I’ve won a sweepstakes to tour the now-defunct Area 51. Our guide is walking us through sterile-looking warehouse bays and hangar areas, showing us nothing of note. I excuse myself from the group to use the bathroom. I end up getting lost, then wander into a dank, musty cell. In the dim light that reflects off the pitted concrete, I think I see an outline of a toilet. I take aim and let loose. Once I’m done, I reach to the side of the thing and pull down on the lever. Suddenly, the whole facility begins shaking. I hear deep, rumbling laughter that shakes my very bones. A char-lined pit opens before my eyes and I manage to stumble/run my way back to the tour group. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” The tour guide asks, frantically grabbing my arms. Before I can answer, I see lizard-people crash through the walls. They’re all riding bear-sized insects that are slashing apart tourists with busy, clicking mandibles. My tour guide turns to me, tears streaming down his cheeks. “YOU’VE OPENED A GATEWAY TO THE DIMENSION THAT HOLDS SOULS OF OUR EXES! RAGNAROK HAS COME EARLY!” A spiny, three-foot insect leg spears through his chest, and he slumps onto his knees, blood dribbling from the side of his lips. I try to run, but I’m quickly surrounded by a ring of insect-mounted reptilians. One of them licks its lips and hisses, “Ssssayy it human….give ussss the Oppenheimer quote: ‘I am become death…’ Sssaaaay the rest.” My lips tighten into a thin, bloodless line. I open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. A suit of vibranium armor clicks into place across my body (feel free to imagine the camera spinning around me in a Michael Bay-esque shot). The last piece is a mechanized collar that pops up around my jaw and projects a light-woven, hard-light helmet over the top half of my head. Blued-steel bayonets section out from my forearms in wicked-sounding CLANK-CLANK-CLANKs. The reptile people lurch back. “I am become death…” I say, my lips stretching into a hard, savage smile. “…OF LIZARD PEOPLE!” I charge forward, raining cold, robotic fury onto these scaly-skinned dastards.
It is entirely possible that a dimension holding the souls of exes will open up and attempt to drown the world in horror. Should that happen, make sure you come correct with some badass wrist blades. Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle