Eagle Sauce: The 055 destroyer was launched into the sea just after the founding of the country?

[Time]: Autumn 1956, within 24 hours of the start of the blame-shifting plan.

Location: America, New York, Manhattan Financial District

A gust of wind, carrying hot dog wrappers and advertising flyers, swept across the corner of Sixth Avenue. The clock had just struck noon, and men in gray suits and women in high heels, like worker ants swarming from office buildings, flooded the crowded street.

Jimmy O'Connor, a young errand boy at a brokerage firm on Wall Street, had just been yelled at by his Jewish boss. All he wanted to do was quickly buy a hot dog smothered in pickle sauce and find a corner to eat lunch.

As he passed the newsboy's stall, the freckled boy, who looked to be only twelve or thirteen years old, was waving a newspaper and loudly hawking his wares in a voice that was somewhat hoarse from puberty.

"Breaking news! Breaking news! A hellish report from Cuba! Thirty thousand soldiers were brutally slaughtered by black magic!"

"Exclusive from The New York Times! Surviving soldier exposes the demonic ritual of communists!"

Jimmy stopped in his tracks. Not only him, but dozens of men and women hurrying by around him also stopped as if frozen in place.

He took out a few coins and bought a newspaper.

The huge front-page headline was printed in the boldest black font, a font he had only seen once before, on the day the victory in World War II was announced.

[A Warning from Hell: Our Children Are Fighting Demons]

Below the title is a black-and-white photograph that occupies half the page, deliberately grainy to appear incredibly realistic. In the photo, a "Broken Army" mech is tearing apart an American tank. Due to the dim lighting and the unconventional angle, the black mech looks like a gigantic, metallic demon emerging from the shadows, its T-shaped visor glowing with two ominous red dots.

Next to the photo is an interview written by the Pulitzer Prize winner himself.

The interviewee was Major Hansen—the only surviving officer.

"...I saw it with my own eyes, they were around the campfire, chanting and dancing in a way no normal human would do... They were calling out something... Then, those red guys, as if crawling out of the ground, their soldiers were transformed, their bodies were in a special way... That wasn't a sound a human could make..."

"The army of the Dragon Kingdom? No, that's not an army. That's their 'god,' another kind of demon from the East. They destroyed the monsters of Cuba simply because... different demons fight over territory. And we... we unfortunately stumbled into a war between demons..."

"Oh, God……"

Beside Jimmy, a well-dressed woman covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes instantly reddening. Her brother was on that list of 30,000 people.

"They...they are followers of Satan..."

“My cousin is in the 3rd Marine Battalion… The newspapers say they’re cursed… and turned into… cannibals?”

The crowd began to stir, and the whispers gradually turned into an angry buzz.

Jimmy clutched the newspaper, his palms sweating. The hot dog was long cold, but he didn't feel hungry at all.

He looked up at the giant electronic billboard on the building across the street. It had been playing a Coca-Cola ad. But now, the ad was gone, replaced by the serious face of the White House spokesman.

"...We condemn in the strongest terms the despicable challenge to the basic human rights standards launched by the reactionary Cuban regime. The nature of this war has changed; it is no longer an ideological confrontation, but the final battle between civilization and barbarism, between believers of God and servants of Satan..."

"Hit them!"

In the crowd, a tall worker slammed his safety helmet to the ground, the veins on his neck bulging with anger.

"Wipe those damned wizards off the face of the earth!"

"Yes! Avenge our children!"

"Hang Castro! Hang Guevara!"

Emotions were like ignited gasoline. More and more people began chanting slogans. Anger quickly spread throughout the street. People waved their fists and newspapers, and the once indifferent financial district street instantly transformed into a medieval religious trial square.

Jimmy, caught up in the emotion, couldn't help but raise the newspaper in his hand.

He didn't know what shamanism was, nor did he know if witchcraft even existed. But at this moment, he needed an outlet. An enemy from whom he could find a legitimate outlet for the anger he had accumulated over the thirty thousand innocent lives and his tedious work.

Clearly, those "devils" in the newspapers are the most suitable candidates.

---

Location: London, England, a private gentlemen's club

The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, and the heavy velvet curtains kept out the chilly fog typical of London outside.

Arthur Campbell, a history professor at Cambridge University, took a sip of Earl Grey tea with milk and put down the Times.

The front page of the newspaper featured the same striking photo of the mecha, along with an editorial that was more conservatively worded but expressed the same viewpoint.

"That's ridiculous."

Professor Campbell pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses and spoke to Sir Lawrence, a former MI6 officer who was sitting on the opposite sofa, wiping his pipe.

"Black magic? A war between gods and demons? Have the Americans gone mad? Do they think this is a B-movie for teenagers?"

Sir Lawrence slowly filled his cigarette with tobacco, without even lifting his eyelids.

“Arthur, you don’t understand politics. Politics never cares about what the truth is, it only cares about what the people believe the truth is.”

“But this is too flimsy. There’s no direct evidence, just some soldiers’ ‘testimony’ and a photo that looks like a movie still?” Campbell shook his head. Known for his rigorous scholarship, he instinctively loathed such unfounded claims.

"What about that captured 'Nazi file'?" Lawrence lit his pipe and took a puff. "I had it verified. The document is genuine; it was indeed found in the SS headquarters archives."

"That only proves that Himmler was a fan of the occult. What can the ravings of a bunch of madmen prove?"

“This proves that the Americans aren’t making this up.” Lawrence exhaled a smoke ring. “You see, the most clever thing about a lie is that it contains ninety percent of the truth. The documents are real, the witnesses are alive, and the wrecked tanks in the photos were sold to them by us. As for how they pieced together these truths into the story they wanted… that depends on the storyteller’s skill.”

A waiter from the club pushed a trolley loaded with a television set over. This was the latest gadget, the kind you only see in the most exclusive clubs.

"Gentlemen, this is the BBC's evening special."

The TV screen flickered a few times before an image appeared.

In the image, the Pope of the Vatican stands on the balcony of St. Peter's Square, addressing tens of thousands of believers below. His face is sorrowful, and his voice is filled with grief.

"...We pray for those children who have lost their souls under the barbaric curses of infidels. The Lamb of God should not suffer such torment. I hereby declare the Cuban puppet regime and all its followers...excommunicated!"

The scene shifts to the French president, the British prime minister, the West German chancellor… all the leaders of the “free world” are issuing strongly worded statements in front of the camera, unanimously condemning the “inhumane atrocities committed by Cuba.”

Various "experts" began to take turns appearing. Anthropologists analyzed the bloody history of Cuban indigenous religions, retired generals analyzed the irrationality of the mecha in the photos and asserted that it was not a creation of human technology, and psychologists even analyzed that the surviving soldiers suffered huge "collective psychological trauma" in order to see such "hallucinations".

Professor Campbell fell silent.

As he watched his colleagues on television earnestly analyzing the "sociological significance of the devil's arrival," he felt that the "truth" he had insisted on based on historical materials and logic had become incredibly fragile at that moment.

Sir Lawrence picked up the remote and turned off the television. Only the crackling of the fireplace remained in the room.

"See that, Arthur?"

"When all the voices in the world are directed in one direction, that voice will temporarily become the truth."

"At least, that's the case until the next war is decided."

---

Location: A barbershop in the old town of Havana, Cuba.

Old Fernando's hands were steady as he carefully shaved his old customer's beard with his old German-made razor. The shop's electric fan whirred listlessly, and a light mambo tune played from an old radio in the corner.

Suddenly, the music stopped.

"...Buzz...Now, an emergency broadcast from Miami International Radio...Buzz...A warning to all Cuban citizens: Your leaders...Castro and Guevara...are devils who have betrayed God...They used witchcraft to murder...Buzz...Tens of thousands of American soldiers...Calling on all people of conscience...to stand up and overthrow this Satanic regime...Buzz..."

The customers queuing in the store looked at each other in bewilderment.

"What nonsense are they talking about?" A middle-aged man with a cigar in his mouth frowned.

"It's just propaganda from the Americans, it's not the first time." Another younger man spat dismissively. "Just a couple of days ago they were saying our soldiers were getting utterly thrashed by them."

Fernando's hand trembled, and the razor left a thin line of blood on the customer's chin.

"Hey! Old man, watch out!" a customer called out impatiently.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm getting old, my hands don't obey me anymore." Fernando quickly picked up a hot towel to press on his wound, but his eyes remained fixed on the window.

Two J-10C fighter jets, painted with red five-pointed stars, roared across the sky. This was the first air force established by the Chinese people after the revolution's victory. During this time, they patrolled daily, guarding the skies like loyal hunting dogs.

These things are real. The muddy road across from his house has been paved with smooth asphalt with the help of the Chinese people. His grandson can now go to the newly opened school every day and eat a free lunch with milk.

All of this was brought by Castro and Che.

He didn't understand any ideologies, but he knew who had given him a peaceful life.

Fernando put down the towel, walked to the radio, and without saying a word, simply turned the knob to the left.

The slander from Miami has vanished. In its place comes the clear, gentle voice of a female announcer from Cuban national radio.

"...Comrades, compatriots. The enemy is trying to divide us with the most despicable lies. But an iron will cannot be melted by flames, and the eyes of the people cannot be blinded by sand. Our leaders and our soldiers are shedding blood and sacrificing their lives on the front lines to defend our homeland. All we have to do is believe in them and support them. Unite until final victory..."

The shop became quiet again.

The customer whose face had been slashed sighed and waved his hand.

"Alright, old Fernando. Let's continue."

---

Location: Dragon Kingdom, Imperial Capital, Grand Chief's Office

The leaves of the poplar trees outside the window have begun to turn yellow. Autumn is in full swing.

General Lu personally placed a document that had just been analyzed and summarized from the General Staff Intelligence Department on the leader's desk.

At the very top of the document was a photocopy of the front page of The New York Times, translated into Chinese. The glaring headline was particularly striking.

Fang Yu sat on the sofa next to him, holding a steaming cup of Longjing tea. On the small tea table in front of him was a tablet computer displaying the real-time genetic sequence analysis of the ghoul samples captured by Wang Zhenbang and his team. The constantly flashing, complex code seemed more interesting to him than the tea leaves in his cup.

The chief picked up the newspaper, and without his reading glasses, squinted at it for a long time.

Then he laughed.

It wasn't a polite smile, but a heartfelt laugh that came from finding something so funny that you couldn't help it.

"Heh heh heh heh... Shamanic witchcraft? Demon ritual?"

The chief handed the newspaper to General Chen beside him, pointing to the photo of the mecha.

"Old Chen, look at those young men under you, when did they learn to perform shamanistic rituals?"

General Chen's face turned red as he took the newspaper and read its contents, which only fueled his anger.

"What utter bullshit! These American bastards are useless at fighting, but they're masters at making up stories! What kind of war between gods and demons is this? Why don't they mention that Jesus got involved too?!"

"Xiao Fang," the chief ignored the irritable General Chen and turned to Fang Yu, "what do you think?"

Fang Yu blew on the steam from the tea and took a small sip.

"pretty good."

"Okay?" This answer surprised both President Lu and General Chen.

“They’ve run out of tricks.” Fang Yu put down his teacup and pointed to the newspaper. “When your opponent stops talking about physics and starts talking about theology, it means that he has no way to beat you on the physical level.”

"They are creating public opinion for two purposes. First, to save face domestically and retain the positions of the masterminds. Second, to isolate us and attempt to build a united front against cults internationally."

Fang Yu paused for a moment, then picked up the tablet.

"However, they made a mistake."

He turned the screen toward the High Chief, which displayed a complex diagram of a DNA double helix structure, with a small section highlighted.

“The core fragment of the ‘Atlas’ virus shares 78.3% homology with the mitochondrial DNA of the ‘Assyrian’ specimen we saw in Area 51.”

"In other words, this thing, strictly speaking, shares the same ancestor as the gene-unlocking potion used by our Zhen Dan Heavenly Army."

Fang Yu's lips curled slightly.

"On one hand, there are the failed and deformed products they secretly produced."

"On one side are us, the new humans who have evolved with dignity."

"Now, counterfeit goods are accusing genuine products of being evil... Is there any darker humor than this?"

"They thought this was a war of words."

"No. From the very beginning, this has been a showcase of civilization levels."

Fang Yu stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the already bustling scene of Beijing outside.

"The truth will always come to light."

"What we need to do now is not argue with them in the newspapers. That would be too low-class."

He turned around and looked at the leader behind the desk who was just smiling and saying nothing.

"It's about making the whole world, especially those centrists who are still watching, see clearly—"

On one side are the Old Gods, who bring disease, death, and lies;

"On the other side is a new era that brings peace, prosperity and truth."

"Let them choose for themselves which temple they want to worship at."