Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

During a relaxing night of standup specials and chatting with my friends about who would win in a fight, zombies or CHUDs, my windows blow inward and a team of vindictive Exes hogtie us at gunpoint.  They insert microchips into my friends’ necks—”We OWN you bitches now”—and let them loose like they were animals in a controlled habitat.  They put me in stockades and parade me down Market Street, where the office drones have piled by the sides so they can sling mud at my exposed face.  Once we’re at Union Square, the stockade raises on a mechanized platform so that all may witness me.  One of the Exes raises a megaphone to her lips and booms, “THE GREAT KENT WAYNE.  BOWED BEFORE US LIKE A SLAB OF BACON.”  The crowd cheers with unadulterated hate.  The Ex walks to my front so she can brandish what’s in store for me:  A glowing, state-of-the art dildo, sporting multiple prongs that branch off its sides.  Each prong ends in a crayon-drawn smiley face.  She flicks the switch, then suddenly the smiley faces turn mean.  Fangs slide past their lips, and they begin gnashing like coke-addled honey badgers.  She lowers her lips to my ear and whispers, “Anything you’d like to say?”  When I remain silent she straightens up and booms, “BEHOLD!  WITNESS THIS NONCONFORMIST REAP HIS JUST DESSERTS!”  From the corner of my eye I see her arm rear back like a scorpion’s tail, and she yells at me, “Squeal, piggy!” just as my eReader tumbles out of my pocket and opens to Echo.  Magic flash.  Taking advantage of the Braveheart-esque moment, I extend my head through the wooden contraption and roar, “ECCCHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”  An enchanted spear slices through the raised dildo, exploding it in my Ass-ecutioner’s (haha get it?) hand and sending her stumbling off the raised stockade.  She screams and plummets to her death dozens of feet below.  The skies fill with a mix of X-wings and war-dactyls, all piloted or mounted by barbarian warrioresses, and all of ’em are just as hot as if they’d been drawn by Frank Cho.  While they rain turbolaser death and flaming arrows onto the horde below, one of them flies by and frees me with an expert axe-swipe directed toward my stockade.  Disoriented by the sudden slack, I stumble off the platform into the open cockpit of an X-wing.  As the cover lowers down, the beautiful pilot turns to me and says, “Join us.  We will feed you pizza, grapes, and gift you with lasers.”  I turn my tear-lined face up toward the heavens and mouth, “Thank you God.”

Save your ass from Deliverance-style justice.  Literally.  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

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