We last four, we brave individuals, we of the Office who refuse to bow to corporate brainwashing and bland passive-aggressivity…we have been gathered before a pit that looks like it may house a Rancor, and we have all been tossed in (at that moment I find myself wishing I had a badass black outfit like Luke did in Jedi). We tumble to a dusty halt and peer tentatively into the darkness. Slight figures emerge. They’re…teenage girls? “Hey,” one of them says. Another: “What’s up?” I’m puzzled. They’re just standing there…just standing there like regular—suddenly, Taylor Swift’s latest starts blasting through the air. The teens’ eyes glow lurid red. Black, necrotic veins begin crawling across their faces. One of them flies through the air and slashes open Herbert K’s throat (he’s from accounts receivable of course) and he collapses to his knees, gurgling blood and clutching at his ruined trachea. Two other coworkers fall under the raptor-esque claws of the Swifties. The last one—a poor dude named Jake who only started last week—manages to scream, “AVENGE ME!” before he falls under a sea of merciless fangs. Tears streaking down my cheeks, I turn around to try and find some way to defend myself, when suddenly I see a hissing Swiftie directly in front of me, only a few feet away. I throw a wild haymaker. She catches it one-handed, then snaps my wrist with a casual squeeze. I sink to my knees, cradling my broken limb and holding back a scream. Shadows criss-cross the ground as the rest of ’em close in, spitting and jeering. I use my good hand to open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. Suddenly I’m looking down at them from roughly ten feet up through a radiant holographic telemetry display. A soothing voice echoes into my ear: “You are now piloting a Chuck Norris, version 3.0. Feel free to let loose with a rain of destructive roundhouses.” And so it begins. I start hopping in place, roundhousing the bejesus out of the mob of demonite-tweens. After knocking a bunch of ’em out and giving the rest of them The Business, I accelerate my kicks, and a blur of extradimensional light begins trailing my kick-foot. In a few seconds it flashes outward, destroying this unholy church of corporate soul-death that’s built up around me. I dig my way out of the rubble and drink in the view of the sky, then tromp off in my Norris-bot to wander the earth and fight evil.
When the Swifties come, you will need an unimaginably powerful roundhouse-throwing robot to even THINK about surviving. Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle