterday until now, he hadn't eaten a single thing, though he had smoked two packs of cigarettes. The ashtray was piled high with unusual cigarette butts, like a heap of miniature corpses.
"Ding-a-ling-ding-a-ling--"
The red emergency phone connecting to the White House had rung for the seventeenth time. It was like a death knell, each ring causing everyone's eyelids to twitch involuntarily.
But no one answered.
The president went to church to pray. This news had spread throughout all the core departments of Washington an hour earlier. Even a fool knows what that means.
The captain jumped ship. Now, on this sinking, dilapidated vessel, only the first mate and sailors who had sworn allegiance to him remained.
"do you know?"
The radical senator Thomas, who was passionate yesterday advocating for the annexation of South America, now had a hoarse voice, as if it had been sanded.
He pointed outside the heavy window with bulletproof glass.
"My wife just called me, and she's crying."
"She said that our doorstep was surrounded. Dozens of women, all dressed in black, were holding up photos of their children serving in the Marine Corps."
"They didn't shout anything. They just stood there. But the look in their eyes...it was more unsettling than having a gun pointed at you."
Thomas picked up the unopened bottle of bourbon whiskey on the table and, without using a glass, took a big gulp straight from the bottle.
"We're in big trouble..."
"It's not just a big problem, it's like the sky is falling."
General Hughes finally spoke, his voice soft and carrying a sense of resigned calm.
He raised his bloodshot eyes, no longer staring at his coffee cup, but like an aged lion surveying a pack of wolves, scanning the faces of everyone present: the Secretary of State, Allen Dulles, and his Air Force and Army colleagues.
"Yesterday afternoon, the quarantine review reports for the first batch of 342 'lucky ones' who were evacuated came out."
He pulled a thin sheet of paper from the pile of documents and threw it in the center of the table.
"Except for about twenty officers who were so frightened they were incoherent, all the other soldiers were telling the same story."
"A story about hell."
"The story is about their comrades who, after drinking water sent from China, had their skin peel off and then began to cannibalize their companions. The details are so detailed that it goes down to who bit whose throat first."
"These three hundred-plus mouths can't be shut up."
“What do we do now?” Hughes fixed his gaze on the Secretary of State, who was sitting at the head of the table, head down, engrossed in his documents. “Should we draft a collective resignation? Or… prepare the noose?”
These words were like a needle, piercing the thin film of pretense in the room.
An army lieutenant general suddenly stood up, so violently that he knocked over his chair.
"This was Allen's idea! From the very beginning! That damn 'Atlas' plan!"
He pointed at Dulles, his chin trembling with excitement.
"We were all fooled! We thought it was just... a backup plan to deal with the enemy!"
"Yes! We should hand him over! We'll say it was all the CIA's doing! They're the ones who polluted the water!"
"Oh?"
Allen Dulles, who had been sitting like a statue in the shadows, raised his head. His skeletal face was expressionless, with only his glasses reflecting a cold light.
"So, that authorization document for the administration of the special agent, along with the joint evacuation document bearing the names of over 170 officers... was forged by me alone?"
"Or is it that you, General Hughes, had your illegitimate son, who is currently studying at Florida State University, put on the list only after I held a gun to his head?"
Dulles spoke slowly, but every word was like a scalpel, precisely piercing the soft spot of everyone present.
The lieutenant general's face instantly turned a deep shade of liver. He opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word in rebuttal. His signature was on the second line of the document.
“We’re all in this together now,” Dulles said with a hint of impatient sarcasm. “Instead of thinking about how to push me out to take the fall, you should be thinking about how to keep this rope from snapping.”
"Stop arguing!"
The Secretary of State finally slammed the "garbage disposal ticket" he had looked at countless times onto the table. He stood up, and this man, who was usually impeccably dressed and with his hair neatly combed, now had a crooked tie and dark circles under his eyes.
"The situation now is not about who is responsible. It's about the fact that if we don't do something, Washington will erupt in a riot a hundred times bigger than the one in 1932 before sunrise."
He walked up to the huge world map, on which the small island of Cuba was marked with a large "X" in bold red marker.
"Tell me. How are we supposed to explain to the American people why our 30,000 soldiers died for no reason on a scorched earth? Why are their remains nowhere to be found? Why are the survivors spouting nonsense, telling stories of cannibalistic monsters?"
“They need an explanation. An explanation… one they can understand and are willing to believe.” The Secretary of State turned around, his voice sharp with suppressed emotion. “Now! Immediately! Who has one?”
The room fell into that suffocating silence once again.
Yes. How do you explain that?
They say that in our efforts to defeat the enemy, we accidentally turned our own army into monsters, only to have it wiped out by an even stronger enemy?
If these words were to get out, the angry public would probably tear the roof off the White House.
"Maybe……"
Dulles slowly lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and the smoke he exhaled formed a gray barrier in front of him.
“We don’t need an ‘explanation’.”
"All we need to do is 'reveal the truth'."
Everyone's eyes were focused on him.
"The technology of the Chinese people. We have seen it all today. Their individual combat capabilities, their methods of clearing the battlefield... have exceeded the scope of conventional military theory."
“That’s good,” Dulles said, a strange smile playing on his lips.
"Good?" General Hughes thought this guy had gone mad. "You call that 'good'?"
"Yes. Because it is illogical, we can explain it in an equally illogical way."
Dulles stood up and walked to the podium, the place where the president usually gave speeches. He took out a stack of old, yellowed documents from his briefcase.
"Gentlemen. The CIA has been conducting a top-secret study on Cuba. Code name: 'Babylon'."
He spread the documents out one by one on the table.
The first image is a blurry black-and-white photograph. It appears to show a group of indigenous people dancing around a campfire in a forest clearing. But upon closer inspection, their faces are painted with eerie paint, and they are holding what look like human bones.
“Castro, Guevara. Officially, he was a revolutionary, lawyer, and doctor. But according to our intelligence network in South America, these men have intricate connections with some of the oldest and most sinister tribes in the region—shamanistic sects that still practice human sacrifice.”
"This photo was taken by our agents at great risk during one of their secret late-night meetings."
Dulles pointed to the lead dancer in the photo, whose face was blurred by the firelight.
"This person. Intelligence confirms it is Che Guevara himself."
Despite knowing it might be nonsense, the generals present couldn't help but lean closer to take a look.
Dulles didn't stop; he produced a second document. It was a thick report printed in German, with a Nazi swastika on the cover.
"This is a report from the 'Thule Society,' a department of paranormal research within the SS, which we captured in Berlin after World War II. The report details their research on the 'Voodoo' and 'Santeria' cults in the Caribbean."
He turned to one of the pages, which contained a strange symbol and an anatomical diagram of a human figure resembling a zombie.
"According to the conclusions of those mad scientists of the Nazis, these cults, through an unknown spiritual force and drugs, were able to temporarily transform living people into a kind of 'living dead' who had lost the sense of pain, possessed immense strength, and were extremely aggressive."
"They call it—'The Black Miracle'."
“So,” Dulles raised his head, his voice seemingly possessing a magical quality that guided the thoughts of everyone present, “our story is not about 30,000 American soldiers being poisoned by our own drugs.”
"Instead... 30,000 brave American soldiers, after landing in Cuba, encountered inhumane and supernatural attacks from the enemy!"
"They were forcibly transformed into soulless, bloodthirsty puppets by those red elements who worship Satan, using the most vicious shamanistic witchcraft and demonic curses!"
The meeting room was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.
Senator Thomas's eyes lit up. He was the first to realize what was happening.
"You mean... those monsters weren't created by us, but were their doing?"
“Of course,” Dulles shrugged. “How could we possibly do something against God’s will? We are the last beacon of civilization. And they are messengers from hell.”
The Secretary of State's breathing quickened. He seemed to see a path to survival, a way to climb down from the gallows.
"But...where's the evidence? Just a blurry photograph and a Nazi garbage report?"
"Those three hundred-odd surviving soldiers are the best proof," Dulles answered without hesitation. "The reason they weren't converted is because they had unwavering faith; God was protecting them! What they saw wasn't our mistakes, but the atrocities of the devil!"
"We in the media immediately followed up, interviewing these 'heroes' and getting them to reveal everything they had seen!"
"As for why the people of the Dragon Kingdom were able to easily eliminate those monsters..."
Dulles smiled, a smile of absolute certainty.
"That's even simpler. According to our research in Area 51, there is a power restraint relationship between different 'mythological systems'. The power system of those pagans in the East who believe in the so-called 'Jade Emperor' happens to restrain this 'demon power' of South America."
"So, that wasn't military aid. That was—fighting fire with fire!"
"Two evil gods from different regions fought a fierce battle in Cuba over territory! And our brave soldiers unfortunately became the victims of this war between gods and demons!"
so perfect.
This logical chain is so perfect that it's almost absurd.
But it hit all the vital points precisely.
It explained why soldiers turned into monsters, why the Chinese won, and most importantly—it transformed America from a perpetrator into an innocent, sacred victim!
General Hughes closed his eyes. He could almost see the story published on the front page of The New York Times.
Evil descends upon the Americas! Thirty thousand brave soldiers fall victim to the dark magic of the red demon!
Angry citizens will no longer besiege the Pentagon; instead, they will take to the streets, demanding that the government declare war and punish that "evil devil's island." The families of fallen soldiers will no longer weep; they will be proud of their sons who sacrificed themselves "fighting the devil."
"This kills three birds with one stone," Senator Thomas said excitedly, rubbing his hands together. "Not only have we absolved ourselves of responsibility, but we've also cemented Castro's place on the cross of inhumanity! We can then legitimately call upon the entire free world to impose the harshest sanctions on Cuba, or even... a sacred expedition!"
“That’s right.” The Secretary of State’s voice regained its usual calm and authority. “This was not a failed military operation. It was a great sacrifice. It was the price paid to protect human civilization from being corrupted by evil.”
"Set up a special task force immediately! Compile all relevant 'evidence' into a file!"
"Contact the Vatican! We need the Church to issue a statement condemning this blasphemous act!"
"Notify all television stations to prepare for a special press conference tomorrow morning!"
Orders were issued from that room. Those bigwigs who had previously been like stray dogs regained their confidence and power as "world leaders" at this moment.
No one mentions the "evacuation list" anymore, and no one cares about the original truth.
Because from this moment on, the truth no longer matters.
A "truth" woven by their own hands to deceive the whole world is about to be born.