I’m typing away at Echo 4 when a pasty, wiry arm starts choking me from behind. I try to defend the choke but it’s sunk in too deep. I hear my attacker whisper, “I’ve been sent by the Grammar Nerd Prime to end your miserable existence, writer.” I stand up and hammer fist this dork-assassin’s nuts, but he just laughs. “Part of working for Zordak,” he hisses into my ear, “is reading grammar manuals at least an hour a day. The resulting testicular atrophy renders me immune to your pitiful cheap shots.” Black spots begin drifting across my vision. World’s fading…goodbye Bitefighter…sorry Ms. Scanlon; I should’ve manned up and asked your beautiful ass out even though I was only eleven at the time…suddenly my eReader drops out of my pocket and opens to Echo. Magic flash. Someone punches my attacker square in the nose and he stumbles back, releasing his hold on me. Hemingway—in all his mustachioed, old-timey glory—begins subjecting my would-be killer to some upturned-fists/old-timey-boxing, and after the assassin is knocked off his feet, a ferocious dose of ground n pound. Once he dispatches my cowardly attacker, he uncaps a flask of whiskey and takes a long swig. He tosses it to me and makes the motion for me to drink up. “Why?” I ask. He swallows and says, “It’s good for your ballbag. You don’t want to risk contracting whatever No-nuts here has, do you?” He emphasizes his words by kicking my unconscious assailant in the ribs. I take his advice and down some whiskey; I like my nuts exactly how they are, thank you very much.
Dork-assassins are hiding around every corner. Protect yourself from their virility-stealing foulness by summoning a half-drunk, belligerent Hemingway to fight on your behalf. 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