The axe hovers in the air. Still. Waiting.

I don't move. Neither does it.

Then I see something else — past the pillar, past the ruins, at the edge of the mist.

A platform. Tall. Wooden. Old.

A guillotine.

The blade is rusted, but still hanging. The rope is frayed. The frame is covered in moss and carved symbols.

Beside it — an old tree. Dead. Twisted. Its branches stick out like broken fingers, and on some of them — old ropes. Chains. Someone hung here once.

And next to the tree — a figure.

A man. Or what used to be one. He stands straight, arms at his sides. His clothes are old — a captain's coat, torn and faded. A cutlass hangs at his belt.

But his head is missing.

Not cut off. Not fallen. Just... gone. The collar of his coat ends in empty air.

The ground beneath the guillotine is dark. Stained. Dried blood, old and black, caked into the stone.

"What is that?" I whisper.

"A pirate," Don Juan says. "Without a head. And a guillotine. Great. Another anomaly."

"You think it's a spirit? A poltergeist?"

"Could be. Maybe the spirit of that pirate got stuck in the axe. Or maybe it's just a mutant looking for something to kill."

He pauses.

"In the wasteland, we had a plant called graveweed. Glowed rainbow colours when everything else was grey. I'd smoke it if I could. But I don't have a body. Ha-ha."

"Focus."

"Right. Let's get out of here while your head is still on. And don't forget — we've got that woman's mark on us."

I look at the headless figure. The coat. The cutlass. The empty collar.

"He's wearing a tricorn hat. And a bandana."

"He doesn't need it. We do. In the wasteland, you take everything that helps you survive."

I move slowly, keeping an eye on the axe.

The headless pirate doesn't react.

I reach the guillotine. I kneel beside the body. I take the hat. The bandana. The cutlass.

"Now we go," I say.

I stand up and step away.

The headless pirate still doesn't move.

But the axe behind me begins to hum again.