“We’ve decided, Kent,” my boss says, “to let you do your own thing. From here on out, you’re free to exercise creativity and common sense to better our company.” My eyes widen. “Really?” I ask. He screams, “NO!” At the same time, his hand whips downward and a throwing dagger flies at my forehead. I tumble my seat backwards, barely avoiding the blade as it streaks past and thunks into the wall with a diving-board quiver. The paneled ceiling collapses as office-zombie-coworkers crash onto the meeting table. They’re all wielding katanas. Desperately fumble my eReader open to Echo. Magic flash. A saddled Velociraptor that’s got a gatling cannon affixed to its back bursts into the office. He locks eyes with me. “My name is Grimstroke. Quickly, Kent! Hop on!” I hurdle over two katana swipes and plunk onto his back. We crash out the fiftieth story window and gallop down the side of the building. The zombies are in hot pursuit. It takes a few seconds, but I get my balance and reverse my seat so I can gun down the zombies with Grimstroke’s gatling cannon. He yells at me, “THERE’S CIGARS IN MY SADDLE-BAG!” I grab one, light it, and start blazing away at the zombie-coworkers. Its cherry end glows bright red, and my lips peel back in a hardened grin as I look every inch the old school badass. Only I’m riding a velociraptor. With a gatling cannon.