It's been about 24 hours since I pulled that naughty little trick with The Chamber, and its internal defenses.
In that time, I have heard Mr. USA utter about two dozen things that could be considered "unseemly" by the PR people he's got mobbing around him, almost constantly, to ensure that nothing he says or does could be misconstrued as anything less that all-American, super-patriotic, and wholesome as mom's fresh-baked apple pie.
Those PR people are now huddled in the commissary, trying to get some perspective and think up some story lines. I've told my people to be polite but give them a wide berth. Hopefully they won't slip and fall down the red line, even if we did throw up signs saying RESTROOMS, THIS WAY in that general direction as a joke.
Yes, we're allowed to do that, son. This is three-fisted, high-tech, superspy action at its best. We throw out and rewrite the rule book every time we turn around, whether we need to or not. It keeps everyone alert and on their toes, the better to not be shot in the ass when I'm in a weird mood.
I'm starting to get bored. I feel like I've done all I can, here. I need to go on to the next stage in things.
Chatter from Deep Ten's compromised communications network tells me that they're planning to move their operations somewhere more secure. They had a hellish couple of days there, preparing for an invasion that didn't come.
Now they're looking at us down here. They're moving their false face society into a defensive position, hoping to be just ahead of us.
They're watching and waiting and wondering when the other shoe's going to drop.
That's a damn good question. I only need a word. A location. Something I can home in on, the better to catch them unawares, and then we can drop that big !@#$ shoe.
Until then, it's a waiting game, wondering who blinks first.
And I never, ever, blink.
I think I'll give them three more days and then start to seriously !@#$ with them, just to see which way they jump. Then I'll know for sure this isn't all just for my benefit.
And if that makes no sense at all, well, that's why SPYGOD makes the big bucks, son. Unpredictability and eccentric habits are certified gold in the spy game.
Speaking of which, I wonder when Mr. USA will discover what his spare shoes are filled with, and what interesting words he'll use, then?
(SPYGOD is listening to Lightning (Roger Daltrey) and drinking an entire brace of Coronas)