Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

My name is Kent 905.  I’m an elite member of Kent Wayne’s Spermatozoic Marine Corps.  We’re the hard-charging sperm, the ones you can count on to attack first and ask questions later.  Need to launch a withering blitzkrieg of wriggling toxicity?  Not a problem—we’re grateful to deploy into any hole, a glass surface, or even onto someone’s face.  All we’re designed to do is unleash hell; we’ll suss out strategy beforehand if we have the luxury of time, but we’re happy as pigs in shit when we’re attacking our way through any and all obstacles.

Sperm dies.  That’s what we’re here for.  But the Spermatozoic Marine Corps lives forever.

And that means WE live forever.

Depending on the circumstance, we may get shot into a butt, a mouth, the forehead of some unwitting frat boy who’s the unfortunate recipient of a cruel yet hilarious prank…Hell, I heard from my squad leader that one of his buddies deployed into a straight outta sci-fi plastic cup, and then was frozen and redeployed later through some kind of space-age needle.  Dude didn’t even remember who he was when they warmed him back up; he just fought like a crazy-ass beast and made it to the egg.  Heard through the grapevine that he’s enjoying life as some kinda giant, super-strong baby that’s fated for a short but brilliant run as a porn star, a few years as CEO/owner of a trillion-dollar corporation, and then a long period of time where he lives in a cave and learns the ways of the Force.

Now THAT is a good Marine.

But fuck all that Gucci shit; I’m happy to be who I am—a badass Spermatazoic Marine.  I don’t give a shit about being in Special Ops; those prima donnas are always so damn picky about choosing their missions; if it doesn’t stand a good chance of success, if it doesn’t involve the need for a small team of specialists, if it doesn’t involve a high profile objective, they inevitably turn it down.  Yeah they may have beards and they may be good at humping an extra load of DNA, but I could care less.  Fucking put me in the pipe and let me deploy.  I don’t really care where.  God didn’t give me a mean streak and a propensity for swimming into dark places so I could pass up deployments; he did it so I could be immortalized in glory whether I’m dripping down fingers, down someone’s cheek, or down any number of objects in a cheap Motel Six.

So you can imagine how happy I am when the alarm sounds and we’re called out from the ballsack.  My platoon sergeant Kent 741 couldn’t be happier.  Like always, he addresses us in his full-throated, close-to-insane, Marine-lifer scream:

“GOOD MORNING SPERM!” he roars.

And we roar back:  “GOOD MORNING SERGEANT!”

“MY GOD, YOU SPERM ARE BEAUTIFUL; YOU ANGRY FUCKERS READY TO RELEASE SOME RAGE?”

“YES SERGEANT!”

“OUT-FUCKING-STANDING!  THE LAST BATTALION OF SPERM GOT SHOT RIGHT INTO A PORN STAR’S POOPER!  PROBABLY DIED HORRIBLE FUCKING DEATHS IN A COLON—OR IF THEY WERE A HARD BASTARD—SOME KINDA RUSTY OLD SEWER PIPE WHICH THEY GOT EXCRETED INTO!  HEARD THEY TURNED COWARD WHEN THEY REALIZED WHAT WAS HAPPENING AND BOUGHT DISGRACE UPON THE CORPS BY CRYING LIKE A BUNCHA PANSY-ASS BITCHES!  THAT’S NOT GONNA HAPPEN TODAY, IS IT MARINES?”

“FUCK NO, SERGEANT!”

“GODDAMN RIGHT IT ISN’T!  SEND ME INTO THE BUTTHOLE OF THE NASTIEST FUCK YOU CAN FIND!  I DON’T GIVE A SHIT IF IT’S GARY FUCKING BUSEY OR WHOOPI GODDAMN GOLDBERG!  I EAT DANGER FOR BREAKFAST AND HARDSHIP FOR MY NAPPY-TIME SNACK!  AND I KNOW YOU STUDS ARE ON THE SAME PAGE AS ME, ISN’T THAT RIGHT?”

“ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY SERGEANT!”

He pauses for a second, looks conflicted, then becomes resolute again.  “BELAY MY LAST!  PERHAPS GARY BUSEY’S BUTTHOLE IS A BIT MUCH; THAT DICKFACE LOOKS LIKE HE’S SOME KINDA POST-APOCALYPTIC MONGREL!  I DECLARE ON MY HONOR THAT I WILL NOT JUDGE ANY MARINE FOR PUSSYING OUT OF DEPLOYING INTO THAT MUTANT-LOOKING FUCKER’S SHIT-CHUTE!  YOU ARE GRATEFUL, ARE YOU NOT, MARINES?”

“YES SERGEANT!  OUR GRATITUDE KNOWS NO BOUNDS!”

At that moment the alarm sounds:  REE.  REE.  REE.  A monotone female voice with a British accent says over the speakers:  “Marines—prepare to deploy in t-minus 30 seconds.  Good luck and God bless.”

The walls begin shaking and vibrating, and the cavernosal tissues around us starts to harden.  Everything goes blurry as the shaking intensifies.  A wash of semen picks us up and we surge forward, screaming in joy; screaming because we get to deploy, screaming because we’re Spermatozoic Marines, screaming because this is what we were born to fucking do.

“RAAAAHHHHH!!!!   LONG LIVE THE HOST KENT WAYNE!!!!!!”

We reach the endpoint of Kent’s penis and splash outward, ready to fuck anything up that stands between us and the egg.  But instead of the hellish chaos of plasms we’ve been training to navigate, we’re greeted by something else entirely.

“What is this place?” I whisper.

Marines begin creeping forward.  It appears we’ve entered a stark white chamber, one coated in enormous crystals.  The walls shine with translucent light, and after a few seconds, we see that there’s shapes stuck in them.  They look like…like…

“Sperm,” one of the Marines next to me says with growing horror.

I focus on the wall to my right, and I see a Marine from three deployments ago encrusted into the crystal wall, his face twisted into a contorted, agonized scream.  I pan my gaze around and see entire squads of dead Marines flash-frozen into vast lengths of milky crystal.

“We need to get out of here,” a Marine says.

“Game over, man!  GAME OVER!”

“This is fucked, bro!  We are FUCKED if we don’t—”

“HOLD YOUR POSITION, PUSSIES!” Sergeant Kent 741 screams.  “THIS IS NEITHER GARY BUSEY’S BUTTHOLE, NOR IS IT WHOOPI GOLDBERG’S!  THEREFORE, YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO GIVE IN TO YOUR INNER BITCH, YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

But the Marines lose their cool as the entire structure lifts up into the air.  I see through a small patch of uncrystallized wall that the outside of our prison is actually made of soft filament, and through that filament I see that we’re heading towards a black hole with a giant white pillar in its center.

And then it hits me.

We’re in a sock.  That fucker Kent Wayne masturbated us into a jerk-off sock.

And now we’re heading toward a washer.

“EVERYBODY OUT!” I scream.  “WE’RE ABOUT TO BE LAUNDERED!  GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Sergeant Kent 741 looks dismayed, but tries to maintain control.  “BELAY THAT ORDER YOU LITTLE COCKSUCKERS!  REMEMBER YOUR DISCIPLINE!  YOU ARE NOT A BUNCH OF NASTY CIVILIANS, YOU ARE SPERMATOZOIC MAR—“

And then we hear a dull THOOM as the washer lid drops in place and locks down.  An ominous vmmmMMMMMMM fills the air as we begin spinning faster and faster, the g-forces plastering us against the hardened sides of the washer’s inner compartment.  Water begins whooshing in, splattering us all and dissolving the crystallized semen that surrounds us.  Dead sperm drop to the floor as the walls start melting, and I hear Marines losing their shit as they become unmanned by the gruesome sight of bodies plopping onto each other.  Some pray, but most scream.

Only one option left.  I open my eReader to Echo.  Magic flash.

Suddenly I’m teleported back into Kent Wayne’s ballsack.  I wander over to the chow hall in a daze, grab myself a tray of uncoagulated proteins, and sit down by myself.  A few Marines wander over and nudge me.

“Hey,” one of them says.  “Weren’t you supposed to have deployed in the last chalk?”

“No,” I mutter.  “Admin mistake.  They put my name on the wrong list.  Got confused with another guy’s.”

“Oh.  Okay.  Bummer, huh?  I can’t WAIT to deploy!”

I look at him with dark-ringed eyes.  “Be careful what you wish for.  There’s things out there you can’t fucking imagine.”

He scoffs the scoff of the blessedly ignorant.  “Like what?”

Tears well up in my eyes as I think back to dead Marines trapped in a crystallized tomb, fated to be torn to shreds in the merciless spin of an Energy Star certified washer/dryer combo.

I stare hauntedly at nothing.  After a long moment, I utter one word:

“Socks.”

They exchanged puzzled looks.  I barely notice.

Eventually I murmur, “Endless golgothas of socks.”

 

Thought you knew what you were signing up for when you enlisted in the Spermatozoic Marine Corps?  Not many do.  Just in case you need a last minute save, grab yourself a copy of Echo!  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 #sciencefiction #scifi #books #novel #book

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