Hellscape

By Josh Nealis

Clinging to the past, society strains to remain civilized. Greed accentuated by disparity, the cruel climb the weak, foot to face, while plucking the wealth from their pockets. The only remnant leftover from the past, those that hold everything together. Working in silence, keeping to themselves. Never letting on that dreams don't always belong to you alone...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781678073619

Book preview

Nealis

Dedication:

For anyone and everyone that has ever supported me, in anything. It absolutely means the world to me. Simple, to the point. Thank you!

ISBN: 978-1-6780-7361-9

©2021 Josh Nealis, Cutthroat Comics & Publishing, LLC

CutthroatComics.com

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

Prologue

Mankind is frail. Both in mind and body. There is much of this world they, or rather we, simply cannot comprehend. Especially in the short span of their, or rather our, insignificant lifetimes. Only inside the record, or rather The Record, can one be given the time needed to become and experience enlightenment. Knowledge takes time. Lifetimes. Years and decades. Time would need to halt. Nearly stop. Then can one learn all that is needed to understand, true knowledge. Knowledge, information, magic. They are all the same, or rather they are not. The record is a void. Empty yet full. Violently spilling over with truth, excitement, and compassion. Barren of ego, cruelty, and vengeance. All while maintaining the balance between that which is just, and that which is inequitable.

Before technology, before humans became so arrogant, magic did in fact exist. But not how people perceive magic. Spells and tricks performed by charlatans. Gods and heroes, identities assumed by imposters. That is not magic. But few have been granted passage and even fewer able to transcend into the Record. Chosen by destiny, or in the right place at the right time. Is there a difference. Once there, those few learn the mystery of what we are made of, what the universe is made of and the secrets it possesses. Before technology, and now after its demise, magic exists.

The record is not a place. It is not a time, it is not in space nor does it take up any. It exits in our minds and in our souls. In our dimension and every other simultaneously. It is everywhere, it is nowhere. It is the heart of a black hole and it is the surface of the sun. We can all go there, and some of us have. But only a few can stay. Only a few are given the keys to unlocking everything that has ever, and will ever, including that which has never, and will never. The time is now. Another will be enveloped, taught, given, and trusted. The time is now, but also it is too late. But, in The Record, it is never now, and never too late. Welcome, and goodbye.

Chapter One

So quiet you can hear a pin drop. Focus. Breathe. Think about what you want. Think about your desires. Are you falling? The old man asks. I am. The young man answers. Do you see the ground? The old man continues. No, it’s dark. I’m falling. I can hear the wind, but I…I can’t really see anything. I feel like I’m moving, but I know I’m not. The young man says, heavy with curiosity. The old man places his hand on the shoulder of the now kneeling younger and inquisitive man. Good. This is where you want to be. From here, you can go anywhere. Darkness vanishes quickly as light takes over. The adventure beings here. The old man says with a smile.

Sprinting through the streets of the busy market, puddles splashing, dodging the poor and semi-wealthy alike. A young boy, clothes tattered. Mid-chase. Behind him are some very not nice men, and they’ve grown tired of his antics, or so they’ve been told. That boy is done. I’ve had it. You catch him, you kill him. No quips, no last words, no explanation. Dead, immediately! Doyan shouts while pointing for his cohorts to split up. Following his direction, one taking off down an alley on the left and the other on the right. Doyan is not a person to mess with, he treats his men well, but once crossed, his mercy is nonexistent. Or so anyone on the outside is led to believe. You better keep running, you little sludge bastard! He screams, nearly loosing his voice towards the end of his threatening high-pitched statement. Doyan’s shirt soaked from the raw meat juice the boy slung on him while attempting to escape his grasp. Wiping his face with a cleaner part of his shirt, Doyan’s blonde half-grown beard becomes clean as people inadvertently smirk under their breath at his inability to look manly and threatening. Even though small in size, his gruesome reputation for torture makes people fearful and timid in his presence. 

Pants soaked from the puddles. Shoes and frayed socks heavy from the weight of the water and muck clinging to his decomposing foot wear. The boy hates when people call him a sludge. Yes, he’s a pick pocket and a castaway, but he’s so much more than that. Finder of things, hider of even more things. Stealing isn’t his only gift. Currently outrunning Doyan and his thugs is his personal favorite talent. Losing his stamina quickly though. Running out of steam. He’s more agile, but their legs are longer. They’ve been on the streets more than a decade before his birth, ran more, hustled harder. They will catch him if he doesn’t find an escape.

Frustrated, Doyan climbs up on a street vendor’s table. Hey! Get your dirty feet off… The vendor shouts, but quickly halts his temper as Doyan hands him enough shekels to feed his family for a week. Fair enough, it’s just mud, it’ll clean off. The vender remarks, bowing slightly and backing up to give Doyan enough space to yell and direct the pursuit. Doyan regrets his donation instantly. A hateful glance would have had the same effect. His reputation is new to him. Still used to buying his way out of trouble. Or into the good graces of those around him. This will be the last time for this type of generosity, he thinks while frantically scouring the crowd for the fleeting boy.

Standing as tall as he can, trying to see over and into the crowd, looking for commotion, Doyan spots the boy. Yeet! Over there! Grab him! The boy turns, looking around, seeing that he’s almost cornered. Ducking into a closed off alley, a desperation move, the boy tries door after door. Each fastened more securely than the last. Panic sets in as the men cut their distance, reaching for him they begin to think of the prize Doyan may bestow upon them. Or perhaps be tied to his hip during his ascension. Miraculously, considering where it leads, one door pulls open as the boy struggles not to slip while sliding in. Slamming it just as Yeet and the other thug reach for the door, the boy flips the latch to lock it behind him. A few deep breathes, catch my breath, then I need to keep going. Waiting won’t do any good. The boy thinks, struggling to stand. Looking down at the mess his shoes have left on the floor, he pulls them off. Wise beyond his years. The floor is slippery. Bare feet will make better grip. Plus, no trail of mud for them to track.

Kicking, punching, pounding on the door. Yeet and his exhausted companion will eventually find their way in. Backing up slowly, scared out of his mind, the boy turns to see a long hallway. Nurses and sick people stare as the boy charismatically chuckles and waves before running down the hall. His bare feet slapping the cold hard floor as he turns towards what he believes should be the front of the building.

A nurse, hearing the commotion opens the door as the two distraught ruffians quickly slam through the entrance, shoving her against the wall as she stumbles on the wet mud-covered entrance, falling to the ground. Rushing down the hall, unapologetically leaving her in minor distress and the door agape, pushing everyone out of their way as they pass, desperately looking for the boy. Turning the same corner, they spot him. He sees them, they see him. The proverbial goose is cooked. But, the boy spots another door. Stairs. Marked by a sign. A frantic choice. Up or down, he thinks. Fifty-fifty shot of escaping. Through the door and up he goes. Surely, they’ll guess I went down, the boy decides. But, down means the possibility of being trapped. Up means potentially being forced to jump, but less of a dead end. Too late. They’re coming. Keep moving. Up he goes in the stale mold smelling stairwell. Quieter without shoes in here. Close the door quickly and softly. Silence is key.

Crashing through the main floor’s stairwell doors, Yeet and his chubby sluggish companion split up. I got up, you go down, remember, kill him! No excuses! Yeet shouts while stomping up the steps as fast as he can, making no attempt to hide his presence. By this time the boy has likely exited onto the third floor. Yeet thinks. Nowhere else to go this way. Surely, he’d go all the way up. Stepping softly down the hall, the boy frantically scans each open room for an open window, a laundry shoot, an exit, another staircase, something, anything that can help him flee to safety. No staff on this floor. Empty. Every room, empty. Nothing to hide behind, or in. No curtains hanging from the ceiling, no bathrooms, no windows that can be opened. At least not quietly.

Last room. Suddenly, the boy hears the door to the stairwell crash open. No choice but to duck in here and hope for the best, he thinks to himself. Windows locked. Bolted shut. Wasted time checking. Under the bed, nope. No cover there, easily seen. In the room is a man on a bed. An old man. White blanket, white pillow, shallow breathing. Solace. Out of options, the boy climbs under the blanket and tries not to move. Huddling up to the dying man as close as he can. Hoping it appears the man is just obese. The old man smells like urine and bandages. Better than being murdered, he thinks to himself.

Strolling down the hallway, Yeet’s confidence grows. I know you’re here you little sludge! I will find you… Peeking in each room as he passes. Entering the last room, Yeet sees the old man. Hm, we’ve been wondering where you got off to…now we know I guess. The boy, still under the blanket holds his breath, trying not to flinch, not to make even the slightest sound. Slam! The door to the stairs, You got him!? Yeet’s partner yells. Turning from the room, Yeet shouts back. Nah, you check two? They both shrug, then dart back into the stairwell and down to the missed second floor. I could swear I heard this door shut when I came in the stairwell, maybe it was the second floor. Hurry then, you go left, I’ll go right. Yeet shouts, taking charge of the situation.

Quiet now. Only the boy’s breath surpasses the old man’s in both frequency and intensity. Slipping his head out from under the stink filled blanket, the boy looks around, checking and listening, making sure he’s in the clear. Suddenly the old man’s breathing stops. Looking at the old man’s chest, motionless. Averting his gaze to the old man’s face, the boy is shocked to see he’s being stared back at. I’ve been waiting for you… The old man whispers as the room explodes in purple and white light. The windows shatter inwards as the room collapses in on itself. Implodes, gone with a flicker, disappears as if it were never there. A thunderous clap ricocheting over the market and surrounding areas. No hanging baseboard, no rubble falling from the ceiling or walls. Just gone.

Darkness, but able to see. Hello… The boy shouts, his voice echoing, into the neverending void. Where am I? The boy says to himself. You are in The Record. A voice speaks. An older voice. A man’s voice. The old man’s voice. Looking around the boy sees no one. Where are you? The boy asks. I am here, but I am nowhere. Currently, I am everywhere. Currently, we are everywhere. The old man’s voice reverbs, but hits nothing and continues for what feels forever. Is…is this magic? The boys asks, projecting his voice and seeming afraid, confused, helpless. The old man chuckles. Some may call it that, yes. But that’s not what it is, that’s not what this place is. Or what you will learn. Man is yet to discover all of the forces of nature. This is one of them. But now, I am joining that force, and you will learn how to harness it, just how I have. 

Steam flows from the rickety towers as people gather for the semi-regular meeting between them and their advantageous leader. Some may say dictator, but he puts food on their tables. He keeps them safe. The rules are simple. Don’t cross his path. That’s basically it. Seems like just yesterday he was a petty thug, then the gang leader, now he’s the man in charge. Things were worse before him, or so they’ve been told to believe. The diminishing hospital now completely abandoned. The market deserted. No need when one person controls everything. He decides who lives and dies, who eats and who doesn’t. Show your worth, show your loyalty, show him how much you appreciate him. Then, you’ll survive. Be blessed. Be part of the system that keeps everyone safe. Near a decade of Doyan’s thumb pressing them down, holding them in place, safely. As some may wish it to be perceived.

The crowd mutters amongst themselves as the main floor is packed full. People dressed for winter, even though the pipes and vents that surround the common area are sweltering with heat. Scampering along the outside, Yeet awaits his former friend’s arrival. Aye, Yeet. I’ll never get used to seeing you down here with us commoners. An elderly man snickers, taunting the outcast. No more feasts for you, all because you couldn’t track down some small boy. Yeet grabs the man by the collar. It’s been years, have you nothing better to talk about old man… Yeet grits through his teeth and shakes the quivering man just as the crowd cheers. Doyan has arrived. Yeet releases the old man, and tucks his forehead into his hood, hoping no one else will notice he’s decided to attend today’s…festivities.

A decade it’s been, plus or minus, since Yeet and Doyan were nearly attached at the hip. They came up together. But Yeet always showed just a bit more compassion. More fairness, more integrity and empathy. In the end, deep down inside his subconscious, he knows it may have been his undoing. Doyan knew it. Yeet knows it, but would never admit it. He let up. Let the boy go. Yeet scowls under his hood as the crowd continuously erupts in cheers, as they’ve been taught to do.

Out onto the stage, Doyan grins ear to ear. He knows, and so does the crowd, that they really don’t love him. They fear him, and he’s okay with that. Fear and love make people behave in certain ways, and both make them susceptible to control. Good people, welcome. I have a treat for you this very evening. I think you’ll be glad you chose to attend. But, first I want to thank you. The crowd gasps collectively, as Doyan has never once thanked anyone. I know I know, I’m as shocked as you are… He continues, behaving coy. We have come a long long way these past years. And your loyalty has meant the world to me. Without you, I would be nothing, neigh we would be nothing. And because of that I have found something I’ve been searching for my entire life. Doyan waves to someone off-stage as the crowd chatters to themselves. Confused, each having no idea what is about to happen. Except Yeet. Yeet knows and he braces himself, awaiting the words that are soon to follow.

The crowd falls silent as a girl walks out to join Doyan. Gliding like an angel, with a face to match. For years I’ve been searching for a soulmate, and last night folks. Last night I found her. My people, my friends, I present to you my future wife, the lovely and caring beyond that of any person past or present, Lauren. Wave to the crowd, my love! The crowd cheers. They all know the deal. They know she has no choice but to go along with Doyan. But, who knows, maybe she’ll eventually love him. Worst case scenario, she lives a life that none of them could ever imagine. Luxury is hard to find since the Ceti wars, and Doyan’s compound is as good as it gets. The last 400 years have been a struggle for mankind. But, those that survived are tough. Some more than others. Others, being Doyan and his ilk.

Yeet’s heart drops. He has loved Lauren as long as he can remember. Doyan knows that. He’s been waiting. Planning and plotting. Trying to get his thumb on Lauren’s family. Finally, he has. What Doyan doesn’t know, Yeet has been onto him for years. After the boy escaped, Yeet knew Doyan would respond poorly to failure. Not to the extent at which he reacted, but poorly for sure. Doyan is petty, vengeful, even more so over the years. Once friends. Now enemies. Yeet has a plan. Lauren is filled with hope, she knows Yeet will come for her. Find a way out for her. No need to suck up and succumb to Doyan. No need to even pretend to love him. Enough to keep up pretenses, but one can only do that for so long. She smiles, waves to the crowd, then starts to walk back off of the stage to allow Doyan the opportunity to finish boasting his greatness. But, her hand is grabbed. Hold tight my dear, Lauren. I have a surprise for you. An engagement gift of sorts! Doyan snaps his fingers and his men close quickly on their target.

The crowd parts, some trying not to show their displeasure and distaste for this totalitarian behavior. Dragging Yeet onto the stage, Doyan’s men tug and pull ruthlessly as he struggles. Tossing him in front of Doyan, they back off, ready and excited to watch the show. Doyan throws a cheeky smile towards the crowd as he pulls back Yeet’s hood. Yeet. My dear dear friend. I’ve missed you. Yeet stands, brushing off his coat. Showing that he’s not intimidated by Doyan, or his power. Cut the act, Doyan. Make your spectacle so these people can get on with their day… Yeet demands while Doyan smiles bigger, chuckles slightly, then shrugs to the crowd as if he were caught stealing a kiss from a married woman. Which is not uncommon for Doyan and is often more than just a kiss. Fair enough, after all, you’re a busy man. Or so I hear. Tell me old friend, I heard you were planning to betray me. Is that true? Doyan questions his star witness, even though he already knows all the answers. Trying to sound as if he isn’t lying, Yeet plays off Doyan’s accusation. Your arrogance is on display, Doyan. I don’t care about you, or what you’re doing. What Yeet hasn’t realized, he just played right into Doyan’s trap. You hear that… Doyan speaks to the crowd calmly and convincingly. Yeet doesn’t care about what I’m doing. Folks, if he doesn’t care about me, or what I’m doing, then he doesn’t care about you. This man, who grew up here. Grew up with me. Grew up with you. Does…not…care…about us. Now showing his fear, something in Yeet snaps. He now sees his misstep and knows it will soon cost him.

Doyan’s loyal congregation sneers. Boos. Yells obscenities, and turns on Yeet with just a few short words from their subregal leader. Yeet, we were once friends, dare I say brothers. Because of that, you will live. But, I know you’re tinkering. I know you’re plotting. And for that, I will give you a reminder. Out walks one of Doyan’s henchmen. A giant of a man wearing a sleeveless orange jump suit with several numbers on the back. Yeet knows this man, knows his real name despite the helmet covering his face. Doyan showed them both mercy by not killing them years ago. Yeet was made to leave, this man’s face scarred for life. Now his job is to be the bearer of dread. Only seen in public when needed. Always with a propane tank strapped to his back and a bag full of tools. Clanking and clunking as he nears the center of the stage. My friends. I have decided to show mercy once again to my dear old friend. But with your blessing, I will give our friend our mark. Our mark so he remembers that we are his family. So he does not forget again, that he needs us, and we need him. We must mend our frayed rope. The crowd roars in agreement. Happy it’s Yeet being punished instead of any of them.

Hooking up a blowtorch, then lighting it, the henchmen smiles underneath the protective shield covering his face. Finally, Yeet will get what was meant for them both, the identity covered man thinks. Equal punishment. Doyan reaches in the bag of tools and pulls out a glove and a branding rod. His favorite branding rod, which is not something most people have a favorite of. This small branding rod bears Doyan’s crest, the lion. This particular rod is used frequently, typically on Doyan’s followers to initiate them into his fold. Typically on the forearm, sometimes the neck, depending on how much loyalty they decide to show and feel they need to prove. We’ll make sure this brand is placed right were friend Yeet will have no choice but to daily remember his loyalty to us, and to our cause! How about his thigh, what say you?! Doyan, playing to the crowd, knowing that it doesn’t matter if they approve or not. He decided hours ago how this scene would play out. On cue the people cheer and begin to chant, For the lion, for the lion, for us all! Doyan holds his hands out, quieting the chant so he can have the final word, as per usual. The thigh my friends. I have chosen the thigh because it will hurt. Just like the betrayal this man placed on all of our hearts. It will heal, we will forgive, but it must hurt!

Several henchmen grab Yeet, gathering around him so the crowd can see, but only well enough to tell that Yeet is being hurt. Once heated thoroughly, Doyan takes the brand and slips into the pile of henchmen straining to hold Yeet still. Listen, Yeet. Hold still and this will be over quick. Doyan whispers into Yeet’s ear. Pulling his pants down, the crowd sees them drop through the scuffling feet of the henchmen. They cheer in anticipation. You hear that, I can do what I’d like. I could stab you right in the eye. Tell them you had a knife. Then you’d be dead. I can do whatever I want, and there’s nothing, nothing you can do. Stay. Away. Last chance. A gloved henchmen grabs Yeet’s manhood and holds it as Doyan brands it on the tip. Yeet screams in pain, as the crowd cheers in joy assuming that Yeet’s thigh is on fire. The henchmen pull Yeet’s pants up and scuffle him out of the area while Doyan makes his exit speech. And for today, that is all! A wedding soon! My friends, go! Celebrate! Then throwing a large handful of shekels to the crowd, Doyan and his bride-to-be make their exit. Patronizing, but effective.

Chapter Two

Gingerly making his way back to his home, or what he calls home for the time being, Yeet rests for a moment. Suffering, cringing through the pain inflicted upon his manhood, ego included. An old friend was kind enough to find him after the crowd dissipated. She tended to his wounds, or rather, gave him the needed supplies. There’s still kindness in this world, so much cruelty, but there are still good people. Yeet thought as she risked her life to help him. This may currently be the worst day of his life, but he knows that soon enough, a day could arrive that will make this one seem bland and uneventful. The day Doyan wins. The day he marries Lauren. The day Yeet inevitably loses control and does something he’ll regret. Unless he’s successful in thwarting Doyan’s plans. But how. What’s the move. The path to victory and happiness. It’s foggy now. Hopefully soon it’ll become clear.

Leaning on what once was a food cart, Yeet notices where he is. Across the muddy street, the hospital. The very hospital where his life went from potentially being luxurious, with Lauren undoubtedly on his arm. To where he stands now, scarred. Tormented, hungry, desperate. Looking at the now dilapidated hospital, the top corner room still missing, Yeet’s anger grows. He’s blamed himself for so long, but recently that pain shifted. To Doyan. Former friend, now adversary and Dictator. What could have been had he not lost that child. He would have moved up the ranks, alongside Doyan. Lauren would have been impressed. She would have looked at him as a beacon for prosperity. Instead, she sees a derelict. An outcast.