[ CW ] - `` This is not a normal Bomb . It 's a Soul Bomb . ''

His weapon in hand, the Captain entered the battlefield. This was not the battlefield of his forefathers, nor was it likely to be the battlefield of future generations. 
 
 His boots clomped loudly across the floorboards. 
 
 No, this was a battlefield of ideas, of minds and hearts. 
 
 This was the battlefield of souls. 
 
 The Captain's unit was small, only six other members. Each specialized in different armament, unique to their chosen medium of combat. 
 
 They took the high ground, and a single light shined down from the ceiling. 
 
 `` Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,'' Captain Thump showed his immaculate teeth, grinning in to the microphone, `` We are SOUL BOMB!'' 
 
 His thumb came crashing down on the low E string, sending out a growling, all-consuming tone which made the floor tremble. There was a palpable feeling of suspension as the note held in the air; the rest of the band came in as if by some unspoken cue. 
 
 They shattered the tension in the air, and sent the audience into frenzied dance. 
 
 Lieutenant Lightning stabbed at the keys on his organ, the Leslie speaker sent his music whirling, dancing through the air. 
 
 Sergeant Thunder poured sweat as his hands flew around his kit, wielding his drumsticks in a manner that resembled Bruce Lee's handling of nunchaku. 
 
 `` Guns'' McGee, the token white-boy of the band, pulled his weight with the aid of a hollowbody archtop. His playing was fluid, he filled space with chords on syncopated beats, and set the strings singing with bursts of lead in between. 
 
 The Artillery Brothers stood to the side, armed with their shining brass canons. Firing volleys of bold, bright triads. 
 
 Captain Thump played bass, and did he ever. He tied the unit together, his right hand a blur of activity, popping and slapping down a foundation for the music to settle in to. 
 
 And he sang. His lyrics were loaded, political, aggressive. This set them apart from the feel-good funk bands. They had something to say. 
 
 The bar did n't contain many people, but it contained more every night. 
 
 Their manager stood at stage right, tapping his foot and boobing his head along to the rhythm. He had been friends with every member of the band since they were kids, and while he was the most business-savvy of them, it did n't mean he was a fat cat. He got it. 
 
 Someone tapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 `` They're very good!'' 
 
 `` Damn right. The best.'' The manager said without turning around. 
 
 `` I was wondering if you might be interested in signing on with Battalion Records.'' The man laughed, `` The names even suit each other. What do you say?'' 
 
 The manager turned around and regarded the other man with one saucy eyebrow raised. The man was short and balding. He had thick, squarish glasses, and a tastefully tailored two-piece suit. It was light blue, as if to suggest that this accountant-looking motherfucker was really a fun guy, who got out and danced. 
 
 `` I dunno. I can talk to my boys about it. Probably not, though.'' 
 
 `` Why not? We could make you kids a lot of money, and you could reach a much larger audience.'' 
 
 The manager shrugged. 
 
 `` Depends if you get it, man. You do n't get it, then we ai n't gon na jive. We do n't jive, we do n't sign shit.'' 
 
 `` Sure, sure. Well, here's my card. We'll talk, and I think you'll find that we at Battalion Records are totally down with it.'' 
 
 He said those final three words in a tone that suggested that he did n't know what'it' was, nor what it meant to be'down.' Only he figured that that's what he was supposed to say. 
 
 `` What did you say the name of the band was again?'' 
 
 `` Soul Bomb.'' 
 
 `` Bomb?'' 
 
 The manager sneered. 
 
 `` This ai n't no normal bomb. Soul Bomb, son!'' 
 
 `` What?'' 
 
 The manager straighened his tie and did his best mocking impression of a businessman. 
 
 `` This is not a normal bomb. It's a Soul Bomb.'' 
 
 `` Soul Bomb? Alright, we'll be in touch.'' 
 
 The record company man then left, and the manager found that the band was already most of the way through his favorite song. 
 
 `` Damn.'' 
 
 *That's what happens when you focus on the wrong shit. * He supposed. *You'll miss what matters. *
