PTAs all across the Earth have merged into a massive, cannibalistic super-PTA known as The Horde. The Horde now controls the world, roving on the backs of giant cyber-animals and hunting down dissenters. I’m crashing through the woods, being chased by howling parents, each one mounted on an enormous cyborg-bear. They’re throwing javelins at me, and I’m scrambling madly in an effort to avoid being skewered. I trip and stumble, and then they’re circling me. One beat-to-Christ husband, worn down by years of office-work, sneers at me. “Nowhere to run, Kent!” he gloats. “You should’ve wrote the TPS reports we asked you to write! Your days of chronicling jetpacks and ninjas or whatever the hell are OVER!” He raises his spear, ready to end me right then and there. I open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. Their cyborg-mounts buck their programming and turn on their masters, rending bellies and faces open with metal-tipped claws. “COME TO ME FOREST-FRIENDS!” I scream triumphantly. Shortly after I’m mounted on the back of a cybernetic bear, charging off to take the world back from The Horde.