“I can’t do it,” I whisper. “I just can’t.” I’m looking down from the rafters of a warehouse, watching my childhood hero Batman get beaten to a bloody pulp. His villains have rallied against him, but strangely enough, they’re not the ones inflicting damage. They’ve humbled themselves, and realized that the only way to lay Batman low is by hiring a mercenary band of the most evil, banal scum known to man. This new menace has gone by multiple names: Agents of the Dark, Astaroth’s Chosen, the Dickless…but you and I know them by a simpler name: Emo-poets. Right now they’re filling the Dark Knight’s ears with nonrhyming, nonsensical, give-me-some-finger-snaps-and-NPR-style-low-voiced-praises Grade A Shit, and Batman can’t take it; he’s on his knees, hands over his ears, vomiting blood, organs, and sanity all over the concrete floor. The benevolent, extradimensional entity named Alithia Wildwind puts a glowing hand on my shoulder and fixes her translucent gaze on my flesh-and-blood eyes. “You are the only one who can, Kent. Your entire life has prepared you for this moment. There is no turning back.” I bite my quivering lower lip, dip my head, and squinch my eyes shut. After a long moment, I open my eyes and meet her gaze. “Fine.” I take out my eReader and open it to Echo. Magic flash. My junk—long held back from achieving its true mass, power, and unstoppable prehensile deadliness—elongates down my right pants-leg, now brushing the top part of my low-cut sock. “Yes,” Alithia murmurs, giving my leg a pervy look and brushing a speckle of drool off the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. (Flattering, I gotta say) “YES!” she screams. I leap from the rafters, Hans Zimmer’s Dark Knight theme playing just for me. Mid-way through the air I execute a triple somersault, simultaneously unzipping my fly and ditching my pants. My schlong comes circling out in a mad whirl of flesh. The first emo-poet crumples to the ground as eighteen gallons of dick obliterates his skull. I land in an anime-style crouch, then execute a tippy-toe pirouette, slinging my dong in a giant circle and knocking the bejesus out of the rest of the emo-poets. Batman’s villains are standing off to the side, feeling frightened, inadequate, but mostly shocked. I hook an arm under Bats’s elbow, then fling my hips skyward, shooting Second Kent (can’t call it Little Kent when he leaves pee-stains on my socks) toward the rafters, and my member wraps around a steel beam. I give it a tug, a flex, and me and Batman shoot off to safety, leaving a horde of bewildered, envious, and traumatized ne’er-do-well’s gaping as we disappear into the night. And THAT’S the story of how I got to be Batman’s sidekick.
Perhaps you too, are holding on to a latent superpower that will unveil itself in time for you to save the populace. I have just the thing to unlock your hidden powers: Right now I’m in the middle of reworking Echo 1, trying to get all my noob mistakes out. If you refrain from buying it due to my amateurish writing style, a product of my first ventures into fiction, then I totally understand, and I’ll announce when I re-upload an updated version. If you buy it anyways, then many thanks! 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