Don't fear the face of Death, for he is the face of all man.

•

Some say that hell is other people; that hell is but only in the mind, and that hell is a place...but in this case it's all of the above, though just far between the cracks of life's façade. And it all starts in a town,  called (S)hellville, U. S. A. 

Rowland DeWilliers is a South African born artist who resides in this blue and yet dry American coastal haven with a lust and desire for life despite his inability to chase after it , as he scrubs dishes and tries to pay his bills. 
Upon meeting a dark stranger by the name of Nick, his dreams suddenly seem achievable and on his way to distinguished fame, he,  along with the haphazard guidance from his new aquiantance, starts to see the world anew. 

But with such enlightenment, comes the price of the shadowy darkness that which surrounds him. Until he is faced with the choice of being DeWilliers/Machapela  or becoming DEVILE.

DeVil in the Details.

"I'm telling you Lucius, you've gotta put those phones away before you start glowing green.", Rowland laughed at the sound of His reaction as he jokingly scoffed. 


"You know what, Macspazatron. It's a social thing, I don't think you'd get it.", as Nick said this Rowland lolled his head and rolled his eyes in sarcastic humor; 


"Hardy har, asshole. But, you can miss me on the people bit." 


"And secondly, I don't think that's how radiation works. They're kinda stuck on me what with important business and shit.", Nick stretched. 


"Magnetism, it's already starting.", Rowland jolted to one side and smiled to himself as Nick nudged him in the side with his knuckles while he, stared thoughtfully at the floor having just remembered something; 


"Speaking of, people. What are we gonna do at the ball-gala-dinner... Thing anyway?", Nick revealed his hand in his peripheral view as he passed over the blunt before roughly settling back down. 


Tsar Bomba Tea