Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

Blluuurrrgh.  I drag myself from a comfy pile of blankets and click on the light.  Where am I?  WHO am I?  I sleepily rub my eyes and yawn.  As I walk to the bathroom, I nearly trip over a stack of comic books and catch myself on the wall, cursing the random collection of graphic novels by Bendis, Ennis, Ellis, and Snyder.  What kind of idiot reads such drivel?

Bathroom light clicks on.  I take out my piece and—

“NYAAAAAWHATTHEHELL!”

A giant roll of flesh unravels down my leg and I nearly lose my balance from the anchor-like weight that yanks on my torso.  I catch myself by bracing against the back of the toilet and stare wide-eyed at the womb-hammer that’s flopping near my knee like some kind of prehistoric beast.

Before I can further think on it, I hear the door to my living room bang open.  A quartet of impeccably dressed men walk into my apartment.  The lead one looks around with a prudish eye, then sniffs disgustedly.  He locks eyes with me, with my piece, then quickly looks away.

“Ah…get yourself cleaned up.  I’ll explain everything.”

I cast a puzzled glance his way, do my morning bidness (sounds like Niagara falls—have I done this EVERY morning?  How could the neighbors not complain?), and quickly throw on some clothes.

The lead stranger’s still in my living room waiting for me.  He says, “Hello Herbert.  Glad to see you’re up and well.  We’ve got a lot of ledgers for you to look through, as well as a lot of essays for you to critique.  Get some food in you and—”

I hold up a hand.  “Wait.  My name is Herbert?”

He nods.  “Herbert Kornfeld.  Senior Accountant at Peon Oppressors Ltd., as well as our Chief Grammar Quality Control Technician.”

I glance around.  My apartment is filled with comics, dinosaur figurines, and pork rinds.  I look back at the stranger.  “This doesn’t…this doesn’t feel like an accountant’s home.”

He clears his throat.  “You’ve had a brief bout of insanity; our medical technicians are working on it right now.  Don’t worry—we’ll get you back to your normal state in no time.”

My hand rubs my stomach and feels a cluster of rippled muscle.  Abs…I look again at the stranger.  “Really?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.  “I’m not built like an accountant either.”

The stranger nods at the other three.  “That’s enough.  Tranq him before he regresses any further.”

The trio of goons starts moving in on me and my body flushes hot with adrenaline.  I’m not a trained fighter, so I need weapons.  My hand darts into my pocket.  An eReader???  I open it up to something called ‘Echo.’  Magic flash.

I’m not a trained fighter…

Or AM I?

Skills comes flooding back as I wrap goon #1’s arm behind him in a compliance lock, spin in place, and throw a turning side kick into goon #2’s solar plexus.  He goes down wheezing, and as goon #3 comes in to grapple, I throw goon #1 at him and they both go stumbling back.

Lead stranger raises his palms and stammers, “Now Kent.  Hold on a—”

“Kent?  I thought you said my name was Herbert.”

He turns to the other three and screams, “RESTRAIN HIM YOU IMBECILES!”

As they come at me, my hands and legs act all on their own; checking, parrying, escaping grapples…just like Neo in the one good Matrix movie.  My thoughts drift, triggered by the hand-to-hand exchange.  My name is Kent…Kent what?  What goes with Kent?  There’s another name…a perfect counterbalance to it.  I don’t know what it is, but my gut tells me exists.  What’s that name, dammit?

Block, slip, push.

What’s that name?

Kick, feint, double-ear clap.

Could it be?  Yes.  No.  YES.

Wayne.

Bob.  Jab-cross-hook.  Take advantage of the space and follow with a lead-leg thrust kick.

Kent WAYNE.

“I’M KENT WAYNE, BITCH!”  Joy floods my limbs as I remember my name.  I whirl into an aerial twist and spin out of it with an accelerated wheel-kick, smashing a goon across his jaw.

The lead guy’s eyes widen.  “Quickly!  Before he—”

Too late.  I yank down my pants and start fighting in my own signature martial arts style:  Penis Do.  Not only am I throwing a series of devastating punches and kicks, but I’m using my god-blessed flesh-hammer as a fifth limb, clocking these fools across their cheeks and eyes with the unblinking cylinder of death that hangs between my legs.  They’re screaming in panic, and quickly beat a hasty retreat, fleeing from my apartment with faces covered by mushroom-shaped bruises.  Whew, that was a close one!  I’m not sure what evil pharmaceuticals or magicks they might have employed to inflict amnesia on me, but Evil fails once again!

 

You remember in the first episodes of She-ra, when Adora was raised as a Force Captain of the Horde?  We all knew she was good, but that goddamn Hordak almost convinced us that she was a filthy agent of the Endless Dark.  Don’t let it happen to you!  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  #kindle #kindleunlimited

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