Long ago, on a day rued and celebrated, the royal family of the house Patien was deposed. For their greed, sloth, and abuse of divine mandate, the peasantry demanded a punishment even beyond death. After so many years of suffering, their hunger was satisfied in the very courtyard the rebellion had begun.

Marcus, a proud low ranked soldier turned leader of the rebellion, stood in the very center of the courtyard beside a strange device, one said to be a tool of justice.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” said the proud looking man. “Today, retribution belongs to us!”

“YEAH!” cheered the crowd, a motley of haggard men and women waving bloody farming tools in calloused hands.

“While many here cry for the justice of bloodshed, I believe this rebellion has spilled more than enough to sow the seeds of liberty. Further deaths would entail the same needless excess that the royalty has subjected onto us.” Marcus said. “I believe justice mustn’t equate death, and to this end, a certain madame has a solution!”

A young woman with a dusty dress stood beside Marcus. A bit cleaner, and she would’ve looked the part of a scholar. The woman was Chatte Smith, and she was the mother of the monster of justice.

“Thank you,” Chatte said. “With the help of Rasha the Warlock, I have made this machine, the Decaptapult!”

“That scoundrel?!” Cried a furious peasant.

“As long as they suffer I say!” Declared another.

“What kind of name is decaptapult?” Asked a third, more ambivalent voice.

“This device shall decapitate its victim and launch their head a great distance, warlock magic keeping head and body alive as separate beings, lost to each other.” Chatte said.

“The sentence for head and body will be separate.” Marcus said, distastefully. He had been less partial to granting the warlock clemency in exchange for his aid, but Marcus had been outvoted by his peers and if a new democracy were to succeed he would have to accede to the will of the people. Their will had selected the first victim of the decaptapult as well, “Bring in the Queen!”

Guards pulled up a young looking but mature tempered woman with long dark hair from the line up of prisoners. Her neck was fastened into the decaptapult, her arms handcuffed.

“Your pitifulness,” Marcus said, smiling at her former highness, “You are charged with embezzlement, orchestrating unlawful executions, and genocide of our southern neighbors, among other lesser crimes.” Marcus said.

With what little movement she had, the Queen looked up at Marcus and shouted. “I did what I did because I could, you voracious rats, and my only regret is that I will not see my incompotent associates hanged for allowing me to be captured!”

“Associates? Are you referring to your own family?!” Chatte demanded.

“They are tools to continue my lineage and a source of power, nothing more!” the Queen said, knowing full well that they could all hear her.

“You have no heart!” Chatte roared. “Is that why you killed my father? He taught the values of love and family, alongside literature and science, and you had him dismembered and his pieces delivered to my grieving mother! I thought he’d died for being a scholar, now I see he died for daring to love within earshot of you!”

“Sounds like something I’d do.” the Queen said, her shoulders shrugging against the lunette, “But frankly I can’t say I remember him in particular. The story you spin is not as unique as you believe. There are scores more with tales just like it.”

“You’ve all heard, she has plead guilty.” Marcus interjected, hoping to end this drama. “Chatte, if you will.”

“Gladly!” Chatte said, pulling a lever.

“Her body will face life imprisonment, while her head shall be displayed as a reminder of what transpired today!” Marcus said.

The Queen’s head fell from her shoulders onto a cupped pad, an ethereal coating surrounding her shocked face as her eyes darted in confusion. She had just enough time to ask “What is the meaning of this?” before she was suddenly launched with a scream.

“Music.” Chatte said, closing her eyes and listening to the queen’s terrified, shrinking scream.

The commoners watched as their former queen’s head sailed screaming through the sky. Her cry silenced only when she landed in a slimy muck filled swamp with a mighty splash. The head soon floated to the surface, face up, allowing the embarrassed queen to yell “Get me out of here! I order you all to help your queen!”

Hearing her cries, the former King collapsed sobbing. His long, luscious gray hair and beard that was a quarter as long and curly was imprinted on every coin in the kingdom, and soon he would bear much more resemblance that bodiless visage than he ever could’ve predicted. “Please, have mercy! This is no way to treat a hungry old man!”

“Show some dignity!” Chatte said.

“King Silas III, you have been charged with mismanagement of government resources, funneling taxes, raw materials, and labor towards personal endeavors, all the while working laborers to death under inhumane conditions and executing those who refused to submit to these conditions.” Marcus said.

“I swear, I am innocent! It’s all my wife’s doing, I was nothing but a puppet!” the King said, trying to pull free from the iron grip of his guards.

“This from the man who rarely leaves the opulence of his palace to attend to matters of state, spending more time at his dining table or wardrobe than observing the plight of the people, and flaunts his wealth whenever he does deign to step outside?” Chatte asked.

“I saw their plight, and gave all that I could!” Silias countered. “I donated cloth and coin, set up charities and orphanages, surely the people can testify to this.”

“Rags and trash. Ramshackle hovels that boiled in the summer and allowed every wicked lash of the winter winds through their creaking walls.” Marcus said. “The people needed materials to repair their tools, fresh food and ingredients, lower taxes. You offered them monuments to your own excess, statues carved as much from blood as from stone.”

The King was finally fastened to the decaptapult, his neck so thick it barely fit. The man tried to escape, but more guards held him down. “No no no! I’m only living my life to the fullest! Would you not do the same?”

“Unlike us, you are the King. We serve you, you were supposed to serve the kingdom. instead, you took from us our goods or even our lives.” Marcus said.

“You don’t know what it means to be a king, peasant!” the King said. “You are to dedicate everything to me, nothing else should matter!”

“Was that why you showed no regrets for all those you executed?” Chatte asked.

“What? Justice must be served!” Silias said.

“You’re right, and justice will be served. For those you had murdered to bury your scandals, the girls you fucked and their family members you wished to silence! Even your chefs weren’t exempt from the block if they failed to deliver a meal to your standards. Mind you, the ones you kept cooking your meals without rest, as slaves.” Chatte said.

“Like the Queen, his body shall be locked up and his head shall be displayed for us to see and mock!” Marcus said.

The blade dropped, the King’s head cut like tender if bloodless meat. It landed on the catapult and launched screaming, not to the pond where his wife’s head was already being fished out by local fishermen but to a grove. Specifically, one filled with beehives. The impact of his head against a tree alarmed the bees, which swarmed his head when he landed on the ground.



“Ahhhh! Help! Please!” Silias said.

The head became swollen and somehow thicker from the stings. The bees were aggressive as the former king shook himself side to side. It only made things worse as the bees kept thinking the head was a threat.

As the king’s screams echoed in the distance, Marcus turned to the next victim in line. “Leanne, former general of the royal army and eldest daughter of King Silas III and Queen Olivia, please step forward.”

Leanne was noticeably smaller outside of her gold and platinum accented steel plate armor, which had clearly been padded to make her seem more imposing. As one of the only women in the army, she needed to command the immediate respect of friend and foe. Still, she was not a frail looking woman; as tall as your average man, with broad shoulders on which was perched a sneering face radiating quiet contempt.

“Leanne?” Marcus repeated, ready to have her dragged to the decaptapult like her parents.

The guards took one step towards Leanne, when she silently strode over to the device. She glanced at the bodies of her mother and father, alive and trembling as guards bound their hands and feet together to disabuse any notion of escape. Their emotions were unreadable without their faces; did they tremble in fear? Anger? Confusion? Could they see or hear?

Leane would soon find out, or at least her body would. She sat down on the bed and in the same movement rotated herself into position and laid down. She felt the lunette clamp around her neck, though her hands remained unbound and free to move. She simply folded them over her midsection as she impatiently awaited sentencing.

“Leanne, you stand accused of carrying out and ordering unlawful executions, disregard for the lives under your command, wanton cruelty to the civilian populace both of our nation and our neighbors, and of nepotism within the ranks. You promoted many lovers to positions they had no experience in or qualifications for, and their incompetence squandered lives.” Marcus said, his words particularly harsh as he recalled the many comrades and friends he had lost from Leanne’s military mismanagement. “What say you in your defense?”

Leanne craned her neck to look at her accuser, noticing that upside-down Marcus was cuter than right-side-up Marcus. Perhaps if she’d promoted him, she would have avoided this mess. Or perhaps not. Rebellions were never built on one man. “Two things.” She said, holding up her right hand and extending her index and ring fingers. “First, I just wanted to be in charge of the royal stables. I never wanted to be a general in the first place, daddy-... er, the king just made me do it because his only male heir is a chickenshit coward on top of being blind as a bat.”

“Hey!” called her younger brother, turning in the direction of her voice. “Indeed, the royal physicians had sadly declared it would be a miracle if he wasn’t blind by twenty five, and Rasha’s many attempts to repair his sight with magic had all failed. The last of these failures, in fact, was the one that ultimately saw the king lose all faith in the warlock and resulted in his imprisonment pending execution.”

Leane turned her attention from Marcus to the incompotent warlock, scowling as she locked eyes with him.

“Secondly,” She said, dropping her index finger and in the process flipping off the crowd. “I’d like to say that you’ve chosen your allies poorly. Rasha is a charlatan and a con man, his control over magic is at best limited, and when his spells don’t work as intended he either fakes it or tries spinning the shortcomings into boons. I’ve been trying to have him burned at the stake for years, and father was only convinced that I’d been right all along after Rasha’s most recent, humiliating failure to fix Whitley’s sight.”

“Are we really going to stand around listening to this snake with her venomous tongue?!” Rasha demanded, the vizier stepping up to the lever ready to pull it himself. “She seeks to sow discord, turning us on one another at our hour of victory! Come, let us show her that we are united in our cause!”

The vizier threw a fist in the air and cheered, and like clockwork the crowd followed, drowning out Leanne’s protests as the vizier yanked the lever. Leanne showed no emotion as her head was cut off, her eyes closed and calm as she accepted her fate.

A fraction of a second later her head was launched, the deliberately random decaptapult throwing her head in a wildly different direction than her parents. It sailed in a short high arc, crashing ironically into the royal stables she’d always wanted to run instead of the army. Even with feces covering her hair, the former general showed no reaction. One of the horses started chewing at her short, straight, straw colored hair, shocking the disembodied head

“Elena? My, how much you grown,” Leanne said, trying and failing to get sentimental and getting the horse to stop gnawing on her.

Back at the courtyard, Marcus had Rasha handcuffed for inciting the crowd, though the warlock hardly resisted. Biding his time was his specialty. Rubbing his forehead in disappointment, Marcus said “We hadn’t passed our sentence yet.”

“What? We all know where this is going!” Rasha said. “Besides, you seemed to be having a lot of fun pulling this device, taking justice into your hands. I thought I’d join you.”

“Need I remind you that we have not come to a decision on whether or not you will be joining the House Patien on the decaptapult’s bed yet?” Chatte said.

His hands still bound behind his back, Rasha stormed up to Marcus and hissed “That wasn’t the deal! I agreed to bless Chatte’s infernal contraption, you agreed to pardon me!” He stepped back, and in a much louder and more theatric voice declared “I am as much a victim of the House Patien as anyone! I was a slave, forced to do their bidding or be killed! You heard Leanne, the royals had no love for me!”

While some of the crowd cheered Rasha, others jeered. His magic had helped prop up the terrible regime and inflicted great cruelty on the populace and for a so-called slave Rasha certainly seemed well fed, well dressed, well groomed, well cared for, and lived in much better conditions than any peasant.

Marcus leaned over to Rasha, and whispered just loud enough for the warlock and Chatte to hear “I believe the deal was, that if you helped us, we’d allow you to keep your head. I did not recall saying it would not be removed.” Marcus whispered back. “You agreed to bless the decaptapult so the heads wouldn’t be damaged by the fall and wouldn’t age, so they could be displayed. They were never meant to stay alive, and their bodies definitely shouldn’t be conscious. You have modified your end of the deal, are we not allowed the same luxury?”

Turning to the crowd before Rasha could retort, Marcus ordered “Bring her head back.”

Soon, a horse in white came toward the stand with the hair of Leanne in its mouth, the head looking more annoyed than angry. She looked at her own body, who stood unrestrained beside her parents’ tied up and struggling bodies, unbothered by the separation.

“While my military career was foisted on me, I must confess I grew into the role comfortably. My actions were wrong, and I take full responsibility for them. Punish me as you wish.” Leanne said.

“Wow… never knew she had dignity.” Chatte said, wincing as Leanne shot her a scowl.

Marcus nodded. “Very well! Her body will be in a prison separate from her family’s while her head will be displayed in the military barracks to remind future soldiers to serve their country, not simply whatever fool may lead it. Head and body will receive psychological care and may be paroled if and when their punishment has been deemed sufficient.”

“That is a rather light sentence.” Leanne said.

“I will not give you the satisfaction of seeing my cause stoop to your level.” Marcus said, almost a little glad that Rasha’s spell had inadvertently left the heads alive. “Besides, you gave me some peace of mind, which deserves a reward.”

“Are you sure?” Chatte asked. “Can’t we at least put her head somewhere… less pleasant?”

“Her men will deal with her as they see fit even if they are supposed to be disciplined. At the same time, they will remember what it means to be a soldier.” Marcus said.

“I guess...” Chatte said. “Was hoping we would stick with the idea of using her as target practice for the new soldiers… ugh, whatever. Just bring in the next family member!”

“Let go of me!” cried a scrawny blond man.

“Whitely! You son of a bitch!” Marcus shouted, taking a deep breath.

“Hello there, fuck face!” Whitely said. Despite being blind and turning his head frantically, he had some idea of where he was at least. “You know you can’t do this! You’ll be just as bad as me!”

“On the contrary. Unlike your victims, you will live under my mercy.” Marcus said.

He unfurled the list of crimes Whitley stood accused of, opened his mouth to speak, then puked, everyone staring in disbelief as their proud leader was ill. The man tried to keep his dignity, but could not speak due to sickness. Handing the parchment to Chatte so she could read it to the crowd, the inventor looked at the document and barfed alongside Marcus.

“[cough cough] Ugh. For crimes unspeakable, your punishment will be the most severe of all!” Chatte said.

“What crimes? The courts have absolved me of guilt in every proceeding!” Whitely gloated.

“They come down to murder and rape,” Marcus coughed. “Especially over my little brother and his girlfriend!”

“Uh… huh… Sorry Marky, my memory isn’t what it used to be. Remind me, which was killed and which was raped?” Whitely asked.

“In the stated order!” Marcus said. “And if that weren’t enough, you filthy pig, you… no, no I will not indulge you any longer. Your body will be shackled in the darkest of dungeons for life, while your head will not be displayed but buried!” Marcus said.

“Rasha, buddy, you heard the whore! They’ll be chopping you too! Come on, use your magic to save me and yourself if you’ve got the time!” Whitely said, panic entering his voice as he looked where Rasha’s voice had come from minutes ago.

“You have harassed, bullied, and abused me since the day you could talk. I think it is time you finally experience the punishment your impotent father should have been giving you.” Rasha said, taking special satisfaction in punishing the brat.

The former prince was worried, his life spent committing atrocities finally catching up to him as his status would no longer let him skip the consequences. He teared up, gritting his teeth and whining like a feral dog as his sadistic attitude no longer had any power to back it up.

“Ah… by law, there shall be no cruel or unusual punishment under any circumstances!” Whitely said with desperation. “All prisoners have rights!”

“How convenient you forgot the exception of when the punishment matches the crime. We discussed this possibility, doing to you what you’ve done to so many, and thought this a humane alternative.” Chatte said.

“You stupid whore! Who are you to lecture me on my own father’s laws?! You all deserve death!” Whitley cried.

“Secure him.” Marcus said, softly.

“No! AHHHHH”! Whitely screeched as he was placed in the contraption. “Let go! Let go!”

“I’m curious, is that what your victims cried? How did you treat their pleas?” Chatte said.

Whitley continued to scream, even as the cheers of the crowd drowned him out. Without warning, the decaptapult activated, slicing off Whitely’s head and launching him into the air. The head continued to screech ferally as he landed in what appeared to be a box. As if it were perfectly planned for the occasion. The box was closed the moment the head entered, but he kept on screaming much to the dismay of the box’s carrier.

“The last of the Patien family… at least who we could find, I bring you… Princess Marie!” Marcus said.

The guards pushed forward a child with long locks of wavy pale blond hair. Surrounded by unfamiliar, angry faces, she tried to back off the stage but was stopped by the large soldiers.

Marie looked up at the soldiers, and asked “Why?”

“I have yet to review your crimes,” Marcus said as he was handed a piece of parchment. “On charges of… er… what the hell is this?”

“Sorry,” said a shrugging rebel, “There was a problem procuring proper evidence.”

“There has to be something,” Marcus said.

“Uh… I sometimes ate snacks without anyone looking?” Marie said nervously. “There was also the time I broke one of my father's vases. I was already punished for that, but I understand if it wasn’t enough...”

“No no! We are looking for real crimes! Murders, rapes, grand larceny...” Chatte said, starting to realize the ridiculousness of assuming a child so young had done any of these things.

“I killed some bugs once after they went after my snacks.” Marie said.

Chatte turned to the crowd, confusion and horror spreading across her face. “Did we just get the kid just because she’s royalty?”

“YES!” said the crowd.

“Down with all the royals!” said a man.

“YEAH!” a nearby woman shouted.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what I did! I’m sorry, please forgive me!” Marie said, tears welling up.

“You are guilty of no crimes. You shouldn’t be here.” Marcus said, his voice grave.

“I’m so scared… I never wanted this,” Marie cried. “This is my first time outside the castle, and this is what greets me?”

Marcus, feeling guilty, then begged. “Please. Can we not forgo punishment?”

“No!” said the crowd. “Off with her head!”

Marcus scowled, but complied with the will of the people. “Be it the people’s will, your head will be severed, and both head and body will be placed under house arrest with no right to reattachment.” Marcus choked out.

“So… what?” Marie asked.

“Excuse me?” Chatte asked, looking confused.

“It’s just, mother and father never let me outside. Something to do with being marriable,” Marie said. “I’ve hardly been in the courtyard we’re standing in and it was always with an escort. I guess nothing else changes except my head will be off and everybody hates me.”

“Well...” Chatte started, though she realized she had nothing really to say to that.

“Even so… were all of those things you said true?” Marie asked. “About my family.”

“Yeah,” Chatte said bluntly.

“It… it can’t be. They were mean and strict but…” Marie said.

Marcus looked pitiably at the girl, and asked the mob “Do you stand by your sentencing?”

The people debated among themselves. Some argued that it was fair as she needed to be punished to set an example, but can’t go too far due to the circumstances. Others argued that Marie might be playing stupid. That was until Rasha stood up.

“People! I understand your anger, but Marie played no part in any of this. She spent her days reading and playing, much like her sister Leanne before her corruption,” Rasha said. “I have more reason to wish her harm than any of you. She insulted my power, exposed my secrets with the looseness of her tongue, and it was her careless words that had me imprisoned, but she does not deserve this.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Marie said.

“You were always horrible in keeping adult matters a secret!” Rasha said.

After much deliberation, they reluctantly agreed to proceed. Some were dissatisfied, wanting more torture, while others just wanted to see another head roll. However, they respected Marcus’ choice since they knew he could be soft.

“I’m sorry everyone,” Marie said as she was put into the decaptapult. The girl was in tears but did not resist as she lacked the strength to do so. All she could do was apologize as the blade dropped on her neck. Her hair was cut as well when her head fell down to the catapult part of the mechanism. All Marie could do was close her eyes and pray for forgiveness.

However, Chatte suddenly snatched Marie’s head just before the catapult sprung, its empty arm throwing nothing. The people stared at Chatte holding Marie’s head.

“Uh… I’m a softy like Marcus?” Chatte said.

“She’s sympathizing with the enemy!” cried a man.

“Hold it, it’s just her motherly instincts!” said another man.

“I say, off with her head too!”

“Now that’s just being silly!”

The crowd argued over this controversial decision of Chatte as some of them wised up on the matter while others grew dumber. The child had certainly complicated things.

Chatte held onto Marie’s head and quickly handed her to a guard. With a quick wave, the guard took Marie’s body by the hand and awaited orders.

“Just take her to her room and keep her there. Detached,” Chatte said.

The guard nodded, Marie’s powerless head and weak body carried and dragged away as the crowd grew angrier and more divided.

Marcus, though, was relieved. He winked at Chatte as if to say thanks for preventing him from taking matters into his own hands. To hopefully ease the crowd, he decided to judge Rasha.

“Last one for the day, we are to judge Rasha Raye! The self proclaimed warlock for the royals!” Marcus said.

“Hey wait!” Rasha said as he was pushed around by the guards.

“While we are grateful for all that you have done for us, you committed crimes we simply cannot overlook.” Marcus said.

“A victim of circumstance, I had no choice!” Rasha said.

“There is some truth to that, but you did help them while exploiting their wealth,” Marcus said. “We even have records of your exploits; fraud, exploitation, and abuse of subordinates. We even have you on our court records declaring that you acted in your own self interest.”

“As every man does!” Rasha protested.

“Your own interest,” Marcus repeated. “Not the king’s, not the queen’s, not any of their children, but your own. You did what you did because you benefited. While perhaps there was some coercion, you are ultimately responsible. You took the money and status at the detriment of the nation, you supported heinous acts committed by the royals.”

“I swear to you and God, I turned my back on these degenerates when I realized the true extent of their crimes! I have aided you for no selfish cause, but because it was right!” Rasha pleaded.

“Yes,” Marcus said, skeptical but willing to give the benefit of the doubt. “And for that, you will be decapitated, but will have access to your body. Like Marie, you shall be under house arrest and surveillance until the state deems it no longer necessary. After that time, you will be granted the right to be attached to your body, on the condition that you will continue to serve the nation.”

“Oh come on!” Rasha said, as he was forced into the decaptapult.

“At least you won’t be used as a decoration,” Chatte said.

“I suppose,” Rasha said as his head was cut off. “Wait, if my body gets to keep me, then why launch my head in the first PLAAAAAAaaaaa-!!!” The warlock’s head was thrown into the air almost perfectly straight, landing right back in the crowd bonking one rebel on the head. The head fell into the unconscious rebel’s lap, a lump forming on the civilian’s head as Rasha’s head hyperventilated in spite of his new lack of lungs.

“While the extended family of house Patien remains at large, we assure you that they too will be brought to justice. But for today, our sentencing has concluded.” Marcus said.

…

The guards escorted Marie to her room, closing the door behind her and locking her inside alone. Marie went toward her mirror as she had a good look at herself. While she outwardly appeared relatively normal, a brace around her neck was keeping her head to properly reconnect as her head was tucked under her arms. As well, the prisoner’s gown and straight shorn hair cut exactly where her neck had been were odd sights to adjust to.

“Rather peculiar,” Marie muttered.

Her body then placed her own head on a table, surprising the head who could only watch her body stretch and rub her recently unbound wrists.

“Body! Don’t leave me here!” Marie cried before noticing. “Oh… she has no ears. I suppose being handled like that must be hard on my body.”

She continued to watch in silence, wondering if she would be stuck in this room for the rest of her life however long that would be. She then heard her door unlock, and a tired looking Chatte entered with her head in her hands and a collar similar in function to Marie’s brace. She sighed as the door closed behind her, her body setting her head in front of Marie before plopping itself down in a chair across the room.

“Thank you for saving me,” Marie said. “Well as best as you could.”

“It didn’t come cheap,” Chatte said, glancing down at her collar.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to lose your head too!” Marie said.

“It was worth it,” Chatte said, her neck twitching as if trying to shrug. “Our new nation must have justice, and treating you like your family wouldn’t be just at all.”

“I wish I could pay you back, but I doubt my allowance will be getting paid out any more. Plus my pocket change is all the way over there,” Marie said, motioning as best she could at her body wandering around the room.

“Tell me, what sort of education did you have?” Chatte asked.

“Basic etiquette,” She answered. “But I tried teaching myself reading, writing, and law.”

“Wow, then tell me what is the punishment for stealing bread?” Chatte quizzed.

“Ten years in a penal colony, followed by five years of parole,” Marie said, smiling. Her smile faltered when she heard what she’d said. “Wow, that doesn’t seem fair, huh? I used to think it was excessive, but mother whipped me when I told her. That happened whenever I spoke up, really. They kept inside, taught me to act like an obedient, proper lady, so that one day I could be married off to a proper prince and bring riches to our kingdom and provide heirs for our empire.” Marie said. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t like that idea.”

“Hmm…” Chatte said. “If you are willing, perhaps you could be my apprentice?”

“Really?” Marie asked.

“You seem like a dutiful student, you just need some street smarts. Besides, with our heads off you’re probably the only person who could take me seriously besides Marcus,” Chatte said.

“Please, let me be your apprentice!” Marie begged. “I want to see more of the outside world, maybe fix what my family destroyed.”

“Deal!” Chatte said. “I’ll make the arrangements, but you’ll need to get yourself ready! It’s going to be a lot of work!”

…

With surprising swiftness, the rebels had established a museum to house the heads of those who’d found justice beneath the blade of the decaptapult. The former queen’s head was on display in a glass display, the centerpiece of a large room filled with her paintings, documents and relics of her crimes, and informational plaques. Scowling from her case as the commoners gawked at her, she’d somehow managed to grow an even greater contempt for the peasantry than she’d already had.

“Go on, look at me! Know that even in my current state I am more worthy of respect than any of you! You will all be forgotten, like the irrelevant insects you are!”

The commoners laughed with the queen doing her best to keep her chin up as they jeered and derided her. One in particular, a young drunk woman, took it a step further. Pressing her face up to the glass, her reeking breath fogging the queen’s vision. Her sweat stained forehead leaving a grease stain as she leaned her weight against the case, she said in slurred speech

“Respect? Ruh-spec? Bitch, you’re… not even a bitch any more! You’re not a person! Calling us insects… you’re the one in glass, like uh, those bugs with the pins in them! Taxyderms! Taxdermis… uh… those! You’re the bug!”

“It’s taxidermy, you imbecile!” The queen corrected. Having had a political prisoner or two taxidermied and sent to their family as a grim reminder of what insubordination led to. The documents proving it were on display somewhere behind her. “And are you too stupid to read too?! No touching the glass!”

The queen glanced down at the small metal plate affixed to a wooden stand on each side. Growing more and more irritated with the rowdy guests.

“Oooh-hoo-hoo!” The drunk woman laughed, looking around at the crowd with an expression equally amused, affronted, and shitfaced. The crowd laughed good naturedly, prodding the drunk for a rebuttal. “Big talk from bug bitch with no bod!” She said, pleased with herself for coming up with such a clever rhyme on the spot. “Come on, whatcha gonna do about, it, huh?”

The crowd cheered as she slammed her palm into the top of the display case. “Huh, buggy? You got something say me to me?” She stammered, swaying a bit and slamming her hand down harder.

The crowd went silent as she produced a small hammer from her pocket and raised it over her head, obviously intending to shatter the case. She’d clearly been planning something like this from the start. However, before she could bring down the hammer, a hand shot out and gripped her wrist and in the same motion twisted her arm behind her back and shackled it to her other hand.

“Bwuh?” The drunk asked, spinning around to face a surly looking guard.

“That’s enough, ma’am.” He said, grabbing her by the shoulder and half dragging her through the crowd. “Assaulting a head, even one as detestable as hers, remains an assault under present laws. This museum no longer welcomes you as a guest.”

He dragged her through a back door, which spilled out directly into the courtyard containing the decaptapult. “It will, however, welcome you as an exhibit.”

“Awww, fuk!” the drunk said.

The trial lasted only two minutes. The drunk’s head was put on display in a trophy style case clearly meant to house many more heads and soon enough many heads would indeed join her in the ‘lesser offenders’ section.

While most of the heads in this section would spend only a few weeks or perhaps months on display in the museum, the very first addition to this section the drunk’s punishment was indefinite. Her head would be kept on display forever, while her body would perform 4 weeks of community service before being returned to general society. The body thought the punishment fair enough, enjoying the fact that it no longer had to have alcohol forced into its system. The head thought this was something of a raw deal, indefinite imprisonment for a crime its body only received a month’s punishment for and indeed many of her friends and family pleaded for her release. But, the new government argued, examples had to be set.

So much for justice.

...

The depraved sounds that echoed from the barracks was almost ceaseless. The soldiers had their way with Leanne’s head whenever any of them pleased. She hardly emoted, dutifully and professionally obeying any sexual desires the soldiers made of her. It’s not like she had any way to resist, and even if she could it’s not like she had anything better to do.

As she was sucking off one particularly frequent user, with two more cocks present and awaiting a turn, the two were interrupted by the sounds of the barrack doors swinging open.

“Uh… hate to interrupt, but I’m here to perform an inspection of former general Leanne.” Marcus said, clearly uncomfortable.

“Yes, sir!” said the soldiers, reluctantly pulling their clothes back on and grumbling that their friend had taken too long for them to get a turn. Before leaving, they placed her back on the stand where her head was housed whenever it wasn’t between some soldier’s legs. She remained silent, waiting patiently for Marcus to talk to her.

“You seem to be... adjusted, to your current state. Is that a fair assessment?” Marcus asked.

“No.” She said, flatly. “If I could, I’d have each and every one of these sick bastards executed for using me like this. But since I can no longer order summary executions, I don’t really know how else I can deal with these cretins besides just allowing them their way and doing my best to get it over with quickly.”

“You were never one to talk it out.” Marcus said.

Leanne remained silent, unreadable. She’d made a horrible general and likely would’ve made a horrible stablemaster. However, if she's ever gotten into poker she would’ve been a champion.

“You can speak as you like. You are not under orders to speak when spoken to.” Marcus said.

“Thank you.” Leanne said. “I must admit, I struggle to do… this. Converse with people. It’s always been easier to fuck them or kill them. Something physical. Words… hard.”

“Words hard,” Marcus agreed. “But to tell you the truth, I never knew you struggled with that. I always thought you were just unflappably stoic. You always seemed so deep in thought, thinking about every word you were going to say.”

“That’s because I didn’t know how to react.” Leanne said. “With a sicko brother and a trophy sister, I always had to be the ‘normal’ one for mother and father. My problems were to be kept to myself, they had enough problems dealing with my siblings. Er, speaking of which, how is Marie?” She asked, trying her best to lick some semen off her cheek with dignity. “I heard that she received a lighter punishment.”

“Arrangements have been made for her to be Chatte’s new apprentice,” Marcus said. “We can only hope that she will adjust to her new life.”

“Good,” Leanne said, nodding. “I’m no psychic, but I do believe I’m the only one who really cares about her. I am pleased she is well.”

Leanne started twisting her face out of shape. Her lips rose up with her eyes twitching. Her cheeks were bent with her jaws sliding to the side.

“What are you doing?” Marcus asked.

“I’m smiling,” Leanne said.

“It needs work,” Marcus said.

“Of course,” Leanne agreed, face sinking back into its emotionless stare. “Still, I am pleased. Even if she couldn’t tell, I loved her.”

“Couldn’t tell?”

“As I said, I was told to not have any problems. Not having problems meant not expressing sadness, fear, or regret. But If I could not feel these things, then I had nothing to contrast these feelings with. And so happiness, confidence, and pride went too. I was left empty,” She stared off into space, trying to remember what she should be feeling now. She blinked twice, and looked at Marcus. “This does not justify my crimes. But I think it helps contextualize them.”

“So by giving Marie the chance to apprentice for Chatte, to have this… bond that you lacked… you think this means that we prevented the child becoming another you or worse?” Marcus asked.

“A part of me thinks so.” Leanne said.

“Interesting.” Marcus said. He stood up. “Well, I think that concludes my check, but I’ll be checking in on your wellbeing again soon.”

“Of course,” Leanne said. “Thank you for listening. I’ve enjoyed talking, it’s not easy to do when you have a cock in your mouth. Or balls. Or sometimes pussy, when the female recruits get curious.”

“Trust me, I’ll be having a word with them about this… arrangement if it goes too far. If this isn’t something you want to be doing, if you want them to stop, I can make them.” Marcus said. “They are a rowdy bunch but consent is always needed.”

“Thank you.” Leanne said, her lips twitching as she restrained herself from smiling. “But, if the men are to be believed, I am not their only option.”

“Explain!” Marcus said.

...

Marcus looked over his improvised council and groaned, each and every one of them a disembodied head on the table with their bodies doing whatever they pleased. Some were absent entirely, others roamed around distracted, a few were playing with heads clearly not their own, and only a small handful sat at the chairs behind their respective heads.

“Explain yourselves,” Marcus demanded.

“Forgive me but uh… I tripped into the decaptapult,” said a woman with blond hair in a ponytail.

“I was observing it but it malfunctioned,” said a bearded man.

“I was testing it!” said another woman.

“Quiet! You all should be ashamed of yourselves!” Rasha said. “You took my head and freedom, preaching nobility and justice, yet you’ve all put yourselves through that horrid device because of your depraved libidos!”

“So Leanne was right?” Marcus asked. “I really thought it was from the imagination of rowdy men, but is this really a thing?”

A lot of the council nodded their severed heads in shame, with Chatte slowly joining in. Rasha of all people looked disappointed at them. However, one flamboyant head raised their voice.

“But in my case, I was beheaded by the people. I am being honest about this! I swear!”

“Explain,” Marcus said.

“They saw me in my most elegant of dresses and they assumed I was a royal! Then here I am!”

“Right! There have been cases where the decaptapult was used without us knowing, without a trial.” Chatte said. “And some did it on themselves to satisfy their… curiosities.”

“Is that what we’re calling being a horny idiot?” Marcus asked.

“Apparently,” said a head. “But don’t let the warlock pretend he’s so high and mighty, most of us got into this because of him!” She said, her body lagging a few seconds behind before pointing at Rasha.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, glancing at the warlock inquisitively.

“Well, uh, I will admit that it started when I was allowed to reattach my head to my body.” Rasha said, his cheeks reddening. “I was so excited to receive sensation again after so long, that I… did what any man would. I pleasured myself. A few times. And after a bit, I started to wonder… what it would be like if I pleasured myself… orally. And so I took my head off and found the experience… satisfactory.”

“And then his body started renting his head out to all of us. He was our horny little head slut!” The accusing woman called out, causing several men and women around the table to cheer and chime in with their approval of Rasha’s services.

“The decaptapult is supposed to be used as a device of justice! Not depravity!” Marcus said. “Until further notice, can we agree to that?”

“What did you say?” asked a random head, who’s body promptly dropped its pants, spun his head around, and had him blow himself.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Marcus said. “During a meeting?!”

“Sorry Marcus.” The man said, between slurps. “Ever since my body gained control of itself, well, it can’t control itself!”

“Rasha… is this a side effect of the decaptapult?” Marcus asked.

“Nope. People are just naturally horny.” Rasha said. “You don’t need magic to turn someone on.”

“Er… I never intended for the device to be used this way, but if the people find this so, er, agreeable, then I propose that we at least regulate the decapitations so that the people could schedule appointments and have themselves decapitated at will.” Chatte said.

“I suppose we can have the people vote on the matter,” Marcus said. “But at least have some decency when we are having a meeting.”

“Speaking of decency, we got a drunk trying to have sex with the Queen.” said a council member.

“God damn it!” Marcus said.

…

“And that’s the brief dark history of the decaptapult!”

A group of museum attendees applauded her politely while one scratched their head in confusion. “Ms. Chatte, was all that… necessary? I mean, I feel like you could’ve gone into your design process more, or the revolution, or-”

“Please, there are a million books cataloguing the history of our nation.” Chatte said, rolling her eyes. “And frankly how interesting can a design over two hundred years old possibly be to you? You really think a phone, or a car, or even a refrigerator is really less impressive than some old slab of wood with a bit of magic metal in it?”

“I… guess…” The attendee said. “But this magic, you didn’t even explain how it works. I mean, like you said, it’s been over two centuries since you’ve lost your head and not only are you alive but you haven’t aged a day! Why do heads and bodies not age while they are separate?”

“That’s a question for Rasha, my friend. You can ask him if you run into him. Assuming he’s not too ‘busy’ to talk.” Chatte chuckled, as a few of the other guests blushed at the thought. “Look, I don’t know anything about magic, all I know is you guys look eager to lose your heads too. So save any more questions after the main event so that we can adjourn our tour and head out into the courtyard to let you all test the device yourselves!”

“Are you going to explain what happened after the dark stuff?” asked the same pestering guest, his party groaning impatiently.

“That’s literally centuries of history!” Chatte said reluctantly. “How am I supposed to explain centuries of history in one half hour tour? At first it was used for justice, then pleasure, then sport, then pleasure again, then vengeance pleasure sport fun mass produced pleasure fundamentalist movement and finally whatever. You want to know more, there’s a general history museum across the street in the old castle Patien. If you want to stay here and experience the magic of history for yourselves, then pick me up and carry me into the courtyard already!”

“Oh… kay.” The guest said, relenting, his group audibly cheering in relief.

“Alright then, if one of you will kindly carry me out and hand me to my body, we shall decapitate you all,” Chatte said, glancing at the guest holding their party up. “You last.”

A woman shaking with excitement picked Chatte up and rushed to the door. Her friends opened it up for her so she could rush outside. There, sat the original decaptapult. Technically as over the past centuries it had been updated, repaired, transported around the world, and had parts replaced. By this point the only original piece remaining was the magical blade that made the whole thing work.

Beside the invention was Chatte’s headless body, along with Marie in a child sized museum staff member uniform with a vest and undershirt, holding her head in her arms. The two had the device ready for chopping.

Chatte’s body approached the dark skinned girl holding her head, who visibly shuddered at the sight of Chatte taking herself back and slowly walked back up to the device. “Thank you, dear. How about we start with you? The rest of you, form a line.”