Julian could only look. The soldiers behind him were horrified, but he didn't seem to be.
The headless governor slumped in the chair like a puppet with its strings cut. The suit, once immaculate, was now stained and torn, a rivulet of dark blood spreading from the ragged neck stump like oil on water. The arms dangled, fingers curled into arthritic claws. The legs sprawled out, boots scuffing the floor.
The other soldiers made a face as they looked away, terrified by what was facing them.
"The governor's dead!" a soldier shouted.
"They've took his head off," Julian said. "What now?"
The soldier looked at Julian.
"We've got to stop them from taking the head away. We've got to stop them!"
Julian looked around. Blood filled the ground like a pool, many.
The place was quite alright by the way. A unique ceiling, colorful floors, and a gold-looking wardrobe.
"You've got to stop them!" the soldier shouted, very tense.
Julian looked at him in a cool manner, not saying anything.
