The Death Knell

Su Ming couldn't tell how long it had been since he had walked into such a small, dark bar. In this place, which was like a village in the city, slogans of 'Love and Peace' were plastered everywhere on the streets, and the blood was red under the dim street lights. The font is very clear, like the music coming from outside the door of every bar.

In the Vietnam War, the United States sent 550,000 people. In this world where anything could happen, the casualties were far greater than what Su Ming had known in his previous life.

Since the beginning of the war, a group of eccentric young people have appeared in the country.

They criticize the government's restrictions on citizens' rights and interests. They hate the greed of large companies, lament the narrowness of traditional morality, and oppose the inhumanity of war.

But there was nothing they could do.

They can only send out their shouts in their peaceful movements and marches; they can only wear flowers in their hair or distribute flowers to passers-by, "put flowers in the barrels of guns"; they can only use wandering rock music and sad music. express their dissatisfaction.

Most sociologists call them "Bohemians" more strictly. They are like Gypsies who have no fixed abode and yearn for a free life.

However, ordinary people, including Su Ming, use the more common name for them, hippies.

Overall, if they weren't constantly drinking too much or getting too high, these guys were an interesting bunch because they were responsible for the birth of rock 'n' roll.

Today, Su Ming is wearing fashionable bell-bottom pants and a high-necked T-shirt, giving Strangler a now-popular Beatles hairstyle. He is leaning on a corner of the bar, drinking whiskey, and watching the band's performance on the small stage.

The bar was small, the stage lights were glaring, and the poor sound effects made the patrons feel as if their heads were being hit with a sledgehammer.

The young female vocalist screamed some lyrics about pain at the top of her lungs. The band behind her was far worse than the Beatles. In Su Ming's eyes, her songs were probably considered a type of agricultural metal.

But the hippies didn't care. In the bar that reeked of 'leaf', they enthusiastically supported everyone who stepped on stage.

It doesn't matter if it's not a human being, as long as it's a creature that can make sounds. Anyway, the various drug ingredients deform their pupils, and everything on the stage will just be a ball of colorful light and shadow.

Seeing these young men and women starting to take off their clothes crazily, their pale flesh like worms crowding into the dance floor and dancing wildly, Su Ming shook his head and spoke to the bartender who was also helplessly wiping his glass:

"Who is singing?"

While asking, a $10 bill slid across the bar.

The bartender took away the tip and gestured with his chin to indicate the direction of the stage: "She? The lead singer of the Lost Father Band, whose stage name is 'Wave Machine Gun'. There are posters of these bands everywhere on the street. To be honest, I don't know the names and music of you young people." I don’t understand, I’ve been a bartender for 40 years, and the bar is supposed to be a place for jazz, piano, saxophone, you know.”

"It seems you don't like hippies." Su Ming pushed the empty cup over and motioned for him to fill it up.

"Yes, they do nothing, the beat generation. They party around at night, and sleep all day with the man and woman they met the night before. This is not good for our country." The bartender took a hand from behind the bar. He took out a wine bottle and poured wine for the guests skillfully: "But I have nothing against money. Many of these hippies are extremely wealthy."

"You are sober. If they can't even eat, they won't come to pursue freedom of thought." Su Ming raised his glass to the bartender and looked at his complexion through the glass: "But I really didn't expect a bartender to have such a know."

The bartender smiled and continued to pick up the white towel: "The country is the guarantee for the existence of jobs. I go out to work at night and endure all these noises just to eat. Even if Martin Luther King is assassinated, we black people have to continue to live."

"That's right. Oh, she's gone. Where should I go to meet her? I don't want to squeeze through these piles of fleshworms. They will squeeze my clothes off." Su Ming finished the cup. wine, and put a dollar under the glass.

The black bartender put away the bills like magic and tilted his head with a smile in response to the joke: "Take the employee aisle behind me. The backstage is actually the basement. I wish you a good night."

"I will."

Su Ming turned around and got off the bar stool. Instead of looking at the new band on the stage, he climbed over the bar and walked straight behind the bartender.

In the basement with mottled walls, there are no partition walls at all. The band that has finished the performance is packing up their things, and the band that has not yet taken the stage is seizing the time to rehearse quietly. People walk between the boiler in the bar and the stacked wine barrels. .

It's a mess.

The fatherless band had just stepped off the stage, but a quarrel broke out before they could even return to the basement.

The drummer accused the bassist of being out of tune, and the bassist accused the drummer of not having any sense of rhythm. When they started to fight, the keyboardist had already packed up his things and quit the team with a livid face, leaving only 'Wave Machine Gun' covering his head. He sat dejectedly on a barrel, holding his guitar.

She has short golden hair, which is very conspicuous in this era of popular bohemian style, not to mention the thick eye shadow and lipstick, which are beyond the times.

Too bad she was playing heavy metal and the audience didn't care.

When Su Ming entered the backstage, she found that someone had taken the lead. It was another woman wearing a black leather trench coat. She was very beautiful, with long black hair tied into a ponytail, and she looked very capable.

She had apparently been waiting for the band who lost her father in the basement, and her target was the girl who was the lead singer.

"Amanda Strong?" The woman in leather walked up to the lead singer with a gentle smile on her face.

"Yes." The short-haired woman raised her head with a look of despair.

"The singing was good." The woman in leather clothes pulled down her collar. She was wearing a red corset under the tight leather clothes: "It's a wonderful performance."

Amanda shook her head. She was too lazy to care about her teammates who were in a ball: "I broke two chords tonight, and the microphone always makes a fart-like noise when I speak, Fuck."

"Everyone is happy, don't worry about those details." The woman in leather patted Amanda on the shoulder and comforted: "Is Strong your real name?"

"Armstrong, thank you for your encouragement. I mean...at least one person likes my music." She forced a forced smile. Rock and roll is an attitude, and there is only one person in the audience who cares. How sad.

"You're welcome, let's go. Your teammates look hopeless. I'll buy you a drink."

The woman in leather is obviously older than Amanda. She exudes the charm of a mature woman, and her smile is both gentle and charming.

She looked around at this time, as if she was not satisfied with the environment, but she did not see Deathstroke hiding in the shadows behind the boiler, eavesdropping on their conversation.

Amanda shook her head, stood up and put the guitar on her shoulders: "No, thank you for your kindness, but now I just want to go home and blast my guitar, and then get a pound of 'Leaf' and sleep without waking up."

The leather-clad woman smiled and hugged her shoulders, and joked very familiarly: "X's own guitar? You should use this as the finale on stage."

"Uh... more or less, um, you are indeed very attractive, and girls are pretty good, but..." Amanda tried to break away from the arms of the leather-clad woman without leaving a trace, and she was filled with The elastic body felt uncomfortable all over.

"Thank you, but I'm not trying to seduce you." The woman in leather smiled and hugged her as she walked out, passing by the boiler: "I'll treat you to dinner, and I can give you a record contract."

When Amanda heard about the release of the record, she stopped struggling, but she was still a little defensive: "Are you from the record company?"

"No." The leather-clad woman is slender but very powerful. She can push away all kinds of people blocking her way with one hand.

"So you are the agent?" Amanda asked again.

"No, not the manager." The leather-clad woman smiled softly: "But I have a record contract, will you come?"

"...Let's go."

Thirty seconds later, in the 24-hour Wilson's fast food restaurant opposite the bar.

The woman in leather clothes ordered a lot of things such as burgers, fried chicken, French fries, strong drinks, etc., and generously treated Amanda to a late-night snack. She was the first to take a big bite of the burger, chewing it like a hamster.

"So you write your own songs?"

Amanda did not eat, but huddled in a corner of the booth, holding her guitar in front of her, looking at the other person warily.

"First tell me who you are? I don't know your name yet."

If this was not a brightly lit public place, she would never have followed the leather-clad woman out.

Fast food restaurants look the same at all times. The air is full of the smell of instant coffee and hamburger meat. The lights are very warm. The bright yellow tables and chairs are relatively clean. The various posters on the walls show Captain America holding various different signs. Food, thumbs up photo.

Well, the Wilson chain fast food chain will give you a Captain America soldier when you spend a certain amount of money. Just now when the waiter was delivering the meal, he brought one to beat up the German mustache.

Amanda already has this one, and she wants the one for riding a motorcycle even more, but that has to be done when she is eating safely by herself, not when she is with the mysterious man in black.

The dark-haired woman shrugged, put down the burger she had taken a bite of, and thought for a second before answering.

"My name is Valentina Ellenguera di Fontaine, I come from the Strategic Hazard Intervention and Intelligence Logistics Service, and to put it simply, I am a state agent."

Amanda's hand on the guitar tightened. She looked at Valentina's face, her eyes full of distrust: "Can I see your ID?"

Valentina's face was full of smiles, but her aura made the environment instantly cool down: "No, we are super agents, and we don't carry small pieces of paper with us wherever we go to prove our identity."

"What does this have to do with me?" Amanda frowned, and she began to move outside the booth, as if planning to escape.

"Your father used to be my colleague, in a sense." The female agent let her move and just lowered her head to continue drinking, covering her mouth.

Amanda likes her father very much, otherwise the name of the band would not be called "Dead Father Dave". At this time, when her father was mentioned by a stranger, she felt very uncomfortable.

"What's the meaning?"

Valentina picked up the burger and wiped the ketchup on the corner of her mouth with her little finger painted with black nail polish: "I joined the logistics department late, and he sacrificed his time earlier than I joined. Dave Armstrong, he is a good man, I heard even the demonic Deathstroke favored him."

"I thought he was a policeman and died in a fight with a drug dealer..." Amanda took a deep breath. She was still young at the time, but she always remembered her father very clearly. It was a big palm, A man who always smiles.

Whenever he put his hand on the top of her head, she would squint her eyes comfortably like a kitten.

The female agent shook her head and sighed: "No, he died in a Hydra attack. Do you know Hydra? Captain America should know, right?"

"I know, but it's really time for me to go." Amanda hugged her guitar and walked out of the booth: "My father means everything to me, and now you tell me that he has been lying to me? It's about both of us. Blow."

Seeing that she was about to leave, Valentina took out a pile of papers from her underwear with her backhand, and slapped it on the table: "Ten records, a global tour, a contract with Wilson Entertainment, tsk tsk, that's a big company with big hands and eyes. There are also many resources in Hollywood, do you like movies?"

Amanda froze like a robot, slowly sat back down, picked up the stack of paper and looked through it carefully.

It all looked real, even the other person's name had been signed and was just waiting for her to sign.

Since it was the painstaking efforts of my father's colleagues during his lifetime... then just accept it.

For a moment, the only sounds in their booth were the sound of Valentina eating and drinking, and the rustling of paper. From time to time, harsh tunes and crazy screams came from the bar across the road.

They didn't even notice that in the booth next door, back to back, a young man with a Beatles hairstyle was eavesdropping.