A decade after the Zombie Apocalypse, he was exhausted from building hot rods and inking large tattoos on the undecorated. He demanded something from a certain cerebral location deep within its cortex. There, an embryo of sculpture madness lie waiting… surrounded by the heaving masses of a mundane life filled with mechanized power, gasoline, and carburetor cleaner. The embryo was finally shaken awake by the thought of sculpting some retro-esque beauty from a mere lump of plastic. But after all the years of waiting, was the desire enough to break free from the madness? And here is the moment of truth. Will you be the judge or the executioner?