Read part 1 of Degeneration. Let's start from the beginning.

 A blank window is open. Blinking cursor awaiting a command.

So, what next?  I ask you before shoveling another mouthful of noodles down the hatch.
Going for a drive. Your words appear right beneath my query.
Sounds solid. I'll do the same. Talk to you later.

                                                                                                                ***

Now I'm not sure what's out there so I better be armed or something. I've seen enough movies to at least pack the necessities. Food. Water. Weapons.
By weapons I mean a samurai sword I bought at the mall, an old baseball bat and a folding knife. I really need to score some firearms.

Goals for the day:
1. Neighborhood head count.
2. Get groceries and firearms.
3. Get info.
4. Bury the dead.

I hop into my truck and head down the hill first. There's only about two houses down there so it shouldn't take me long. I've already buried some of my neighbors from up the hill and I'm prepared to do it again if I find more dead bodies along the way. You would think people would explore out on their own if other living creatures turned up dead but after reassessing it, maybe not. Fear keeps people holed up in their little corner, doing the same thing repeatedly with no varied results. The same can be said with comfort. People get comfortable with a job, a relationship, a state of mind, a neighborhood - even if they're not completely satisfied with it and will continue to subject themselves to the same old shit for fear and comfort. I'm not judging. I speak from experience. When I started to challenge things is when things got interesting for me. It didn't always have desirable results but at least I've taken control. I wish I would've discovered that sooner.

I'm making up rules in my head to keep me centered as I creep around someone else's property.
Go with what you know is the first one that pops in my head. And what I know is that this guy has two large dogs and that he lives alone. He drives a white pick-up outfitted for his plumbing business. He leaves and comes home the same time everyday except for the weekends where he spends his time cutting grass and grilling.

Proceed with caution and keep your guard up are the next two rules that I come up with. Trespassing can get you killed around here on a regular day. But this ain't your regular day and technically I'm not trespassing, I'm looking for fellow leftovers.

I knock on the door. "Hello, anybody home?" I repeat this for about 5 minutes which is plenty enough time for someone to respond. It's like going into a public restroom stall where the door lock is inconveniently broken and you cough and do a little clearing of the throat noise to indicate to someone that it's occupied.

With a tight grip on the bat I enter the house. From where I stand I can see a recliner facing away (in reclined position) and the top of someone's head. I walk around the chair, prepared to swing if provoked.

What's worse than finding a dead body? Finding a dead naked body whose last act was tending to his own plumbing. His right hand still on his lifeless naughty bits as the laptop in front of him played an electronic remix mashup meant to dance to. Songs for the dead. A quick glance at the screen. An adult playground site plays host to a VIP room 2.0. Private lapdances by a wide array of entertainers available to anyone willing to swipe their cards. Brilliant idea, eh? I came up with it. No, seriously. I did. Another quick glance at the screen. Two performers, one face down and the other halfway dangling off the stage. Stage lights still pulsating to the sound. Wonder if they all clocked out at the same time.

This guy is of no use to me but I continue to look around his home. First room to the right produces a stocked gunrack and miscellaneous supplies. I know nothing about guns so I choose the ones that look the coolest. I load up a duffel bag with surplus items. No barking from his dogs so I'm guessing they've expired too. I can spend all day in other people's houses if I don't control myself. If you wanna know about a person, a peek into their personal effects is quite revealing. What they keep: their furniture, the pictures on the wall or lack of, the kind of beer they drink, what's hidden in the third drawer behind their tubesocks, the clothes and shoes in their closet. It's all very fascinating, like an archaeological dig revealing a household item buried in the sand, preserved in time, with a story to tell. Possessions keep your secrets until someone comes along to decode it. I'll have to return later to collect the bodies (the dogs and the nude guy) for burial and rummage some more. On the way out I pull out a can of spray paint and draw a skull and a box underneath it to indicate death and supplies. Symbols that will aid me with my tasks.

The second house down the hill was fruitless. Nobody home and nothing of value to claim. I mark the exterior with a filled in circle which I've assigned as the symbol for an empty home.

I drive down about half a mile up the hill and to the left past the tire shop to get some supplies at the general store. This place has been owned by the same family for three generations. It's one of the few places in this town that survived the influx of the vending machine type shops that took over about 5 years ago. Almost everything that can be put in a box and can be distributed in that manner took over actual human operated businesses. It was this generation's version of the industrial age. The human factor in commerce was almost completely eliminated. Some businesses have downsized to 1-2 employees. Just enough to get the machine running. The rest of the cogs were dismissed. Money was saved, jobs were lost, and a rumor of an uprising buzzed around within certain communities. But it remained just that, a rumor. As far as I can tell.

I grab myself a couple of bags worth of food. I strategically choose things that will go bad if not consumed within a specific time period. Why? Because I'm uncertain about the availability of food anywhere else. Any canned and dry goods can be put aside for later use. I already have plans on installing shelving in my storage room out back. It'll be a repository for various supplies. But that's for tomorrow. Right now, I'm going home and organizing my acquisitions for the day. I'll do burials first thing tomorrow. As far as getting information. That will have to wait as well.

Two out of four crossed off the list isn't bad. I've got nothin' but time now.

                                                                                                                  ***

I'm back. Got some guns and supplies. Taking the rest of the day off. You? I pop open the tab to a can of vegetable juice and guzzle half its content. I didn't expect an immediate answer. I tend to not expect a lot of things to go the way it should anymore. A new handwritten entry is added to my journal right before assembling my armory.

Outside, the sun blazed a blinding white stare against a red sky. Like a bloodshot eye glaring down at me. It keeps a close eye to those below who continue to scramble around trying to figure out what to do next. I can picture it laughing its ass of, a gut-busting kind of laugh with jaws wide open. Into its edges we trip and fall sliding down into nothingness.

We live in the future.
Right now. You and I.
There's no flying cars anywhere. Just the same pieces of shit rides that have been around since I was just a stain on my daddy's pants. No cybernetic creatures or teleportation devices. Just fancy phones that do everything but answer the one question I have: What the fuck happened?

But I don't have to tell you that. You were there living it. Just like everyone else. Only everyone else clocked out, bolted outta here, later-gater, bounced, call it what you will but they've all gone. Expired.

And I'm typing to you on this apparatus which amazingly has more life than my dead girlfriend in the other room. Somehow I find humor in that. I read somewhere that there's five stages to grieving a loved one's death. Or was it three? No matter, I'm over it. It took me less than an hour to figure out that I've become an exclusive card holding member of the last humans on earth. The illustrious group of leftovers. You get over emotions lightning fast when reality forces you to have to bury your girl, your pets, your neighbors, your mailman, the man in the corner store and some other people I don't know just so I can keep from having to smell the rot.

This is the kind of shit that nobody ever prepares you for. Not your parents, not your teachers, not your local politicians, not even your favorite bartender. We are so ill-equipped to deal with the worst-case scenario but ask me to build you a social media friendly website for your aunt's cosmetic home business and get it ranked high enough to get first page listing in a matter of a week and I'd be able to do it - in exchange for a fee, of course. There is no instructional guide, handbook, in-case of emergency break this glass - I'm afraid we're on our own. So I'm making it up as I go.

Don't push the river, it flows by itself. Some wise, dead person once said.

You wanna know the first thing I did when I woke up next to a stiff, cold, slightly smelly empty shell of a body? This is how it went down. I called all the emergency numbers and got no response. No, I didn't do CPR. She was a flatline, you dig? So after that, there was not much I can do. We are creatures of habit after all. So I took a piss, brushed my teeth, took a shower, got some clean clothes out of the dryer, put 'em on, got the leash out to walk the dog, realized the dog checked out as well, poured milk into a saucer for my cat, and made me an egg sandwich. Then I checked the usual stomps online. No fresh content since midnight. That's when I went to the main hub and typed the message that you responded to.

This thing still on? Anybody out there?

Which reminds me, it's time to dig a hole.

This serialized fiction is FREE to read but is my creative property. Please do not distribute without my permission. If you enjoyed it and would like to mention it in your blog, podcast, etc. - you can link to this page. If you do so, please let me know so I know who you kind folks are. Another way to show your patronage is to go to my Smashword page and purchase something. Thanks again!

A 3 point turn does the trick. Easy does it, just like that and I'm out the driveway. Or so I thought. The neighborhood kids had barricaded the block with their go-karts and dirt bikes. I shift to reverse and back up just a bit right before I punch it. I floored the pedal and rammed right through their little pile-up. Relax, the damn kids weren't on their rides. They're at home, plotting an uprising online, crafting manifestos about unseen forces, printing propaganda and slapping them on trees, windshields and picket fences.

And me, I'm going 80mph in a 55 zone.
There's a guy pacing me with his souped up ride, making faces and trying to ram me up against the divider. The ones with the ridiculously big spoilers on the back that makes it look like a shopping cart. Right behind me is the local librarian in her minivan. She's giving me the finger while her carpool mates load up their paintball guns and take aim.

I count the change as I approach the tollbooth, the man behind that window is an ex-spy who will track you down and plant this chip in your head if you don't give him the exact amount of change. My neighbor shorted him a dime on a Monday of all days. His wife woke up to a big mess on Tuesday. Somehow she ended up marrying Mr. Tollbooth and they went on to have Siamese twins. He has a photo of his lovely family plastered on his little cubicle. Funny how things work sometimes.

There's an ambulance facing the wrong way down the road. The sirens are on and he's headed toward oncoming traffic. He picks a random victim, a silver sedan with spinning rims and sideswipes the bastard. The billboard lights up and confetti falls from the sky. He just earned himself a quick $5000. It's this new gameshow that everyone's talking about.

I veer off my usual route and end up in a one-lane country road. I make up for lost time with speed. Not much in the way here except for a garbage truck making the usual stops. But Instead of letting me through, the lady driver cuts me off with the intention of blocking my way up to the end of this long stretch. One house after another the mechanical arms pick up the bins and dump its contents in the main compartment. Compost and old appliances. Pieces of junk alongside body parts. She mocked me with her monstrous machine. Eating bits of what used to be something or someone, what is now no more. It made me think of dying and if there was a giant machine somewhere just waiting to eat me up. Eat us all up.

A split in the road. Wherever she's going, I'm not. She chose the right. I speed past her shooting her left side tires which sent her truck toppling all the way down. Down the monster went and it spit out half of what it ate.

I'm approaching a secured area. A red light scans my truck for credentials which is embedded throughout my mode of transportation. The gates open and I drive through. The minivan behind me tries to piggyback but is disintegrated upon entering. I park my transport at the usual place and get on my aircraft. With seat belt and helmet on I load my music list up and select track 3. The sound fills the cabin as I prepare for traffic. Two-thirds of my morning commute is over. I'm headed for Base 5 to dock and transfer. I have 8 hours to sort and deliver my cargo. With cross-hairs on target I plow my way past the debris. Up in the air the rules are the same as down below. Anything goes.

In my attempt to promote myself, my writing and my enthusiasm for new media in general, I've been brainstorming on what I can do to keep this fun for me but also for those who visit the site. My goal is to have a rich media site full of content relevant to what I'm doing.

So here is the second Z-cast (the official screencast for www.zerotorockstar.com)
I talk about themed posting, quick and dirty movie reviews, and of course, some shameless pimping out.

After numerous attempts (This is the 8th one I think), I decided on keeping this version even if it cuts off my brief into because it's way past lunchtime and I want my sammich. I love technology but it can be a bitch sometimes.

You can enlarge the screen by clicking on that square on the lower right corner, just so you know.

Thanks for watching!

Don't forget to sign up for The Hooligans to view additional content in the production journal.

The original has become one of my favorite horror movies, from watching the U.S. Version trailer it looks to have the same tone and mood as the first one. Even the little boy has that peculiar look to him. To be fair, it's hard to judge something based on a trailer but this is all in fun so watch the trailers and vote and sound off in the comments section on the upper right corner.

No, I'm not talking about dressing up like a G.I. Joe, a Ninja Turtle or a Power Ranger and kicking some supervillain ass. And I'm not talking about slipping on a spandex suit and running around with a cape either like these guys -

(hey, what you do in your own time is your business, I'm not judging).

It's about keeping the fire alive, the passion, that thing that keeps you working on your top secret project of revolutionary proportions when nobody but your significant other and your mom seems to give two bits about it. Everyone's got something that they're working on, creating. If not, maybe you should - it's good for you.
These days it's so easy to start something, anything. The actual challenge is in following through. And that's really what I meant by Action Figure.

Action Figure = Follow Through

So how do you follow through? When you're dead tired from your day job, you get home and all you want to do is write/paint/compose/cook or whatever the hell it is that get's you excited.
It takes discipline to stick to something especially when the speed in which modern life carries us is a dizzying pace. Surely there's people out there who are masters at juggling a 100 things in the speed of light then blog about it and still have time to eat dinner and watch a movie. Damned freaks.