I hear knocking. Bitefighter—my loyal buddy and 10 lb. Terrier Extraordinaire—is sleeping on my chest. As soon as he hears the noise, his ears perks up.
“Can I help you?” I yell.
“Come on out, Kent!” The words are slightly muffled due to a thick layer of steel sheeting. I curl my fingers around the edge of the dumpster I currently live in, poke my eyes and nose above its brim, and catch sight of my CIA handler.
“What do you want, Rider?” I ask him.
He gives me a disgusted stare. “Jesus, Kent. Why do you have to live in a dumpster? This is degrading.”
I shrug. “Man Whoring’s a little slow right now. There’s some movie out about handsome vampires that the ladies are into, and I’m not really good at sultry looks or pale, disappointing sex. I’m more of a smack, bite, grab-the-back-of-the-hair-from-behind-and-put-my-finger-in-your—”
Rider stops me with a raised hand. “OKAY okay—I got it. I have a freelance job for you, if you want to take it, that is.”
“Your jobs always involve me having to fight off tentacles or space monsters.”
“Not this one.” He flips a file at me.
I catch the file and page through it. Then I give him a puzzled look.
“You want me to…teach a seminar?”
He nods. “That’s right.”
I page through the file again. “Robotics, directed energy weapons, dinosaurs…” I look up at him. “You’ve got specialists that have spent decades studying each of these fields. What do you need me for?”
He rubs the back of his neck and looks awkwardly off to the side. “They’re not really…they don’t know how to communicate, Kent. And the audience we’re looking at is—”
My eyebrows raise. “Who are they?
He bashfully meets my gaze. “Soccer moms.”
My eyebrows jump another notch. “You don’t say!”
He raises both hands in a slow-down-and-think-about-it gesture. “Now these aren’t just any soccer moms; they’re the Soccer Mom Illuminati. The powerful cabal of alpha mothers that run the corporation-government complex. So you might wanna—”
I hurdle out of the trash can. “Quit your jib-jab! Let’s go, motha ducka!”
One chopper ride later, I’m inside an impassive glass monolith, in the hundredth floor conference room. Before me are dozens of impeccably dressed soccer moms, each one a beautiful ice queen. I have no doubt that they’ve crushed everything their careers have thrown at them, and that any single one could snatch the life from my body in seven different ways at any given instant. (That’s a DK returns reference, for those of you Cool People). They’ve all adopted Corporate Power stances in their chair; most of them have opted for the one where they lean slightly sideways and tent their fingers casually over their abdomen. A classic.
I click my first slide to one of my favorite moments in Robotech 1 (actually it’s probably the only good moment in that entire movie; the rest of it is just Lynn and Minmae being prudes and somehow finding ways to not sex each other up, those asinine teases) where the SDF-1 punches a giant freaking hole in a Zentraedi warship and blows the bejesus out of it. Before I can speak, one of the soccer moms start sniffing the air.
I give her an odd look and turn back to my slide, but then another mom starts sniffing. Then another. What in the…
One of them points at my crotch and screams, “DELICIOUS!” She starts galloping toward me on all fours, snarling and spitting. In short order, the rest of them leap to their feet and follow behind.
I glance down and realize that I’ve accidentally shrunk my new pair of jeans because I’m an idiot that shouldn’t be trusted to dry my own clothes. As a result, my pants have molded against my ginormous piece; it looks like I’m smuggling two unnaturally thick pringles cans stuck together end to end.
I look up and sheer terror plays across my face; there’s no way I can fight or evade these cock-crazed titans of industry. These women are stone-cold killers.
Only one option left. I open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash.
Suddenly Batman swings down from the ceiling, covering me protectively with his graphene-threaded cape. He starts fighting off these ruthless engines of soccer mommery, exchanging a series of unbelievably technical strikes, grapples, and escapes with them. One of them locks up his shoulder, sweeps his legs, then falls to the floor and breaks his elbow with an arm bar. He screams in pain.
“KAL-EL! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!” he roars.
There’s a streak of blue-and-red, and suddenly Superman is right there, blasting the room apart with heat vision and throwing near-lightspeed punches. But get this—the soccer moms are STILL holding their own! They dance about like gargoyle-ninjas, flipping off walls, conference tables, swivel chairs, piling viciously onto Supes and Bats. I continue watching in utter horror.
Superman’s beleaguered eyes lock onto mine as an Armani-coated arm snakes around his throat. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” he screams. “WE CAN’T HOLD THEM OFF MUCH LONGER!!!”
I hightail it out of the conference room, my eyes as wide as dinner plates, my breath coming in fight-or-flight gasps.
Lesson learned: don’t show my delicious piece to ruthless CEO assassin soccer moms that are fully capable of rending me limb from limb!
Have your unspeakably gorgeous genitals accidentally triggered the Fast Zombie instinct in a population of unstoppable killers? Never fear! 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