The Plethora Codex

Seven different stories. One book.

Meet a washed up boxer who discovers endless power. Follow a traveler who is responsible for the fate of an entire planet. Discover what happens when technology becomes our downfall. Read about a mechanic who transcends time. Find out about when sound stood still and the heavens stopped. Be immersed in a world where your fate is decided at birth. Learn about the origins of our world long before we arrived.

About the Author

Hi. I’m Brennan. What about me is worth a dedicated section? Well, that’s easy. I’m a father of 8 kids (you read that right) who likes to write cool stories. Perhaps my definition of “cool” may differ from yours, and if it does, I’m cool with that.

I hope you enjoy the stories and that you’ll see them in the movies or on TV one day. God bless, take care and feel free to buy this book for yourself (and then get a bunch for friends.)


“Hang on to my pack!” The hiker stretched out over the cliff’s edge and dangled his backpack towards James, but it was just out of reach.

“I can’t get to it,” James yelled back as he clung to a flimsy branch growing out of the mountain.

The two other explorers in his group could only watch and hold their breath. James met these men only hours ago at the small airstrip at the base of the Himalayas.

Like many people over the years, climbing Mt. Everest has served as a rite of passage to the next phase of life, and this was exactly what James was hoping for…


When I was ten, I single-handedly took on a full grown male Helothian bull shark when it leapt aboard my father’s sailing vessel.

I was sitting on the ledge watching the waves crash against the hull when a commotion in the water grabbed my attention. I saw blood begin to bubble up to the surface and without warning, the bull shark shot out of the water with the carcass of a Kingfish caught between his gnarly teeth.

His body was massive and his scales were like iron. He began to scrape down the metal walkway of my father’s vessel, worming his way towards me. I frantically looked around for anything to defend myself as I yelled out for my father and brothers.


It was only a matter of when, not if, they would break through the door, run up the stairs and meet me face to face on the rooftop.

I had my shotgun ready. Just two shells left and at least a half dozen flesh eaters on the street below. I also had Bob’s Colt tucked in my belt, but that thing didn’t do him any favors and I sure as heck wasn’t gonna go out like he did. A sticky trigger on some pawn shop paper weight? I’d have more luck cracking skulls than shooting with it.


A-549 was the maintenance supervisor of his sector. That was his lot in life, same as his father and grandfather before him. A handyman of sorts, A-549 could fix anything and he was often called upon to repair Enforcer Raid Cycles and fix jammed Alliance Stunners. The overlords of this world had advanced technology and were able to manipulate the planet’s natural resources as they saw fit, but their mechanical abilities were lacking. A-549 always took comfort in knowing that he had job security which meant life insurance. If you were not an asset to the Alliance, you were a liability.


If he couldn’t have the cosmos, no one could. Lucifer devised a plan to distract the Divine Chorus for the quanta of time necessary to disrupt the sustaining soundwaves and set about the erasure of everything. If their sound was not echoing throughout space, balancing and maintaining the universe for the smallest fraction of time, the seams would rip, laws would upend and the universe would begin an unstoppable retraction, wiping out the very existence of itself from the outside-in.


The first inkling that there could be a potential blood epidemic was discovered by a biology lab tech at a facility near Dallas. When he told his supervisors that the virus he was working on prevented him from reversing any further catalysts he introduced to the host, he was told to keep it to himself and to take the rest of the day off. That night he was dead. No inquiry into his death. No mention of the virus, or how it worked, was ever reported. It never happened.

Two weeks later 35,000 people were killed in London with a trail of evidence leading back to a contagion aboard a US flight out of DFW Airport. The UK was quick to stop all further inbound flights from the United States and every single other country followed suit. A ban on American anything was put in place. Panic set in.


I wiped away the water and mud, revealing a tin lunch box with “I’m a Pepper” written across the front. It was rusted and looked like it was from the 1970s, but it was still intact and the latch was closed.

The rainwater had removed a few layers of dirt and silt from the creek bed, partially uncovering that box that I was admittedly hoping was full of some bandit’s loot. Given the various stories I’ve heard over the years of Texas outlaws who laid low in pieces of land like mine, my thoughts were split between buried treasure and some kid who lost his lunch box over three decades ago.

Turns out it wasn’t money or a PB&J buried in the mud with that box. Inside, wrapped in watertight plastic, was a USB flash drive that you use to store information and files on. A note attached read: “For those with ears that hear and eyes that see. – A.”