On the street beyond the alleyway a fight broke out, sending the sounds of affray echoing through the brick canyon. It mattered little to Dave as he picked through the trash looking for things to sell in order to secure his next meal. His disheveled look meant that for the most part he was invisible to the rest of the world, a world which recently seemed to have slid into madness. Little did he know that the source of such madness was here with him in the alley, taking the most unexpected of forms. 

He lifted the lid on a large dumpster and inside was a man, cold but clearly not a vagrant. He was dressed neatly, albeit dirty, in a button up shirt and a blue blazer with a bow tie. He started and shrunk away before something about Daves look reassured him and he sat up to speak.

"Thank God, I thought you were a zombie."

Dave paused for a moment, but decided he had no idea what the man was on about so muttered a "Sorry" and closed the lid again.

"Wait." the man cried, but was muffled by the bin. "Don't you want to know who I am?"

"Not particularly." Dave replied as he started to look at the next bin, hoping it would at least have some cans.

"My story is one of amazing success and of tragedy." The man said with his head lifting the lid just enough that his wild eyes pierced out through the gap. "I'll tell it to you now."

                           ******

My name is Victor Franken and I have the most popular nightly talk show in the country. The Franken Hour.

 It wasn't always this way though. I have had my ups and downs. When I was little I always wanted to be somebody.

Some people say that my parents didn't pay me enough attention as a child but I disagree. I just think some people are destined for more, some people are just better than others, they have more drive and a willingness to never give up on a dream.

 Of course the first few things I did, didn't work out that well but that's all part of it. After a few years of trying different things I got into the journalism business, mostly because it was easy, but once I was in, I was determined to be the most successful. It was then I realized that the industry is full of people just all doing the same thing. Thousands of people, the world over, telling others what happened during the last day or so. I didn't want to be just another one of the many simply reciting the news. I wanted to be a real commentator, to tell people what to think about it. 

I was having some mild success with my comments, some hitting and some missing. I moved around a bit from station to station, until one day someone with some real power approached me. He was the owner of a large media corporation and he liked what I had to say. Finally I was getting some well deserved recognition. His support made me go harder, say the things that no one else dared to say and ask the real questions.

The ratings went through the roof, before I knew it, I had my own show and was bringing in big dollars. By then I knew what  worked best and it wasn't just saying the news. The secret is you have to really get under people's skin. You want them to feel something, to want to yell at the television. There are sides and anything you say on one side upsets the other side. Of course after playing around back and forth for a bit I discovered that if you keep pushing one side, well…. That works the best. Before too long, I could say anything I liked and I had a rabid crowd of supporters eager to eat up every word.

Then it got real. I was making so much money and had it really, and I mean really good. Of course when you have so many fans some of them are a little loopy and some did some crazy things. Before long people were brandishing guns and demanding answers to the questions that I had proposed. Can you believe that. A few people had taken things seriously and then some people got hurt.

Well the authorities didn't like that much at all. The politicians started a crazy witch hunt against me… Me of all people. They were out with pitchforks trying to bring me down. They tried to have me taken off the air, as if I had something to do with it all. 

It was too late though. I had made it. My fans no longer asked questions, they simply believed what I told them. A whole army of viewers just hanging on my every word. Anything I said was real to them, they stopped thinking about anything and were just happy to be angry about it instead.

Really though I've become a victim of my own success. While I made powerful friends and allies, the other side was filled with political enemies. They came for me and I rallied on my show about how I was a victim. My supporters took to the streets in droves. My people came to my aid, but  years of television had ruined their brains. Without me to lead them and to tell them what to think, they became mindless zombies, attacking everything as an enemy. 

Even now I am cut off from my show and they still say they want to hold me to account. Even though I did nothing at all. I just talked. I never even left the studio. I didn't have to. Even my friends keep their distance now, it's as if I've been cursed. There are subpoenas for me to appear in court and if the zombies see me I'm afraid of what they might do. 

I don't want to lead a revolution. Now that I am someone, I just want to take the money and live the good life. I narrowly avoided being arrested. Had I not fled on foot while riot police and zombies tore shreds from each other, I might have been taken away already. I need your help to escape. I implore you, I'm very important.

                  ************

The large man stood in a crowd, both angry and exhilarated at the same time. His clothes were ripped and blood stained but it had all been worth it. They had taken the street for themselves and beaten back the enemy. He didn't know who the enemy were, he just knew that the crowd was him and he was the crowd. They shared a commonality that was plain to see. He managed a grin while still absent mindedly chewing the ear of a police officer he'd bitten in the last scuffle. The crowd roared and swayed, calling for Victor, wailing for his fatherly guidance, all the while looking for Satanist pedos, microchipping elitists or big pharma shills. The fact that he couldn't remotely think of what any of those people might look like, didn't bother the man in the slightest, nor did the lady next to him who stripped flesh from a severed finger with her teeth. Anything was normal. The complete lack of logic, reason or anything else that made up intelligence was a defining feature of the crowd.

A movement away down a side street caught the man's eye and he turned to stare intently. There was someone down there, climbing out of a bin. His initial suspicion vanished when he saw a familiar face. One he had seen and practically worshiped nightly. Something in his voided brain clicked and the name was on his lips in an instant.

             VICTOR FRANKEN.

                  ************

"Sounds like you created a monster." Dave said nonchalantly, only having half listened to the man's rambling story while he bundled papers. 

"I mean the real tragedy is that I can't even enjoy my success." Franken whined. "I just need to find a way to sidestep all this and….."

Victor Franken was cut short in his musings when his name was called in a deep and guttural voice. He had been so wrapped up in telling his own story that he had forgotten the dangers of his position. Much in the same way he had forgotten any shred of moral obligation, if he ever even possessed any to begin with. 

Dave watched in horror as a horde of zombies, led by a large man, swept down the alley and scooped up the howling Franken. It was hard to see amongst all the waving limbs if they were hurting him or holding him in revere. Animatedly they bundled back out into the street, taking Victor away with them and leaving Dave in shock standing by his trolley.

Never in all his life was Dave so glad to be invisible.