I can hear them now.
“In brightest day, in blackest night, Kent Wayne shan’t escape our sight…”
Am I safe here? This bush is deep and prickly, but I don’t know…
“Let those who worship his Man Whore might…”
No—there’s gotta be a better hiding place! I burst from the bush and start sprinting.
“Beware our power—Soccer Mom’s spite!”
My feet pound along the grass as I whirl through the garden maze. Occasionally, I spot a stone gargoyle, or an archaic suit of armor. The whir of drones sounds high overhead, and their halogen searchlights cut across the ground.
The lead soccer mom yells, “Dial up your tasers! We paid good money so we could chase this piggy!” Her words are followed by raucous laughter.
I was paid for a standard Man Whore gig—I was supposed to entertain some ladies by playing a piano without my hands or feet (yep, it’s impressive as it sounds), but when I pulled up to my location—a giant manor that looks like it’d be staffed with butlers named Farnsworth or Chadwick—a bag went over my head and someone choked me out. I woke up in a giant garden maze, but I have no idea which way to—
“FUCK!” I barely manage to avoid colliding with Chris Hemsworth. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of Mickey Mouse speedos.
He shakes me by the shoulders and blurts, “We gotta get out of here! They’re fucking crazy, man! They—AAAAAAGHGHGHGHGH!” Metal needles dart into his backside and deliver 50,000 volts of nut-shriveling agony.
I push him away and sprint into the maze. As I careen through shrubbery and walled bushes, I hear Chris’s sobs intermingled with the sounds of batons smacking flesh. Soccer mom laughter peals through the air.
This is FUCKED!
I rush into a clearing where George Clooney—stripped down to a happy-face-dotted pair of underoos—is swiveling from side to side in anxious jerks. When he sees me, he starts in fright and runs over. He grabs my shoulders just like Hemsworth did.
“We gotta get outta here—there’s too many of ’em! Game over, man—GAME OVER!”
And then a hand shoots through the nearest hedge-wall and punches Clooney right in the nuts. He shrieks in pain and crumples to the deck. “Please!” he gasps, eyes squinched shut as he cups his balls, “Don’t leave me, bro—DON’T LEAVE ME!”
I run away, blubbering, “I’m sorry George! I’ll come back for you la—”
His shrieking rises to a fever pitch, then it cuts off.
As I run through the maze, I wipe tears and snot off of my face. “OhgodohgodohgodwhathaveIdonewhatthefuckisHAPPENING—”
Suddenly, latexed figures swoop down around me, hitting the ground in anime-style crouches. In a matter of seconds, I’m surrounded by eight soccer moms. They rise to their feet, chuckling malevolently. One of them smacks a two-foot studded dildo against her palm.
“Time to pay for your crimes, Kent: you never told us that the upward curve of your diamond-hard junk would move our g-spots irrevocably far back.” She executes a series of kung-fu style swirls with her dildo mace and swings it into guard position. “Now let’s see if we can move YOUR g-spot!”
And then they charge.
Odin’s ballsack! If they get their hands on me, I’m gonna receive the equivalent of a proctology exam administered by a gauntleted-up Dwayne the Rock Johnson!
Only one option left. I reach into a secret compartment within my Man Whore booty shorts, and open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Bitefighter—my loyal little buddy and 10 lb. Terrier Extraordinaire—appears in my arms. What the hell??? What the F am I supposed to do with a ten lb. dog? There’s no way I can—
Then I see it: he’s utterly stuffed. A giant food baby pooches out from his midsection.
And judging from his querulous grumbles, he’s about to give birth.
I grab his back two legs with my left hand, his front two legs with my right, holding him up to my shoulder like a submachine gun, butt facing toward the soccer moms.
Blasts of withering ass come flying out from his butthole, dropping soccer moms by the handful. One of them gets hits point blank in the face, and I see her hair and skin fly off in a horrid twitch, leaving nothing behind but a smoking skull. The rest quickly fall before Bitefighter’s disgusting flatulence.
After I vanquish my enemies, I set him down and pat him on the back.
“Thanks for coming to my aid, little buddy!”
He responds with a stolid “Rowf!” and we hightail it out of there.
The adventures of Man Child and Bitefighter continue!
Have you been lured into a horror movie scenario where you’re hunted down by a bevy of murderous psychopaths? 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