For a split-second, the Bolstrom helmet lifts off my face. I’m in a giant, steel-paneled lab, surrounded by corporate eunuchs/scientists. One of them—yellowed-teeth, receded hairline, coke-bottle thick glasses—smiles at me and lowers the helmet. The last words I hear are, “Sleep. Dream. BWAHAHAHA!” Suddenly, I’m inhabiting a wasted dadbod, complete with microphallus, trudging back to my desk. My boss hits me with a riding crop—yes, this is the possible future if we let the drones take charge—and screams, “NO WRITING! NO CREATIVITY! BACK TO YOUR TPS REPORT!” I glance bleakly around me; the workspace is filled with those who have failed to heed Thoreau—those who now live lives of quiet desperation. I open my desk drawer, where for decades I have stashed a wakizashi in the event I need to commit seppuku. I reach out to it…when suddenly, I see an eReader laying by its side. It was never there before. Curious, I open it to a book called Echo. Magic flash. A storm of blazing energies course through me, flaring my hair and lighting my eyes. Suddenly I’m back in the real world, back in the lab. I sit up on a steel table, breaking the leather restraints that circle my wrists and ankles. Gibbering nerds point to me, fear etched on their faces. I levitate twenty feet up and let loose with my rage. Arcs of crackling lightning jet from my fingers, destroying lab equipment in showers of sparking energy. The room bursts into chaos. The lead scientist yells, “HE’S BROKEN THE GRAVITY INHIBITOR ON HIS JUNK! ITS UNPRECEDENTED MASS IS GOING TO—” The building erupts in red lights and blaring alarms, and a second later, this den of evil goes up in a giant mushroom cloud.
Someday, they’ll tie you to a false reality with simalucra tech. On that day, I strongly encourage you to become a galactic force of nature. Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle