So I broke a country, early this morning.
Some might say "saved," and maybe they'd be right. But that's going to be a while in coming, son. Weeks, months. Years, maybe. Revolutions don't have a specific, universal timetable, and every step along the path's got so many !@#$ing levels of uncertainty it's a wonder they work at all.
(Look at Egypt, if you don't believe me.)
What can be said with a high degree of certainty is that Fidel Castro, "el jefe," the bearded tyrant of Cuba, is dead. He was blown to atoms early this morning, along with a psychotic, parasitic, metal monster space god and the ancestral home of the Vampires of Cuba.
And, as far as anyone can tell, the United States of America -- by way of The COMPANY -- is directly responsible.
True, Fidel's brother's, Raul, has been the one on the throne for a few years now. But the death of el jefe means the shadowy, feared architect of the revolution, itself, is gone. And, given how loosely it's all been hanging together, since the Soviet Union fell apart on them, taking their primary meal ticket with it, that means it's only a matter of time before the people put two and two together and do the obvious !@#$ing thing.
Especially since The Flier is hanging over the ruins of La Casa de la Sangre, just daring the Cuban authorities to take a shot at it.
The reaction's started already, to some extent. I slept in, a little skull-bombed from a psychic shell game I played with that !@#$bearded son of a whore-goat, and woke up to the sound of cheering, jeering, and marching. No gunshots, yet, but I don't know whether that means the police have joined in, or are massing for some kind of disproportionate bout of crowd control.
And yes, it's coming. There will be some kind of !@#$headed response from the authorities, who are still trying to figure out what to say about their beloved leader having been in a building that most of their population knew was full of bloodsuckers, but were more or less told not to talk about if they wanted to stay out of jail, or worse.
There's a reason the vampires had all those blood donors, after all.
Yes, son -- you heard that right. That's what the regime had been doing to its troublemakers for ages. Someone talks out of turn? Give 'em a warning. They do it again? Send 'em to the House of Blood. They can realize the enormity of their error in wanting freedom and liberty with some old, wrinkled monster's fangs stuck in their throat.
And they said I was wrong to want to end this?
Well, okay. I admit, I had my own, personal reasons, and they were not all that professional. But !@#$ it...
So yes, like the movie promises, there will be blood. There will also be sweat, tears, and anger. There will be lives lost, lives shattered, homes burnt to the ground. A million fists will be raised in desire, and maybe that many more will be raised in repression, and who knows which way that's going to !@#$ing turn out at the end of the day.
Will they get a Democracy or another strongman? Will they get economic freedom or another socialist noose around their necks? I don't know.
This country? They enthusiastically replaced one !@#$ing monster with another, and spent the last sixty years quietly regretting it. So I can only hope, when it's all said and done, the people are better off than they were before.
I can only hope that, this time, they !@#$ing learn something.
But the train's left the station, now. There's no putting it back in its shed. Tonight the future of this country's in the hands of its people. Its dissidents and dreamers have their chance to remake a nation.
And I'm hearing that the President of the United States' first words, upon waking up this morning, were "What the !@#$ do you mean we !@#$ing liberated Cuba?"
I'm also hearing that, after a very shame-faced phonecall to the President, New Man is having to hang Colonel Richter out to dry for jumping the gun and going over international borders to get my fine, gay !@#$ in his crosshairs. There's still a chance to spin this forward, provided they can prove that I'm dead, and make it look like Castro was complicit in what I supposedly did, but the Colonel's not going to be taking any credit for any of that.
(Unfortunately, I'm also hearing that The Dragon's now in charge of both intelligence and execution. And I know he's not on my side, anymore -- if he even ever !@#$ing was -- so I'm going to have to play the next few steps really !@#$ing carefully.)
Other phonecalls are going off, right now. One's involving a certain American outpost, here on the island, and what they should be doing right about now. It seems the Cuban people are massing outside the 'any closer and we fire' line, and are either begging for assistance or demanding we leave -- even they aren't certain what they want, right now.
But there's no mention of a certain thing going missing from there. And that means the plan worked -- at least for now. So as long as the Doctor and I can get across Cuba to rendezvous with our three other players, tonight, it'll all work out.
However, that still leaves me only six days to save the world from something that's coming down the pipe. And I still have a few more plans and plots to unfold in order to get what I need, which doesn't give me a whole lot of !@#$ing wiggle room. Especially since, for once, I really have no !@#$ing idea exactly what I'm up against.
Just the basic shapes of the plot, which, coupled with that Aaron showed me, reveal that it's big and bad, and is going to make whatever we've been up against, before, look like a !@#$ing panty raid.
So that's where we are, right now: sitting in my apartment, watching the Flier hover over the smoking crater it made, counting how many teams they're sending down to make sure that I'm dead, and enjoying some polish beer with my very fine-tasting potato and cheese dumplings. Doctor Krwi is getting some well-deserved sleep, I'm making sure Bee-Bee's not doing anything stupid with Lady Gilda, and taking mental bets on how long it takes before someone seizes the airwaves and rallies the people to fight.
These is the true faces of revolution, son: waiting and uncertainty. Whose will be done?
I like to say I know all, but sometimes all I can do is sit back, have a drink, and see what happens. The real decision's in the hands of the Cuban people, now. I just hope this time they make a good one.
(SPYGOD is listening to Tonight is Forever (Pet Shop Boys) and having a cold Zywiec)