Excerpt of Mindless by Mark Bozon

Letter from the Editor

I’m here in the humblest of places; the waiting room to paradise.

And it’s small. Almost humorously small, in fact.

You might normally describe it as “quaint” or “comfy,” but with so much electricity coursing through my veins, you’d think this was my first day on the job. My assignment, as many of you who read this already know, is to explore and to share. For over half a decade I’ve worked for the Neo Angelica Times, and along the way I’ve reported the news as I’ve seen it, sharing my experiences with the citizens of the greatest city since Rome’s fall. You may scoff at the thought, but I can assure you there’s no greater honor in the world than being a journalist.

In fact, I’d wager that at this time there’s no greater honor than to be this journalist. Me. Unassuming, underdressed Jake Tentlewood, born and raised like all of you in the safety and serenity of our humble little pod. It’s our home — our perfect little slice of life on a barren, broken-down planet. This is Neo Angelica. This is our city, and it’s a grand city.

And yet, it isn’t enough. We see our true calling on the horizon. Our mecca ever looming in the distance: Dios. Our capital. To some, it feels light years away; to others it’s like something out of a fairy tale; like Oz’s great Emerald City taunting us all in its majesty. Just a step or two away. Always a bit out of reach. It has forever been shrouded in mystery, yet beyond its masked interior is a world of unparalleled imagination and technology. It’s a place in which only the most elite and prestigious reside. A holy of holies. It’s the true heart of Neo Angelica, and for the first time in our city’s rich history, a commoner like me is granted the privilege to step through its gates, walk its streets, and return to tell the tale.

It is with honor and great humility that I accept this task. To peer into Dios. To learn. To experience life among its chosen people.

To do all of this, and then share my story with you.

For years you’ve been my family. You’ve seen what I’ve seen and felt what I’ve felt. You were with me in my greatest moments and carried me through my darkest days. Now, as I take this first step, I’m no longer afraid because you’re all here with me. This will truly be my life’s work, and I do it for all of you.

I do it for us.

We deserve answers. We crave a response to our call, and finally, we have it.

Read on, citizens of Neo Angelica, for we are about to walk the road of kings.

Jake Tentlewood, Editor-in-Chief; Neo Angelica Times

June 11, 2283

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No sooner had Jake finished his introduction than a young woman entered the greenroom quietly through the door opposite him. He placed his tablet to the side, looking up. Blonde, just over five feet tall, and wearing a revealing, but elegant black dress, she looked as much an escort as a front desk clerk.

“Mr. Tentlewood.” A statement rather than a question. Her voice was cold.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mr. Venz is ready for you. Please follow me.” A quick pivot on her heels.

Jake quickly gathered his bag and hopped to his feet, following a few paces behind the woman as she led him down a sterile white hall, in-ceiling lights guiding them like a skyward freeway lane. He took in as much information as he could about his surroundings as they walked. The main hall extended for what seemed like an eternity. Aside from the two of them, it was lifeless, and the gentle click of the woman’s heels echoed as the single, solitary sound. It was all so clean. Almost intentional in its expressionless veneer. Jake concluded that it was designed with function far outweighing its form. This was no grand entrance. No river of chocolate in Wonka’s factory. He was being ushered in through the back door.

Why bother with an entrance? He thought to himself. You people never have visitors.

The two continued on, and with every step, Jake felt himself becoming more submerged in the cold, impersonal aura of Dios’s underground. Like the woman he was now unintentionally ogling, it paid him no mind, which in turn only further compelled him. Time bled into obscurity as they marched, flanked on both sides by an endless sea of doors fitted with ascending alphanumeric codes: A227 – SUR. A228 – SUR. A229 – SUR.

“Excuse me, miss?” Jake said.

“Yes, Mr. Tentlewood,” she answered without breaking stride. No pause. No glance of acknowledgement.

“Where exactly are we?”

“Mr. Venz will explain everything.” Her heels echoed on.

Jake wondered if A999 – SUR would flip over to A1000 or B001, and he almost got his answer. After an extended trek in silence, the woman abruptly stopped, motioned to her right, and spoke.

“Mr. Venz is through that door. Farewell, Mr. Tentlewood.” And, with that, she turned and walked back the way they had come.

“Here we go, Jake,” he said to himself, a wave of anxiety rearing its head.

A moment to breathe. He opened the door.

The atmosphere between the two rooms was undeniably divergent. Only darkness existed beyond the threshold, and the uncompromising black seemed to extend into the brightness of the halls, rather than the other way around. Jake’s eyes struggled to adjust as he stepped in, finding the room to be much larger than he’d expected.

His eyes were drawn to the far wall, home to a makeshift control center stacked floor to ceiling with dozens of flat-screen monitors. It was the clear focal point of the room, though without power fueling the displays, they felt vacant. Lifeless. Surrounding the monitors was a half-circle of workstations, each housing its own personal display and standard-issue office chair. It looked like a miniature re-creation of the old NASA control centers he’d seen in holofilms back in high school, a relic of a time when man attempted to recklessly hurl himself into space with little more than jet fuel and a dream.

He could feel the air around him: warm and musky; the product of aging machinery. It was hard to confirm it in the muted room, but Jake imagined a sea of dust particles all around him, their only movement provided by an army of tiny computer fans that had now given up the fight. Whatever this place was, it was important. At least it had been, at some long-ago time. He imagined what it would look like all lit up, jam-packed with people at every station. What secrets of Dios would lie beyond the blackness?

He forged ahead, deeper into the room.

“No peeking.” The voice came without warning, coupled with the sudden appearance of more light. Jake spun around, his eyes finally winning the war waged against the darkness, and could make out the figure of a man standing in the far corner of the room. He was shrouded in shadow, a dull hue emitting from a small stained glass lamp on a table beside him, now humming to life.

All of Jake’s senses were hit at once. The vision of the figure’s relaxed, yet unmistakably professional demeanor. The smell of a freshly lit cigar. The colors of the glass reaching out in their newly given life. The gentle hum of electricity mixed with the subtle crackle of tobacco, fueled with each drag.

Excerpted from MINDLESS by Mark Bozon, Copyright © 2026 by Mark Bozon