GZ needs YOU!

I've been a one man band on my brand for far too long. GZ needs people. It needs people of all kinds.  It needs readers, sharers, and people to spread the word that this is something to see. It needs more than a fanbase however. It needs a creative team willing to take it to the best it can be.  A creative team that can be counted on for artwork and graphic design. People interested in designing board games, card games, apps, book covers and graphic novels. People who want to be part of something.

No one likes the risks of failure and it can take a lot to believe in a project this size.  It can be daunting to know that, for a while, no one gets paid (myself included) until things make sales. Yet, anything that has become worth anything today started in a garage just like that. Now we can work online. There is so much that can be done.

Working with me won't be hard, but you do have to get to know the universe you are diving into. Read the books (I will provide) at the very least and tour the artwork.

I know what I have created has great potential. I know it can carry on for a long time after I am gone. If it can only get the support it needs. As I continue to fight MS (Multiple Sclerosis), I am losing my ability to do my artwork anymore but it was never about my drawing ability in the first place. I have never been what I would call a stellar artist. I've had far too many other creators tell me I'm not good enough (not that I listen to them).

I've written 5 books an developed a board game series so far. If you are looking for a potential project to belong to and are willing to share the risks with me, then talk to me. Let's see if we can work together and if your style fits what GZ needs.

Short Fiction: It's a Blitz! (Part 1)

Metallic clanking echoed up and down the street. It took its half of the road out of the middle. New York City traffic stumbled to halt as the big machine rolled into place. The treads bit into the asphalt tearing chunks loose and leaving a trail. Worried exclamations of people sounded all around, and horns blared. Small shops lined either side with patrons filling the sidewalks. Everyone stopped to regard the tank-like vehicle and its smooth shiny surfaces. It had no hatch, or visible weaponry and it didn’t move for several minutes as people gathered.

The police arrived and an officer started knocking on the metal hull.

               “All right, come on out.”

A whirring sound responded to him and panels opened on either side of the vehicle to reveal speakers. From the front and back even larger speakers rotated out from the hull. The speakers started to blast the opening to the song ‘Ballroom Blitz’ as more panels opened on the head of the tank. Large gun barrels protruded from five sides of the upper portion. People were already running at this point. As the song reached “All right fellas, let’s goooo” the guns began firing and the top of the tank rotating. The volume of the music could easily be heard over the blasting of the cannons.

Store fronts exploded into confetti sized debris. Most cars were below the line of fire, but trucks were cut in half. Light poles fell over like fresh mowed grass. People ran, screamed, or threw themselves to the pavement. The guns fired well above their heads, but debris still threatened to kill many.

When you can move at twice the speed of light, sound means nothing. There isn’t any. Electrode could see the paths of heavy caliber bullets lined up in the air. He could see people on the verge of being trampled as they fell under the panicked crowd. He had a choice to make. He could grab bullets or grab people. At his speed, he could collect all the bullets currently airborne and remove them. If he did, he would have to compensate for the speed of the bullets or risk blowing his own hands apart in the process. Where ever he moved them, they would still have their own velocity and direction to deal with. He could cancel that velocity for some, but not all. So, people it was. He had been told to remove the people anyway. After all, he didn’t come alone.

Electrode, with care for his own velocity against human bodies, removed everyone from close proximity to the death machine. He took them to the lower level of a nearby parking garage. There were enough large buildings between the machine and the garage that it wouldn’t be hit at all. While this task seemed to be done instantly, for Electrode it was a painstaking process of care and control. He could never forgive himself if he splattered someone’s mother all over a wall.

As the firing and music continued, Electrode’s partner watched the sidewalks clear of people so he could do his part. He floated in the form of simple air, unaffected by the enhanced bullets flying through him. They called Sandstorm the most powerful elemental in the world. Even with such a title, this would not be so easy. Buildings in close quarters and a sewer system with active gas mains provided complications. He couldn’t just command the street to uproot on the machine without collateral damage and greater threats. As it were, the bullets were about to cleave through close buildings and into the ones beyond.

A loud CRACK sound told Sandstorm that Electrode was in the fight. As the nuclear electric man, Electrode had more than just speed. He struck the vehicle with a powerful strobe of nuclear lightning.

 

               “That didn’t get through the hull! It’s insulated too well!” Electrode shouted.

               “I have an idea.” Sandstorm made his voice boom through the air.

               “Well do it quick. This song and destruction combo is getting annoying.”

               Sandstorm could manifest himself as any combination or elements or weather. He even made himself a giant at times of various combinations. He flew over the top of the tank machine and manifested himself as a giant humanoid of pure iron ore. He landed on the top swivel and grappled the cannons. The barrels twisted under him and a loud screeching noise sounded. Metal within the turning apparatus ground together and snapped as the sides blew out. The music slurred and stopped.

Still in his giant form, Sandstorm gripped the top of the tank and tore it off to see who was driving. He dropped the junked lid in disgust and turned back to a normal sized human being.

               “Fry the inside of that please.” Sandstorm said.

               “Who’s in it?”

               “No one. It’s a robot and I don’t want any surprises.”

               Electrode jumped up on it and melted everything within in a bright flash of power.

               “Who made this? The Raven?” Electrode asked about one of their worst enemies.

               “I don’t know. Raven usually tries to kill us, not everyone else. This isn’t like him.”

               “Professor Zombie?”

               “Again, why? Zombie wants to turn everyone into his hench-people. This doesn’t work for him either.”

               “Terrorism?”

               “That’s a possibility. There’s definitely a psychological approach to this with that song. Whoever did this, wanted to create a presence for themselves.”

               “Showmaster.” Electrode nodded. “This would definitely be like him, but who would be paying him?”

               “That’s the million-dollar question.”

(Yep, that's where this one ends, folks! Who is behind this bizarre attack? Be sure to follow for new stories, articles, and updates.)