“My dog is cuter than your kids.” I mutter this to myself as I walk past a legion of yuppie stroller-moms at the park. “WHAT?” they say in unison. Apparently I wasn’t as quiet as I thought. The moms unscrew jeweled vials around their necks, tilt them over their babies’ mouths, and drip blood into their lips. The little tikes’ eyes light red, and they each assume a hunched crouch on their strollers. A reptilian screech erupts from their maws as leathery, membraned bat-wings burst from their flesh. They take to the skies and fly toward me, a cloud of horrible little yuppie-spawn. I’m running along with my 10 lb. terrier Bitefighter clutched to my chest. He reaches one clubbish paw into my jacket, and opens my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. A Bitefighter-sized exo-suit clanks over his furry limbs, ensconcing him in armor from neck to toe. A jet pack sprouts from his back, and he reaches an armored paw up to his face and pulls a set of cybernetic doggles onto his eyes. He locks eyes with me as my jaw drops in amazement, nods once, and utters a resolute: “Rowf!” Then he rockets into the sky, bursting through the cloud of demon-tikes. They’re breathing blasts of hellfire at him, but he’s too fast—he cuts through the air in loops and whirls, leaving glowing contrails hanging in the atmosphere. He extends his paws like superman, and tiny lasers erupt from his fingers. The harpy-babies cover their faces and snarl, swatting at him ineffectually through half-blinded eyes. After a few seconds they attack him in one furious, en masse rush, and my heart drops as I see him disappear in a cloud of affluenza. Then I see a brilliant gleam from within the swarm, and his four-legged form erupts with scarlet energies. The babies are thrown backward. Bitefighter thrusts his arms and legs back like a boss. His tiny voice rises in a howl of triumph—aroooo!—as the suburbanite hellspawn flee back to their strollers.