Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel

It’s a bright summer morning in 1650 Japan.  As I wander through the mountains I slice the air with my katana and wakizashi, pretending I’m the original big bad himself:  Miyamoto Musashi.

“Shhheeewww!!  Whsshh!”  (I may be the only swordsman who enjoys accenting his training with cool sound effects.)  “Swwwttt!  Shhhwww!!”

I never learned his two-handed style—Niten Ichi Ryu—but I’m thinking I can make one named after me:  Kentaro Watanabe.  Or maybe I’ll name it after something that has to do with monkeys; Amaterasu, I freakin’ LOVE monkeys…

“Ook ook awk!”

I look left and I see a bunch of macaques clustered around the side of the trail, imitating my sword-moves.  I stop in my tracks so I can throw them a wave.  “Hey little guys!  Keep it up!  You’ll score a job with a daimyo in no time!”

They continue screeching and gibbering.  A few show me their ass, and some start beating their meat.  I know it sounds weird, but I’m tempted to join them.  I’m not sure I was meant to be a samurai; I take too much pleasure in making strange noises and playing with my enormous genitalia…

A gruff voice calls out “HEY!  OUT OF THE ROAD!”

I look up and see a retinue of samurai coming toward me.  There’s like a dozen of ’em on horseback, all giving me the stink-eye.  Shit—I can tell by their armor that they’re all sponsored by rich lords.  These guys are the worst; they think that just because they managed to impress some dude in a castle and get a cushy job, they can—

“I SAID OUT OF THE ROAD!!!”

I scramble off the trail and throw them a hasty bow.  Instead of continuing on by, they heel their horses and stop in front of me whilst magnifying their stink-eye by a factor of 10.  Fucking assholes.

“What’s your name, ronin?

“Umm…people call me Kent.”

He looks at his buddies, and they snicker like the douche-faced cronies they are.  He turns back to me.  “That’s a shitty name.  Fit for a peasant, I’d say.”

“Uh…okay.”

He nods at the monkeys by the trailside.  “These are your training partners, eh?  The only ones who’ll accommodate your two-sword idiocy?”

I wrinkle my brow in puzzlement.  “Musashi used two swords and he kicked fucking a—”

The samurai leaps off his horse and levels a finger at me.  “DON’T SPEAK HIS NAME!  You’re not fit to utter it, you piece-of-shit bumpkin!”  The rest of his companions get down from their mounts and crack their knuckles.

Now that they’re unhorsed, I see that they’re escorting some ladies in a horse-drawn carriage.  The buxom lasses flutter their fingers at me and titter around intricately painted hand-fans.  I lean sideways so I can see past these douchey samurai and give the ladies a dopey smile.  “Heeeeey…how ya dooooinnnnngggg……”

“IDIOT!”  The lead samurai unsheathes his sword and his cronies follow suit.  “WE’RE GONNA FIGHT RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW!!!”

Oh SHIT!  I draw my swords and fend off a hurricane of blows.  I’m okay at this stuff, but it’s not really my calling.  In a few seconds, I’m gonna be ronin-sushi, and all my dreams of writing books about mechanized swordsmen will come to an end…

So I reach deep into my soul, dozens of incarnations into the future, and tap the psyche of the one named Kent Wayne.  He’ll write a sci fi epic—Echo—with the power to distort reality.  Magic flash.

My ginormous piece rips from my kimono and begins roaring like a yamabushi-conjured monster.  The samurai rear back, voicing frightened exclamations, while the monkeys by the trail start punching the air like old guys cheering me on with Old Guy Cheers such as:  “The ol’ one-two!  Give ’em what for!”

A handful of swordsmen charge my shaft and it opens its pee-slit, letting loose with a roaring blast of flame, reducing them all to ash.  Then it snakes through the others, wrapping them in tumescent coils with the perfect amount of veinage (from my experience ladies like veins, but only to a certain point before they consider it gross), squeezing necks and cracking limbs like some kind of mutant anaconda.  The last warrior turns tail and flees, and my giant flesh-hammer whops him upside the head.  As he falls to the ground, my piece bludgeons his face with its three-foot helmet, reducing his skull to a bloody, pulpy mess.

After making the immobilized samurai promise to quit being jerks, I uncoil my johnson from around their bodies and send em on their way.  I start up the road when I hear one of the ladies yell, “Hey!”

I turn around.

She gives me a coquettish look.  “You can obviously handle yourself.  Wanna be our new escort?”

One of the monkeys lets out an anxious hoot.  I turn to it, and my Man-Child brain instantly understands what it’s trying to say.

My eyebrows raise.  “Can the monkeys come too?”

She giggles.  “Of course!”

And so we set off:  Kentaro Watanabe, his beautiful lady companions, and his faithful monkey friends.  Probably for the better; I was never cut out for this stick-up-the-ass swordsman stuff—I’m too creative and too much of a wiseass.

I’d much rather be a professional Man Whore…or maybe a writer.  😉

 

Are you a hard-working ronin, trying to stay out of the way of a bunch of tradition-bound finger-waggers?  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  Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here:  Combined Edition  #kindle #kindleunlimited #sciencefiction #scifi #books #novel #book

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