Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

“Go on Kent—go on and get it, buddy!”

A slice of pizza comes flying over the plexiglass.  I leap up from my crouch and snatch it out of the air.  When I come back down, I knuckle-walk over to a corner of my enclosure and huddle over my noms.

The guide turns to her group, dusting pizza flour off her hands.  “Ladies, feast your eyes on the fabled Kent Wayne.  Once a great writer and Man Whore, but now nothing more than an attractive curio for our Soccer Mom zoo.  At this point in the tour, I’d like to garner some feedback.  This is our newest exhibit, and management is trying to see what visitors’ opinion of our dear friend Kent Wayne might be.”

The Soccer Moms begin burbling excitedly.

“I like that he’s got a little chest hair, but that he’s not TOO hairy!  I’m sick of all these metrosexual Robert Pattinson types!  Give me a little caveman with my Man Whore—ROWR!”

“I like his bitchy resting face!  He looks all dark and brooding—kinda like a 5’7” Bruce Wayne!”

“I like that I can see some side-shaft!  Whoever decided to dress him in a speedo…give them a RAISE!”

The ladies all burst out giggling.  I finish gobbling down my slice of pizza and let out a loud belch.  More giggles.

The tour guide holds up both hands, patting the air in a let’s-keep-things-calm gesture. “Now now, ladies—I’m going to have to ask you to quiet down.  Kent’s about to get inoculated with a chemical cocktail that will not only keep his creativity locked away, but will also prevent his genitals from expanding to their normal, sperm whale-embarrassing size.  If our resident Man Whore were able to access his creativity or the world-destroying power of his cosmically powered johnson, he would pose a physical threat to all of existence.  So please—no loud noises, no sudden movements…just stay quiet and watch our robotic caretaker do its job.”

The soccer moms settle down, stifling giggles behind cupped hands.  Behind me, a six-by-six square of ground opens up.  Mechanical whirring can be heard from its depths, and I see a giant, impassive-looking black box rising out from the hole.  After the robot’s elevator-platform locks into place, it begins trundling toward me on a set of treads.  Its metal pincer-claws erupt with needles, filling the air with sharp, springing SNAPS.  I begin scrabbling around my enclosure, hooting and gibbering in panicked blurts.  The evil injector-robot zips after me, its servo-powered treads droning mercilessly.

The tour guide cups both hands around her mouth and yells, “Just let it happen, Kent!  We love you and all, but you’ve gotta take your medicine, okay?”

As my panic builds, my psyche reverts to a primal, Man Whore mind state.

No!  NOT okay!  Kent no like!  Kent want out and be free so he can stroke wiener in private!  Get away, stupid robot box!  AAAHHHH!!!!

And then Kent see eReader.  He gallop over to electric square and open to Echo.  Magic flash.

In the space of a second, the novelty-suppression cocktail vanishes from my system.  Neural connections reform within my brain, bridging disparate pieces of gray matter into a unified weapon.  My synaptic burn reaches 100%, unleashing the full potential of my Man Whore brain.

That’s not all.  I throw my arms to my sides, fists clenched, my hips thrust forward.  Veins pop from my neck as my giant hog bursts from my speedo, crashing through the plexiglass wall of the exhibit titled:  “Man Whore and author Kent Wayne, captured September of 2017 as he slept in his dumpster-home.”  My womb-broom, a fifty foot length of star-glimmer light, blazes with the fire of a thousand suns.  I look upward, and even though it’s currently daytime and the sky is still blue, my hyperspectral eyes clearly pick out stars and nebulae.  THAT’S where I belong—not on this ball of crowded mud, amongst a billions-strong mycelium of intelligent half-apes.  But even though my Man Whore body is able to survive the vacuum of space and traverse its breadth, there’s no way I can achieve escape velocity.  Not unless…

I grab the base of my flesh-hammer with both hands, then execute a kettle bell swing.  As my mushroom-tipped head reaches the apex of the swing, I snap my hips back and pull down hard, slamming my pee-pee against the deck.  A rippling shockwave bursts from the contact, and the assembled Soccer Moms shield their eyes with bent forearms.  The resulting wind blows their coiffed hair into wild flickers.

The force of my johnson hitting the ground launches me skyward.  I bring my arms to my sides, making my a body into a missile as I approach escape velocity.  Before I punch through the Exosphere, I look down and spot the Soccer Mom tour guide brushing away tears from the corners of her eyes.  My enhanced hearing allows me to hear what she’s saying.  It’s only a murmur, but it causes tears of joy to leak from my eyes.

“Be free, my beautiful Man Whore…fly and be free.  The Soccer Moms of Earth will always love you.”

 

Have you been imprisoned by an elite cadre of gorgeous humans, and are now stuck in a cage where you’re being billed as a tawdry, lust-inducing spectacle?  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

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