December 25th, Christmas Day. The collapse of the Soviet Union is the greatest gift from God to the United States.
Inside the White House office.
Laughter and cheer filled the room.
James Dan Quayle was laughing so hard that tears were nearly streaming down his face; he tried to maintain his composure.
The thought of the Soviet Union, which had been waging the Cold War against the United States for over half a century, now gone—and during his "term" no less—was simply too much. Even though he was just an acting president, he might still be considered one of the greatest U.S. presidents in future evaluations.
That alone made him want to laugh.
The office was full of high-ranking officials—CIA Director, FBI Director, Secretary of State, and others—all beaming with joy.
"From now on, the threat hovering over our heads is completely gone. The world belongs to the United States!"
James Dan Quayle shouted loudly.
The people in the office, of course, respectfully applauded.
"Sir, should we hold a press conference?" asked Richardson, the office's secretary advisor, with a smile.
"Of course, we need to express..."
"Profound condolences!"
James Dan Quayle couldn't help but laugh again, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes. This man—when he was young, he couldn't control his desires; as he got older, he couldn't control his bladder; and now, he couldn't control his tears.
"The press release is ready and can proceed at any time," Richardson said.
The acting president offered a compliment, scanning the room with his gaze and raising an eyebrow. "Where's our president?"
He was, of course, asking about William Jefferson.
When CIA Director Stanfield Turner heard the query, a meaningful look flashed in his eyes. He glanced at FBI's Floyd I. Clarke, who also returned the look. Their gazes collided mid-air.
Both men wore smiles, but the curses in their eyes nearly dripped forth.
Everyone understood what James Dan Quayle meant by calling for William Jefferson at that moment.
It was nothing more than his dissatisfaction at having the position taken from him and a desire to gloat in front of him.
Richardson coughed, covering his mouth as he chuckled awkwardly. "Perhaps he's celebrating somewhere else."
"Sir, we need to seize the narrative immediately and make more people understand the superiority of capitalism while targeting the GC ideology in South America and the Middle East," Secretary of State Addison Baker interjected, steering the conversation elsewhere.
They didn't want to offend the newly empowered nor embarrass anyone at such a time.
James Dan Quayle snorted coldly, stood up, straightened his clothes, and tilted his head slightly upward. "Press conference in 30 minutes."
Secretary advisor Richardson nodded and hurried out to make arrangements. But as he opened the door, he didn't notice someone on the other side, and the two collided with a loud "bang."
The latter let out a cry of pain, immediately crouching down clutching their nose, blood seeping through the gaps in their fingers.
The secretary standing outside was also slightly dizzy...
But just slightly so.
When he saw the bloodied Richardson, he was so terrified that two of his three souls seemed to leave his body, leaving his mind utterly blank.
What's the biggest trouble you've ever caused at work?
Answer: Breaking your boss's nose?
Everyone inside the office stared at the scene in shock.
"Quick, get him to the medical room!"
The CIA Director quickly helped him away.
The young secretary, slightly panicked, didn't know what to do.
Acting President James Dan Quayle furrowed his brows and looked him up and down. "What's the matter? Why the panic? Can't you be as steady as I am?!"
This reprimand made the secretary flinch. Regaining his composure, his words suddenly became smooth. "Sir, Mexico has just announced its embrace of the world's proletariat!"
"And they've declared humanitarian compensation for any struggling Soviet veterans, promising living subsidies to workers who have lost their livelihoods—as long as they obtain Mexican citizenship!"
The kind of silence where you could hear a pin drop.
Followed by the sharp intake of breath...
The air in the office suddenly felt thin as if sucked away.
Everyone's eyes turned to James Dan Quayle. His once-flushed, excited face now turned pale.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his brain seemed to halt, unable to process what had just happened. Then, everything went black, and the last thing he heard was:
"The President has fainted!! Get medical...!"
The office descended into chaos.
Of course, this wasn't the end of it.
When the "Mexican Declaration" surfaced at 8:30 p.m. Soviet time and 9:00 a.m. Washington time, the capitalist world of Europe and America fell into silence—followed by an uproar!
"No! Another giant bear must not rise. Crush it to death!" roared voices from the United Kingdom's cabinet.
"Protest! We protest this behavior and condemn Mexico. We will not accept them stirring up trouble in the North American region," thundered Canada.
Capitalism had always criticized the flaws of the GC ideology—its drawbacks and shortcomings—but had never denied that it was "the greatest ideal."
Born in the mid-19th century, budding in the early 20th century, flourishing from the 1950s to the 1970s, yet by the 1980s, it began to wither in East Asia, and finally...
Died on December 25, 1991, in the Soviet Union.
This was the process Victor remembered from his previous life. In the end...only a few sparks remained in the Caribbean Sea.
"In my previous life, I believed the lies of the damned White-headed Eagle. I discarded all ideology, became infatuated with foreign things, and allowed corruption among my upper ranks. On my deathbed, I looked to the sky, unwilling. If I were given another chance to live again, I would..."