Xek Rychtevorik's 3991: Traitor's Mark

By Xek Rychtevorik

Forcibly conscripted as a child under a tyrannical regime, Exékiel reaches his breaking point and goes AWOL.

In the year 3991, Exékiel is soon plunged into a new life as a free man and must now find his place in a world that is nearly two thousand years post-nuclear war and recovering.

After being taken under the wing of an ex-sky pirate and his wife, operators of a bounty hunting ring, Exékiel goes back to doing what he was trained to do his entire life. Killing and tracking down targets is second nature. Only this time, it's on his own terms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781312417069

Book preview

Chapter One – January

Fuck you! Exékiel spat at the guards while they did their best to restrain him. He swung and kicked at them but found himself far outnumbered, unable to break free from their grasp. The scuffle lasted quite a while until an abrupt and crushing pain erupted cruelly at his side. Shit! One of the guards had whacked him directly on the ribs with a steel baton.

Now now, Dekohveinchy, we should expect better from someone of your rank, a guard with rust colored hair and a lazy eye teased before bashing him again, but this time over his head.

Exékiel hissed from the pain. Seething with rage, he broke an arm free from the guards’ grip and proceeded to punch the smirk off the nearest guard’s face. He had slung his fist into their jawbone hard enough to knock most of the teeth on that side loose. The guard slowly staggered backwards and then fell on his ass, hitting the asphalt hard. He choked heavily on the blood pouring out of his mouth while a few of his teeth had dribbled out onto the street.

This bastard just keeps on finding ways to fuck up. What’s this, your 30th time in Isolation? another guard sneered, laughing.

Hardly, Exékiel snarled, spitting a mass of his own blood onto the guard’s pudgy face. Then he hung his head; his lip had been busted open, and a rear tooth had been knocked loose. He spat that out and watched as it clattered to the pavement and rolled towards a drain. It stopped before the grate for a mere second before falling into it.

The chubbier guard wiped his face in disgust, then hastily whipped his baton from his belt and whacked it into the side of Exékiel’s head. The hard steel bar rung aloud as it impacted his skull, splitting the skin on Exékiel’s scalp open. It didn’t take long for blood to begin streaming down his face profusely.

How is he still even conscious? one of the younger ones questioned in horror. This guard was skinny, awkward, and certainly in his teens.

Exékiel turned to face him. You honestly think this is enough? He started laughing, hard and uncontrollably. You’re all sacks of shit, you know that? His laughter became shrill as his filthy and blood soaked, black mangled hair fell over his face.

Let’s get this scum in his cell, tired of seeing his goddamn ugly fucking mug, an older guard with an unkempt beard and a foul odor from lack of hygiene grumbled. He gripped a chunk of Exékiel’s hair, weaving his fingers through it and began dragging him in the direction of the cells.

He was escorted down the street; it was a long walk with shoves and scuffles until they reached the side entrance of the West Wing Correctional Facility. The warden sat at the desk with a scowl on his face. Assaulting a Vaudic government official. Grievous bodily harm… You just keep on doing things to thicken your disciplinary folder, don’t you? he asked, signing off on the arrest and detainment forms.

I’ve built quite the impressive resume, I guess. Would you like a fucking autograph? Exékiel thought about saying, but his only response was a defiant and hefty spat onto the warden’s desk.

Take him down, the warden commanded, glaring at the wet spot that was now soaking into his paperwork.

The second the heavy door down to the isolation chamber was opened, he could hear the very familiar sound of tortured moans and the typical smell of rotten cadavers accompanied by a heavy musk that radiated from the stairwell. It descended into darkness, familiar darkness. Smells like home, Exékiel grumbled sarcastically. The warden ignored him. At this point, he was used to Exékiel’s antagonizing antics.

He was then dragged down the steps and into the isolation chamber. It was poorly lit, damp, and grimy. Everything was constructed of stone, except for the rusted cell doors. They shoved and harassed him on the way to an empty cell in the very back. He stumbled every now and then as he tried to keep his footing on the uneven floor while they dragged him. The younger guard scurried ahead to unlock the cell and then held it open. Exékiel was then hurled onto the freezing floor, and the cell door was slammed shut behind him. He remained there and began to cackle maniacally.

The older guard cursed at him and headed back up the stairs, rambling under his breath about how he was such a madman. That very laughter faded into silence as he listened to their footsteps slowly fading away as they disappeared up the stairs. He slumped against the wall, then slowly slid to the floor, bracing himself for what was to come. His eyes trailed to the deep purple bruises on his slate grey toned skin that had been badly scarred over the years. Hopefully, this is it. I’m tired of everything. Tired of this all.

Hours went by. Hours that felt like days were the main torments in the isolation chamber. The sounds of other inmates groaning not only from hunger and dehydration but also shivering from the cold, filled the chamber as he lay on the damp dungeon floor. Every now and then he would involuntarily burst into a violent fit of maniacal laughter and begin shouting incoherent nonsense and expletives. Then he would fall silent and pace around in circles.

It felt like a few weeks had gone by before food and water were supplied, which he refused. Not even the rats would touch it. Instead, they would eat off cadavers that had been left in the cells by the negligent guards. Inmates that did eat the provided food would become drugged, essentially compliant against their will. The guards liked to keep everything that way; it was easier to abuse something that wouldn’t fight back.

As he lay on the damp and chilly stone floor, he noticed himself starting to lose track of how long he had been in there. Has it been a week? Or maybe two? Perhaps only four fucking days... He shifted over onto his other side. I’m losing my fucking mind. He could hear footsteps above him and the muffled sounds of the guards conversing. His bones popped and creaked as he tried to stand himself up, which proved difficult since he couldn't feel his legs. Shit. They wobbled a little, but he managed to stand himself up against the wall, after pulling himself up by the cell bars.

He looked through the bars into the dimly lit chamber. A few inmates were whispering to each other in a far corner, and what seemed to be the voice of a young soldier continued to whimper. Exékiel remembered all sorts of shrieking sounds the night before, the sounds of their metal batons beating against flesh, the cracking of bones, and the agony filled screams from the victim of the guards’ misplaced wrath and abuse. He was just too out of it to have any sort of involvement. Creaking and thumping came from the stairwell, and he shifted his focus to it. The creaking grew louder as the guard got closer. Exékiel grinned before emitting a soft and deranged chuckle. He felt a sort of excitement, knowing that whoever was coming down was not just coming for a friendly visit.

What's with the laughing? You goddamn lunatic, the guard barked antagonistically, approaching his cell and staring at Exékiel through the thick, dark, and rusted steel bars. The guard’s eyes danced wildly behind them. Why wouldn’t I be laughing? Just get it over with. Do what you came down here to do. Exékiel grinned just before he abruptly spat through the bars. The guard quickly jumped back to avoid contact with the saliva but had failed as he groaned and watched it roll down his breastplate. Why you piece of shit... The guard grunted angrily as he attempted to strike Exékiel in the face with the end of his baton. The hit was dodged, and Exékiel started laughing again as he began to pace around in his cell. The other inmates quieted entirely and started watching the exchange.

Keep it up, and I’ll beat you again, just like what we did to you the last time you pulled this shit! the guard yelled.

You can’t threaten me with something that you all suck at doing. Exékiel spat at the floor and then looked at the guard with a nasty grin. Not one of you could handle me alone. Pathetic. "Tell me, when will you all learn? Exékiel asked, starting to take on a condescending tone. Yes, you do that, but has it ever stopped me from eventually overtaking you when you try? ...No, all it does is entice me," he added, while he stared menacingly at the guard.

You bastard! the guard shouted angrily as he attempted to strike Exékiel again, but he ripped the baton through the cell bars and tore it from the guard’s grip. Can’t even hold your own weapon securely. That was too easy.

Oh look. Look what I have, Exékiel taunted, gripping it by the handle and looking at the guard with a crazed expression. Come in, come in, he sang, twirling it in circles as he continued to taunt. Neighboring inmates could be heard snickering at the spectacle.

The guard was enraged, and the fact that Exékiel could easily fight him alone, even in his battered state, only made him angrier. Get your asses down here! This piece of shit needs to be taught a lesson! the guard shouted up the stairwell and then turned to face Exékiel. Maybe you'll finally learn your fuckin’ lesson this time, the guard spat, approaching Exékiel’s cell with a smirk on his face.

You humor me. "You keep using that word… as if you actually have the authority to teach me anything. Maggot," he sneered, pausing to look at the rage building on the man’s face. Laughable fucking sight. No bearing. What can I expect from the bottom of the fucking barrel?

You see... I'm not the one who needs any learning. Only the ones who can’t meet the basic requirements end up serving here in corrections. Unfit for military use, Exékiel lunged forward, whispering harshly only three inches away from the guard’s face.  The man’s eyes widened; his heartbeat froze as he stared into the empty, glowing, white eyes directly in front of him. Is that fear I smell? Or did you just piss? Exékiel mocked as he watched the look of complete terror form in the man's eyes. He then sank back, away from the bars, as the others approached.

Three more guards came barreling down the steps. Dekohveinchy causin' trouble again? one of them asked. Exékiel looked at them with a predatory look in his eyes.

Wipe that fucking look off your face! one shouted at him as they started to open the cell door to retrieve the baton.

Exékiel stood still, just daring them to enter. Come on, you chicken shits. You don’t have all day, but I do. He refused to back down and braced himself for the scuffle that was about to happen.

The cell door swung open with such force that it barreled into the cell bars and caused the metal to rattle furiously. Exékiel gripped the baton as the guards closed in on him. He waited until one took a miscalculated swing and then wrangled the weapon from the guard’s grip. You should have stuck to mopping the floors for the warden. He bashed them over the head with it, cracking open the skin at the top of their head. That guard slumped to the ground from the impact. The other guard, who was a lot bigger than the others, grabbed Exékiel’s wrists and pinned him up against the wall. Another quickly began trying to pry the weapon from his grip. The third guard continued to lay on the floor, assumingly knocked out.

Exékiel struggled with the men for a long while, using what was left of his energy to fight back. He landed every solid hit he could manage and every kick he could land into their ribs until he was spent. Out of breath and muscles fatigued, his attacks began to weaken, and he stopped to reserve his energy. Fuck. Yeah, I’m done. He then fell to the ground, his heartbeat slowed, and his vision faded as his body began to shut down from the lack of nutrition, water, and sleep. He could not feel anything at that point, nothing but the satisfaction of getting under the skin of the damned guards. Finally, he lost consciousness.

***

Exékiel awoke hours later and forced himself up from the floor to rest his back against the cell wall. Movement in general was getting more and more difficult to manage. He ran his fingers through his filthy black hair to push the mangled mess back, wincing when he brushed over a throbbing bruise on his scalp. Fuck! he cursed aloud.

Don’t take your eyes off that one! one of the guards shouted as a couple of them entered the dungeon. Exékiel looked up, searching for the source of the voice. Well, if it isn’t the one-handed wonder… It was one of the guards he had dealt with a couple times in the past when he had been sentenced to isolation for other past offenses. He’ll kill you if you aren’t watching yourself around him. Bastard’s got a real track record around here, the same guard warned another who was visibly younger than he was as he approached the center of the dungeon.

The younger guard stepped back and watched cautiously while the older guard approached his cell. I’m surprised you’re still alive, Dekohveinchy, he teased, emitting an amused heavy laugh. Exékiel watched his silhouette increase in size through his swollen eyes.

How’s it going without your right hand? Exékiel asked flatly, pausing to observe the reaction. Looks like I hit a nerve. "Must have made it hard to jerk yourself, aye? I can’t blame you for being pissed with me," he mocked.

Visible rage boiled in the older guard’s face as he worked to restrain himself. Maybe you should shut your mouth, the older guard suggested.

Maybe you should suck your boyfriend off over there, Exékiel proposed sarcastically, watching as the guard hesitated for a moment when he was about to unlock his cell but recoiled his hand from the lock. Almost there. Just a few more buttons to push.

Hey. What was his court sentence this time? he asked the younger guard who held a clipboard with all the information regarding the inmates. Come on, at least have the decency to ask me directly.

One month, pending execution. It’s doubtful my Commander can save me this time. …I’m afraid I got nothing left to lose, pretty boy, Exékiel taunted, answering before the younger one could.

Who the hell would save some reptilian scum like you? the older guard replied.

You're shit at insults, you know that? "The same people who condemned your ass here, you dickless bitch. I find it hard to believe out of one million sperm, you were the one that made it to the fucking egg," Exékiel responded.

The comment was enough to coax the now enraged guard to enter Exékiel’s cell. To his surprise, Exékiel had freed his hands from the lock and chain that had been placed on him for his previous outburst the day before. Shit! the younger guard screeched aloud right as Exékiel leapt onto the older guard with a chain-wrapped fist and began bludgeoning his face, busting his skin open in various areas. We need some help down here! Help! the younger guard yelled out.

Someone from above could be heard slamming something out of frustration and barreling down the stairs. Okay, what the fuck is going on now? You two knuckleheads can’t seem to handle your goddamn shifts, the warden yelled as he stepped forward, with his nightstick at full charge, and plunged its tip into Exékiel’s shoulder.

Goddamn it. Why? …Fuck, that burns. Annoyed by the ruckus, he gripped the guard by the back of his uniform, flung him out of the cell, and slammed the cell door shut, right at the time Exékiel had slumped to the floor as a result from the shock. Every part of his body had tensed up, and he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

You. Upstairs and head to the infirmary, now. Stop fucking with these inmates, he scolded the battered guard, who at his command had instantly began trudging up the stairs and mumbling under his breath. Alright, newbie. I don’t care what your senior correctional officers tell you, y’all are to leave these fuckers in the isolation cells alone. Only I or the assistant warden should ever be touching these cell doors. Unless I tell you otherwise, he ordered.

Better listen to him, Exékiel said in agreeance with the warden’s instruction, although his voice was labored.

And you, stop antagonizing my guards! The warden paused for a moment. …I don’t even know why I bothered saying that. Once I file this, it’s sure to solidify your execution, the warden continued, turning his attention to the infamous delinquent officer before him.

That’s the point, dumbass. Good, Exékiel said coldly. Both the warden and the young guard could only stare at him in terror at how fearless and indifferent he had sounded.

The young guard waited until the warden had returned upstairs before gingerly approaching Exékiel’s cell. Why are you doing this to yourself, Lieutenant Commander? he asked.

There was a long pause before Exékiel finally answered; he rested his head back against the stone wall and gave him a long and hollow stare. Someone this soft has no business on this post. "Do yourself a favor. …Don’t ask inmates shit like that. Do exactly what you’re fucking told and make it easier on yourself," he said.

The young man appeared disheartened. Yes, sir, he said shyly, turning away from those cold and murderous eyes glaring directly at him.

Don’t call me that, Exékiel grumbled, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds of the guard’s footsteps fade as he walked away. You won’t last long, kid. I can tell you that. He sat there with his eyes closed for a while.

***

A large rat skittered across the dungeon floor, stopping only to feed off the remains of a nearby corpse in another cell. The isolation cells were never cleaned; if someone died, the guards wouldn’t care to remove it until the smell of decomposition was too unbearable for them. Exékiel’s stomach growled, aching as he watched the rat pick at the decomposed body. It had surely been about a week since he had eaten, and he was getting too weak. He needed the strength, although it would not be much. Better than nothing. The rat continued to blissfully gnaw at its food source, unaware of the starving eyes watching it.

He made it quick; a short desperate squeak was followed by a loud crack as the rat’s neck was broken with a harsh twist. Once he sunk his teeth in, he began eating around the small bones. Food was food, at this point. Raw and uncooked rat was still a better option than the poisonous and drugged food that was supplied. A single rat would be enough to suffice at this point; he just needed to gain enough strength to function.

The guards picked on the weak, often beating them to their death. Other times they instigated things on purpose. He finished the last of the rat and selected the thickest bone from the rodent’s remains before he tossed the rest aside. One guard in particular, who was typically on night duty, was in mind as he filed one side of the bone against the floor into a makeshift shank. He pocketed it for whenever he would be on duty next.

***

Later that night, that very guard came down and walked over to the opposite cell to his on the other side. How convenient. Exékiel had grown very tired of him picking on the poor kid across the hall; it was only a matter of time before the abuse would kill him. That very inmate had laid on the floor all day, not moving a single muscle. Yet as soon as he heard the guard’s footsteps coming, the boy whined desperately in fear. He had them memorized. Did you miss me? I missed you, the guard creepily whispered to him. Disgusting fucker.

I missed you, Exékiel said abruptly.

He intentionally acted weak and leaned against the bars to try and get a good look through the gap in the guard’s helmet. He had never seen him without it, but he knew that voice very well. A voice he had the misfortune of encountering several times in the past. I keep missing you. Every time you’re down here, I’m either unconscious or hardly alive. Come here. Exékiel waved his finger at him, motioning for him to come closer.

The boy went silent, probably hoping that the guard would leave him alone. Lieutenant Commander, the guard addressed, looking towards him with a rather perplexed look in his eyes. His head shifted to the side with apprehension.

Why the hesitation? Exékiel asked, innocently shrugging his shoulders. I just wanna chat. It’s been a few years. …Just like old times, he said casually while he stepped away into the darker corner of his cell. I’m a lot older now, but I’m sure that won’t stop you from taking the bait like the dumbfuck you are...

Oh? the guard chuckled, slowly walking into an unknown trap.

Exékiel listened intently for the keys. The guard stopped in front of his cell for a moment, staring at him in the darkness. What are you waiting for? The keys began to rattle, and the lock clicked open. The guard stepped in, but his reflexes were too slow after he had locked the cell behind him. Exékiel stepped behind him and quickly pierced him from behind in his back, severing his spinal cord.

The guard tried to yell out for help, but his efforts failed him. Exékiel had ripped off his helmet and clamped his hand tightly over the man’s mouth. Shut your ass up. "Shhhh. You’ll wake up the others. We can’t have that interruption, can we? he spoke softly to him as they both slumped back against the wall. By luck, the guard’s muffled cries while he bled out in Exékiel’s arms had failed to alert the sleeping guards upstairs. He held the man still until his pulse grew weak, then released his body to the floor in the corner of the cell. Exékiel stood up, staring at the guard in his final moments. I couldn’t let you continue to target others, he said coldly, kneeling beside him and leaning in. Your services are no longer required," he whispered harshly in his ear, getting a final look at the face of the person who once targeted him. You consented to your death the second you stepped in my cell. The guard gasped, trying one final time to scream, but he couldn’t.

When he had finally drawn his last breath, Exékiel glanced up in the direction of the boy across the hall. It’s over, kid. He won’t hurt you anymore. …His growing list of victims ended tonight, Exékiel said as he got up and walked to the opposite side of his cell, away from the guard’s corpse, and sat down staring at it with an empty expression. At least I took you out this time.

A few minutes later, a small frail voice spoke up from across the room. Thank you, sir, the boy said weakly.

Don’t mention it, Exékiel responded, staring across the dungeon at the boy’s cell. Inmates all around began chatting and whispering about what had just happened.

Enough time eventually passed that he lay again on the floor listening to the conversations above and around. He overheard that one of the guards had been ordered to check on him. Great. When the guard finally came down to do just that, he noticed the pile of uneaten food and a full water dish in the corner. You don’t eat? the guard asked, astonished by the fact that every time he had come to collect Exékiel’s tray, the food was always untouched.

What a stupid question. "That surprises you? You expect me to eat that shit? …The lowly vermin haven’t touched it either," Exékiel said flatly, and the guard glared in response.

You should be thankful you even get food, he replied. Exékiel grinned for a second and chuckled at the ridiculous comment. What’s so funny? the guard asked angrily as he picked up some of the food. Exékiel didn’t respond; he just sat in the shadowed corner of his cell.

The guard walked over and attempted to force the food into his mouth, but he ended up getting punched in the throat and knocked to the floor. You did this to yourself. Exékiel quickly hopped on top of him with what strength he had left and began punching him in the face repeatedly. The guard screamed for help while he tried to fight the boy off.

After slugging the ignorant guard multiple times in the face, Exékiel’s energy was spent once again. I hate being this tired and weak. His blows slowed and weakened until he became limp and could no longer move. The guard saw his chance, shoved him off, and busted him in the nose with a strike of his baton, sending him onto his back to the floor. Exékiel felt his body becoming weaker and sluggish, his heartbeat slowing once more, and he started to feel cold.

The guard stood up and kicked once at Exékiel’s side to make sure he stayed down before he sat down on the metal bench to catch his breath. He truly wondered how the young Lieutenant Commander had the energy he did, despite his malnourished condition. Exékiel laid there lifelessly, slowly slipping deeper into unconsciousness. The guard’s eyes traveled to the dark corner of the cell and saw the corpse, jumping up in horror when it dawned on him that it was another guard. Oh fuck, the warden’s gonna freak… he mouthed. He noticed the keys and stared at Exékiel with the utmost confusion, wondering why he hadn’t tried to run away. He quickly grabbed the keys off the deceased guard’s body, rushed out of the cell to lock it, and then scurried upstairs to alert the warden of his finds.

***

Hours must have passed, maybe a day or two. The overhead lamps squeaked as they swung in the draft that seeped from the gaps of the narrow windows, creating a constant moving light in the dark and wet dungeon. His ragged trousers had become stained with the dirt brought in by rainwater that usually kept the stone floor and walls damp. Blood had dripped from his nose and onto his lips; he could taste the dirt and rusty flavor of his dried blood. Am I still alive? Shit.

How’s that feel? asked the guard from before, eyeing him with justifiable caution as he stood in front of his cell. How the fuck do you think it feels? He then began to casually tap his baton on the metal bars which echoed throughout the entire chamber.

Exékiel was too disoriented to speak; he felt close to death. He felt cold, numb, and nearly euphoric from his poor state. Everything fucking hurts. He tried to hold himself up by digging his fingers into the dirty floor, but his shoulders couldn’t support