Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Against the wishes of his body, Majima forced himself to keep looking into the all the leering eyes before him.  Everything in him cried out to pass out, just give up already, but the shred of pride he was still conscious enough to posses refused.  The battle had been brutal, something he always expected, even excitedly anticipated.   The unexpected turn of events was the only thing more bitter to him than the coagulating blood sporadically dripping out of his mouth.  Seemingly every ready soldier Madlantis had had descended upon him and his crew.  Though his vision was starting to fail him, he honed his hazy vision onto the figure slowly making her way towards him.

"And here I thought he was a legendary captain everyone raved about..~"   Majima knew that voice.  Queen Michelle, leader of the whole shit charade.  He tensed as he tried to form spiteful words.  Just some defiance before he completely gave out.  It wasn't any use, as all that exited his mouth was more coughed up blood.  Majima's continuing insistence on struggle seemed to amuse her.

"I think I've seen enough.  Your ilk is all the same." A quick, almost undetectable flick of her fingers summoned two of her goons to Majima's prone, beaten body.  Majima's consciousness faded in and out further, no longer able to fend off the two men hoisting him up.  "Take him back, we have to really work on him before he's ready."  When Michelle's fingers pinched his jaw, moving his head side to side, he could barely even feel it.

"Don't worry, we're not ready to kill you...yet..~" Though Michelle seemed to say something in addition to those ominous words, the haze in his mind became overbearing.  All sounds and sensations finally gave way to total black as the last of his strength failed him.  His chin lolled to his chest and his figure went limp as the effects of his injuries finally overwhelmed his resolve.  Any impending disaster he could have imagined wasn't enough to keep him conscious.

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Majima didn't know how much time had passed since he'd blacked out.  There had been flashes of scenes here and there but most of what had occurred since then was still a mystery.  He could feel himself coming to, agonizingly slowly.  As he surfaced from restless sleep into awareness, he weakly groaned as he could feel the aches and pains of the previous...had it even been a day yet?  Strangely, his body wasn't in as much pain as he'd imagined it would be after all the damage.  He tried to form words, even a sound, but his mouth felt completely dried out.  His tongue felt like a strange, bulky piece of dead weight.  In fact, moving even that proved difficult.

As he attempted to move, he became aware of the feeling of rope scraping against him.  His wrists and ankles were tied, as neither could be moved the way he wanted.  Another tiny groan escaped him as he felt his waist was tightly tied as well.  It seemed everywhere he'd been tied was connected to something else to keep him in place.  Moving what little he could was still a strange experience.  His body didn't listen to any signal his brain tried to send.  It finally dawned on him that he'd likely been slipped drugs while he'd been unconscious.  Whether it was a simple muscle relaxer or something worse, he wasn't sure of.  All he knew was that he was at the mercy of his captors.

More of Majima's senses began returning, although sight seemed to be taking much longer.  A lazy, uncoordinated turn of his head side to side revealed the weight of a fabric over his eye.  He'd been blindfolded, but, for what reason?

Majima began to regret his own thought process as the muffled noises surrounding instantly ramped to a deafening roar.  There were a few loud thuds as something around him collided with the ground.  Though Majima could see nothing, he could sense the heat from many lights aimed right at him.  

"We'll start the bidding at half a million.  This one goes to the highest bidder!"

Majima couldn't distinguish the voice.  Bidding?  Even under the effects of whatever he'd been given, his heart dropped.  His fate was now in the hands of whoever had the most cash, a figure he wouldn't even be able to see until they wanted him to.  He could only hope the process would be over sooner than later.

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Strangled groan after strangled groan was forcefully pushed from Majima.  Each thrust of the broom handle felt more humiliating than the last.  Although he was grateful to whatever drugs he’d been dosed with in his system stifling the pain, he was still restrained and bent over a table.  It felt like one, at least.  His blindfold had yet to be removed and although he’d been stuck with a few splinters here and there, he could only judge what had been happening to him by what he could hear and feel.

Majima had no idea how long the auction had lasted.  In his doped-up haze, he could only recall bits and pieces of it.  He hadn’t even recalled how much he’d sold for or the person who’d won.  The only thing he’d been able to recall was what he’d been told before being bent over and assaulted.

It wasn’t certain who’d spoken to him.  All he knew was they’d mentioned he needed to be “prepared” for the prospective buyer.  Having a solid, long wooden pole inserted in him didn’t strike him as appropriate preparation, but like any of his captors would care.  Emasculation was the end goal.

Whatever substance pumping in his veins dulled the violation to being only partially aware of the object penetrating him.  Even that little awareness weighed on him.  His mind was still wrapped in that fog, his limbs unresponsive to the motions he wanted them to do.  All he could do was grit his teeth for the moments he was awake.  There was no way to tell when this would be over, if the drugs would cease to be administered, when what he was currently on would wear off.  The only mercy he could be granted in the moment was succumbing to his exhaustion, sensation and sound once again slipping as he blacked out for the next however long.

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Majima weakly breathed, his ears still filled with a ringing buzz.  The room he was in was silent now.  He couldn’t tell if that was better or worse than the chaotic noise from before.  By now, Majima knew he’d been transferred to a new owner.  He didn’t know how far from Madlantis he was or even where in the world this dingy basement was located.  The one apparent truth was that his suffering was long from over.

He hadn’t been conscious when the torture began.  He’d been too sedated and exhausted to remember any part of his transaction or how he’d currently been confined.  He’d only fully awakened after the mutilation had started.  

The combination of withdrawal and unknown hours of torture resulted in a level of agony Majima hadn’t ever experienced.  Resistance was useless, if not outright impossible.  His restraints in this room were just as constrictive as the ones before.  Shouting or verbal pleas only incurred more punishment or just went ignored.  It didn’t take long for Majima to fall mostly silent.  Though he didn’t burn through his vocal cords, he might as well have.  Nothing he could say or do at this point would be enough to save him.

The only mercy Majima had been given was to be allowed to kneel.  He’d been moved to some other contraption.  There was no risk of him fighting back or attempting escape.  Nearly every inch of his body was cut, bleeding, bruised, or even burnt in some way.  His current captor had been gracious enough to give him more sedative, though even without it, Majima would have succumbed to his eventual exhaustion again.  Whatever torture awaited him would come way too fast.  His only solace was to savor the brief moments of unconsciousness he was allowed for as long as he could.

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Majima’s legs quaked underneath him.  He wouldn’t be standing if it weren’t for the chains holding his wrists above his head.  He’d wanted to collapse hours ago but too much was pumping through his system for that to happen.  The mutilation from before had only been a precursor to what his captors were putting him through now.

Something about testing the limits of Majima’s health had been mentioned earlier.  The murmurs about it had been vague, but he knew it wouldn’t be anything good.  His senses were still too dulled to react beyond some quiet whines when his limp dick had been tugged at for a bit.  Even if he wasn’t as exhausted as he was, he doubted he’d have been able to muster an erection.

His captors had decided they needed to do something different.  Majima wasn’t sure what they’d filled the syringe with this time, all he knew was that within seconds, his cock had shot up to full mast.  It was completely hard, twitching, aching for relief.  Though his good eye was still encased in some minor swelling, he could still see a contraption placed on his now raging erection.

Any sense of time was long gone for Majima.  Seconds passing felt like hours, days, weeks dragging by.  The pump placed on him relieved him, at least, at first.  There was a minor sense of relief after the machine squeezed the first orgasm out of him.  But, to his horror, his erection hadn’t subsided, nor were his captors done milking everything he had out of him.  Until they decided they’d had their fun, Majima was enslaved to the machine, not even afforded the luxury of being able to pass out this time.

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Majima sputtered as his mouth and throat were met with yet another bitter load.  He’d lost count of how many patrons had taken a turn with him.  Shaft after shaft had been crammed into his mouth without care for how he’d feel.  By now, he was certain his esophagus was bruised.  Maybe something had ruptured.  He couldn’t be sure why or how blood was spilling from his mouth as quickly as semen, but it was clear there was no end to this in sight.

After the first unwanted abuse of his mouth, Majima was sick of it.  He didn’t know prior that he could feel even more worthless and filthy than he already was.  When the next erection had been shoved in his face, it only killed his pride more.  There was no rest between the servicing, only forced to suck cock after cock for however long his captors wished.

None of the men in the lineup were gentle or considerate.  Their roughness choked and suffocated him.  He gagged near constantly.  The only thing saving him from vomiting was his stomach being empty.  His body rejected the near constant stream of semen but there was copious punishment in store if he didn’t swallow, so, against his own wishes, he reluctantly obeyed.  Majima could feel his stomach twisting in on itself as the rancid, salty fluids curdled in his stomach.  All he could do was leave his mouth open for as long as there were willing men in line.

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The lights lining nearly every inch of Madlantis glowed in every color of the rainbow above the walkways.  Even if some lights blinked on and off, there was more than enough light pollution in the place to make up for it.  Mingling neon brights of every color slowly rotated above, lighting Majima in a multitude of hues.  Not that it mattered to him; he wasn’t conscious enough to recognize any color of light.

The bruised and battered body of the ship captain rested propped up against the wall.  His head tucked to his chest as he took hardly noticeable breaths.  Whatever the amount of sleep he got this time wouldn’t matter.  His body wouldn’t have any time to recover before he went into the hands of the next person who enslaved him.

Next to Majima stood a signboard, crudely scrawled with the message “Special!!  Reduced price, enquire within!” with drawn arrows pointing to him.  Majima hadn’t heard how much he was worth since this all began.  Even if numbers had been said around him, he didn’t remember.  Remembering much of anything was difficult.  If he tried to recall certain gaps in his memory, it would just induce another migraine.

Majima’s body wasn’t particularly in the way.  His legs and arms were tucked in, almost politely, though he was fairly easy to spot, especially if one were to be looking for him.  There would no doubt be a prospective buyer.  Or, maybe “renter” would be a more fitting term.  Being passed around from hand to hand wasn’t a possibility anymore, it was the expectation.  The brief respite of not being awake wouldn’t be enjoyed, as Majima would inevitably awaken in the hands of the next one who awaited him.

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Majiima shifted in place, unable to mask his discomfort and embarrassment.  Standing upright and walking normally would be a feat on its own, given his current condition.  Doing those while clad in steep, constricting high heels set the difficulty to impossible.  The rest of his getup wasn’t any less reassuring to him - an extremely sexualized maid outfit.  His shirtless torso, still bearing cuts and bruises, remained exposed.  The only halfway decent thing he’d been afforded was a white medical eyepatch to cover his left eye.  Frilly arm warmers, a maid headdress, an all too short miniskirt, and the aforementioned heels were the only clothes he’d been permitted to wear.  That, and another strange contraption.

Chains pulled on the hook attached to his collar.  Each side of the twin chains were affixed to the underside of a slab of wood, a tray Majima had to hold up himself if he wanted to alleviate the strain on his neck.  Not only that, he had to ensure any objects placed on it would stay there.  A servant who couldn’t do so much as hold up a tray wouldn’t get anywhere, so Michelle had said.

Majima’s treatment had eased up for a while.  He wasn’t sure of how long he’d been allowed to recover but the beatings and violence had mostly ceased for a significant stretch of time.  Unfortunately, in its place came something infinitely more dehumanizing: Customer service.  He’d been “training” under Queen Michelle’s watchful eye for a while to prime him for tending to the whims of the Madlantis clientele.

Majima’s forced labor wasn’t free from the shameful emasculation he’d come to expect.  He just had to be in a humiliating costume.  He just had to be an object for the patrons to ogle and mistreat.  Through all of it, he couldn’t say or do a thing against it.  The only safe space he could protest was within his own mind.

“Ugh, stop letting it slip.” Michelle tersely forced his hands back to the even holding position.  “You don’t want to spill anything, do you?”

Majima didn’t answer.  What could he even say at this point?  He only hung his head, staring into the wood he feebly held.  

“Hey, look alive, will you?” Michelle hooked her forefinger and thumb under his chin, forcing him to look at her.  “You have to be polite when serving customers.  You can’t do that without at least a smile, can you?

Majima’s lips remained in his default frown.  “Come on, now,” Michelle encouraged.

Against his own will, Majima did his best to force a convincing smile.  His face reddened somehow even more than it already was.  Though the smile didn’t reach his eye, it seemed to satisfy Michelle well enough.  “I think you’re ready to go out there..~” The woman grinned as she gave Majima’s cheek a reassuring pinch.  All Majima could think about was how badly he wished they’d just go back to regular forms of torture for this cruel vacation.

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Majima grimaced as he felt another mystery liquid pelt his back.  He’d known he’d never be around well-adjusted, moral company, but the drunken perverts treated him as a subhuman.  The night of serving patrons had already gotten off to a rocky start, what with the embarrassing getup and all.  Though Majima had tried to keep the tray stable and his posture upright in the beginning, all decorum was dashed in the first fifteen minutes of his shift from hell.

The customers had been told they were entitled to everything about him, Majima guessed.  Hands were on him nonstop, whether they were just groping around him or fists pelting him.  Cigarettes were ashed on him in multiple places.  At this point, he was sure a concoction of every drop of alcohol on tap had made its way onto him from being used more than any of the trash cans.  Customers were allowed to toss whatever food or drink or god knows what else they wanted onto him.  They’d thrown as much as they wanted onto the ground, forcing him to bend down to pick it up, only for more pain or sexual assault to be carried out on him.

The tray had been abandoned fairly early on.  Majima didn’t even know where it ended up.  It was only in the way of getting access to the rest of him.  All manner of abuse had been hurled his way, each attack worse than the last.  Even when a group of a few rowdier, meathead drunkards forced him on their laps to toy with him, the most Majima could do was imagine he was anywhere else.

Eventually, Majima was kicked to the floor.  He grit his teeth as his good eye met with the group that were laughing at his pathetic fall.  He didn’t care so much about maintaining an appearance.  What good would that do, anyway?  If he pulled his skirt back up, it’d be yanked down again.  His heels would bend and trip and him no matter how careful he tried to maneuver.  This was humiliating enough, but this was only the first night.  It would all be downhill from here.

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Another round of giggles rose into the air as Majima took another punch to the jaw.  By this point, he was spitting blood with nearly every hit.  He coughed and wheezed as more blood and fluids hacked their way out of him.  He groaned as he felt more and more faint.  Still, he managed to stay upright.  He was losing strength, visibly shaking, but he still held onto consciousness and didn’t waver from his position.

Majima had been in the hands of another group of rough strangers tonight.  It wasn’t unlike the other nights he’d been treated like a toy, though being treated as a human punching bag to see how long he’d be able to last was somewhat new.  The men around him seemed to be amazed at how many hits he’d been able to take, maybe even more amused than actually dealing him hits.

Physical fights weren’t new to the captain.  Swordfights and even hand to hand combat were an expectation in the life of any pirate, let alone a captain.  This was something much different than the other fights for glory he’d been in before.  There was no way to win this one.  It wasn’t even a fight proper; he was just taking blow after blow for the amusement of his current captors.

The amount of time that had passed was once again unknown to him.  It could have been ten minutes, it could have been more than an hour.  The metallic taste of blood was losing its sting.  He had a feeling he knew what would be following this.  What was the point of pretending he had any pride left?  He was being beaten by meatheads in some Madlantis alley in that stupid maid outfit.  Deliriously, his mouth curled into a smile.  His teeth and lips were stained red, overflowing with his own blood.  

“The hell is he smiling for?” One of the thugs looked ready to take the place of the one who’d thrown the last punch.

A peculiar, soothing haze began to sink into Majima’s mind.  His fate was already sealed, had been as soon as he’d been captured.  Mustering his remaining strength, he forced out a question.  “Is that the best you’ve got?”  Despite the words thickened by the crimson dripping out of him and somewhat slurred, the group seemed to get the message.  The unusually wide, uncanny smile stayed plastered to Majima’s face, even as he saw another arm winding up for the next hit.

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Majima choked out more sounds as his head was yanked from side to side.  The idea of adding some new “enhancements” and “accessories” to him had been teased for a while.  He knew it wouldn’t be anything good, knowing what he’d already been subjected to.  The one odd thing Madlantis’ special forces was capable of was keeping their surprise torture methods fresh.

Majima had been pulled into some unused, derelict spare room for some spontaneous new additions.  Additions were putting it mildly - various needles had been jammed into his mouth and ears to create new holes for piercings.  Not every hole had been used for a piercing.  Majima would wager most holes were just made in him for the sake of torture.  However, some piercings had successfully been forced into his skin.

Getting pierced was a much more mild affair than the prior torture he’d experienced.  He already sported several gold ear piercings before he’d ever set foot here.  Even though the holes poked into him were excessive, it felt more of an annoyance than real pain.  Of course, they’d never just stop there.  There was always a catch to everything.

Majima had resigned himself to this next form of torture as soon as he’d been restrained and the needles had come out, only because he guessed it was all going to amount to some backdoor piercing.  That was too generous of an assumption to make.  A chain now connected the hoop in his lip to one on his ear.  The random man who’d been tasked with the operation freely tugged Majima’s head around with the chain.  The chain held despite the rough treatment.

A snarl formed on Majima’s face out of reflex.  He said nothing, but his face could rarely mask what he was feeling.  His vision honed in on the source of a slightly amused laugh.  Queen Michelle herself stepped up to observe the work.  The sloppy piercing job was still bleeding profusely all around Majima’s mouth but the results seemed satisfactory enough to her.  “Good, looks like we’re good to do it on both sides.”

Majima remained stoic in his disdain, though he knew by the way she spoke that trying to rip out his new metal and chains was off limits.  If he managed to get them off, they’d just drag him right here to slap them back on him.  Or worse, add piercings and other humiliating props in other places on him.  He settled for shutting down just enough to be on autopilot as his pseudo-surgeon moved to attach a chain to the other side of his jaw.

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Majima’s voice quietly whined and crackled, worn from the hours he’d already spent crying about his current predicament.  His voice had been reduced to broken groans.  Once again, he was unsure how long his torment had been going.  All he’d been instructed to do was “walk the tightrope,” though, not in any way he’d ever known that phrase to mean.

Red rope had been hooked from wall to wall in another dingy room somewhere in Madlantis.  The taught rope created a straight line, standing out from the otherwise dirty dungeon.  Majima had first believed they’d force him to walk the tightrope in a normal fashion.  They wouldn’t be above turning him into some circus act.

Trying to make his feet move was growing harder each step he made.  He’d been tied up with a similar red rope, tied in a shibari pattern with his wrists pulled tightly behind his back.  Being restrained was a common expectation.  Being forced to straddle a rope now burning his crotch as it rode up between his perineum wasn’t previously on his mind before today.  

The skin of nearly every piece of Majima’s nethers were raw, red, and even so irritated the skin was opened and bleeding.  Protesting this was not an option.  He’d only be free to go to the next torture session once he’d fully made it to the other end of the rope.  Going by his field of view, he’d made it around halfway across.  Going by how inflamed and burning his crotch was, it would take an unknown amount of hours to get to the end.  All he could hope to do was to keep putting one foot in front of the other and get this over with.

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The circular burns on Majima’s shoulders stung, long after they’d made their way onto his skin.  The wounds continued carrying the faint smell of cigarette smoke even though they’d been ashed on him hours ago now.  Patrons had long been allowed to pelt him with anything they could think of, but a new exception for using him as a walking ashtray had been implemented.  All manner of cigars and cigarettes had been put out on him by the patrons of Madlantis.  

Majima thought that by now, he’d have built more of a tolerance to pain, but something about the way cigarettes burned so badly made that impossible.  He could feel every instance of pain anyone here would deal him.  Though, even that paled in comparison to his current predicament.

As much as he didn’t want to, he obediently opened his mouth, rolling out his tongue fully.  He looked up at his current owner, another random pervert who’d rented him for a night.  Though his face and eyes projected innocence, Majima was revolted for what was to come.

“That’s a good boy~” The man before him praised him before bringing the ashy, still glowing end of his cigarette down onto Majima’s tongue.

The taste was repulsive, the feeling was an intense, burning pain.  Knowing this was coming didn’t lessen the impact.  He couldn’t reject the ashy, disgusting taste being pressed to his tongue.  He had to remain kneeling, accepting the cigarette burn against his will.  He kept his mouth open, partially for showing the other man he could take it, but because he didn’t want to risk any of it going down his throat.  It already was so nasty, he didn’t want to make it worse.

“Very good~” The man praised.  Majima winced, if only for a brief second, as he could see the hardon he already had stretching his pants.  He knew he wasn’t going to enjoy what was inevitably on the way, but unwanted sexual encounters were now his life.

“Don’t let all that ash fall on the floor, swallow it.”  

Majima snapped to attention.  Swallow that garbage?  No way in hell.

“I wanna fuck your mouth first.  Can’t do that when it’s still all over your tongue.”

Majima’s bottom lip trembled.  Against everything in him begging him not to, he did his best to swallow what had been put on his tongue.  His mouth was dry and the task was even more sickening without enough saliva, but he managed to force it down.  The taste was even worse going down but vomiting immediately was out of the question.

“Show me?” When the man beckoned him to, Majima showed his mouth again, most of the ash and residue now down his throat and in his stomach.

“Very good, they did say you’re good at following directions..~” The man unbuckled his belt, his fully hard erection bouncing out, only inches away.  Nausea continued rising in him as the huge, unsightly thing waved in his face.  “Good work~”

Any praise the man had to give meant nothing to Majima.  The back of his head was grabbed forcefully and his cock shoved its way into Majima’s mouth.  There was no time to recover from swallowing cigarette ash.  He simply assumed his role as a walking hole, obediently allowing himself to be skullfucked by yet another man who viewed him as more toy than human.

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Majima hissed as another torrent of alcohol poured down over his wounds.  Straight vodka was something that could cauterize and disinfect wounds, but more so in the case of there being no other options.  Regular hydrogen peroxide or isopropyl alcohol was very likely somewhere in the medicine cabinet of Madlantis, but any humane treatment was always going to be denied for him.

There’d been some complaints raised about Majima’s wounds not being properly cared for and cleaned, or so Michelle had told him.  Majima knew none of those drunkard freaks cared if he had open wounds or could pass hepatitis to them, they were only thinking up more clever ways to torture him.  Getting Majima in trouble was easily becoming as fun of a pastime as renting him was.

“Clean enough, yet?” The small crowd observing Majima on his knees, pure alcohol fizzing in his deep wounds, laughed as he hissed at the pain.  Michelle smirked as the last of the liquid left the bottle.  It wasn’t the first but it seemed they were still a long ways from it being the last.

“I dunno, maybe just one more?” One of the meatheads in the crowd gruffly suggested, much to the joy of the rest of the crowd.

“Well, I’m sure we have to be as thorough as possible~” Michelle accepted another full bottle of vodka from a patron in the crowd.  “We don’t want him getting an infection.”

Majima grit his teeth as the bottle was opened and immediately rained down on him.  Even though multiple full bottles of vodka had been poured onto him by now, the amount of cuts etched into him meant alcohol would always find one still untouched.  He knew they didn’t care about truly keeping him clean or preserved.  Once again, he could only ride this out until everyone had decided the fun was over for the night.

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“Go ahead and spread them, we want everyone to see.”

Majima couldn’t meet Queen Michelle’s gaze.  Even after everything else they’d put him through, something about this had another layer of humiliation to it.  Until now, the only way to see Majima was to physically make the trip to Madlantis and know the guy who knows a guy who could sell him to them.  Today, things were to change.  There wasn’t anything else he could extrapolate from Michelle taking pictures of him.  Those weren’t just going to be private photos, he knew that for sure.

Although he once again didn’t want to follow a word she said to him, Majima spread his legs.  He was sat back on a bed, an oddly humane location compared to others he’d come to know, almost flat on his back as he propped himself up on his elbows.  The position was already starting to make him ache but he couldn’t move until Michelle was satisfied with the photos taken.

Majima was almost surprised that taking photos of him or recording him hadn’t already begun.  He knew Madlantis was a rather secretive, invite only location, but surely someone would’ve snuck photos and videos of him by now.  More “professional” photos being taken of him weren’t really on his list of expectations.

“Not too wide, we don’t want those stitches to come out too early..~” Michelle grinned as she kept taking pictures, moving her phone camera around ecstatically to get the best angles of him.  Between Majima’s testicles and hole were some zigzagging stitches.  The roughness of the clientele he’d suffered through had eventually ripped him open, in a more literal sense this time.  Customer complaints ranged from him not being “tight enough” as when he first arrived to whole splits going down his perineum.  Michelle’s surgical team had swooped in once again to “fix” the damage, but Majima wasn’t sure how this was fixing anything.

His naked, scarred body sat on display as Michelle kept taking photos.  “Now get a little more relaxed, look a little shy..~”

It was an almost impressive skill how Madlantis’ team could constantly one-up themselves and somehow bring Majima an experience more humiliating than the last.  Still, his only choice was to obey.  If he resisted, who knows what else awaited.  Though he wasn’t at all pleased with the situation, he forced a shy, pleading look on his face as Michelle commanded.

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“So I just-” Whatever the man was trying to say was cut off with roaring laughter as the press of the button sent the signal to Majima’s collar.  Collaring wasn’t anything new to him.  An electric shock collar was.  All that was needed was a button press to send an ungodly amount of voltage to his neck.  He wasn’t sure if the voltage was even a safe or non-lethal amount.  He doubted Madlantis’ patrons would really care about that.  Whether or not it was entertaining was all that mattered.

The shocks Majima endured seemed to get worse with each button press.  This pain wouldn’t allow him to build a tolerance to it.  The controller was handed off to someone else and another electric shock of about 200 volts too many shocked his neck again.

This shock rocked him more than the others, an already surprising feat as the others had already been so painful.  He shook as his body seized from the targeted electrocution.  In the midst of the torture, he couldn’t hold himself together any longer.  As the shocking subsided, he immediately felt even more humiliation seep in.

“Ugh, sick..” The patrons surrounding Majima jeered as he’d lost control of a bodily function.  Thankfully, only one, the one that happened to be the lesser of two evils.  Piss trickled down his thighs, quickly making its way to the ground below as he wasn’t allowed to quit kneeling.  Somehow, among everything else, the smell reached Majima, somehow making even him recoil.  Maybe it was his mysophobia, maybe it’s because this could carry consequences.

Michelle, who’d opted to observe this particular torture show to ensure the shock collar worked, rolled her eyes as she stood up.  “I knew he wasn’t ready.”  She begrudgingly made her way to Majima, giving him a kick in the side instead of letting another shock go through him.  “We’ll need to train the dog a little longer before he learns how to behave with this on.”  

Majima hung his head but remained silent.  He felt unusually dirty.  He wanted nothing more than to sit in a shower for hours, but he knew that was a luxury that wouldn’t be afforded to him for who could know how long.  He watched from his beaten position as the perverts’ eyes still leered at him.  He felt tense as he knew a mishap like this was a mere bump in the road, not the end of the drive.

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“Uuughh..” Majima finally collapsed to his knees.  He knew this wouldn’t do him any good but he truly couldn’t keep forcing himself forward.  The action made Michelle immediately sigh and turn around.  She figured by now he’d have been made stronger by all his training.

Majima had been following Michelle back to his quarters, the excuse of a cell that was.  Normally, he’d be at the mercy of whatever lodgings - or lack thereof - his renter would provide him.  Some would be gracious enough to allow him to stay in the bed but most enjoyed forcing him to sleep on the floor.  Tonight, he had to be taken back for another preparation for some Madlantis special featuring him.  There weren’t as many “activities” for Majima tonight as they were trying to keep his stamina alive for the next big thing.

Even if festivities had been lighter, the continuous damage and stress done to his body was starting to come back to him in a big way.  It was a little surprising it had taken this long for him to get this ill.  There were instances of him getting somewhat sick already but they had either not lasted more than a day or he’d been forced to ignore them.  The severity of this sickness, though, couldn’t be pushed down.

Majima painted, feeling his mouth beginning to flood with saliva.  He knew what it meant but that didn’t prepare him for what was coming.  Though he was already stripped and dirtied from the day’s grime, he still tried to mitigate the inevitable splashback he was about to receive.

When Majima’s bout of vomiting began, it didn’t seem to startle Michelle or even concern her.  She only observed the pathetic, puking slave beneath her with an air of annoyance.  Him being sick wasn’t the end of the world but it sure was an inconvenience.  “Give me a break…” she muttered under her breath.

She waited until it seemed Majima had gotten past even the aftershocks of dry heaving.  “You done?” Michelle pried as Majima slowly lifted his head.  Ugh, blood and vomit was still dripping from his mouth.  A muddy mix of bile and blood now painted Majima’s front and the puddle between his legs.  “You love making more work for me.”

Majima knew there was nothing he could say.  He’d be cleaned before being sent to the next freak who paid for him, so not receiving a bath wasn’t his main concern.  What was was what Michelle would do before or after.  His arms feebly shook as he tried to even keep himself in a kneeling position.  

Michelle sighed again, thoroughly annoyed with this dog that refused to train.  “If you must, crawl, we have a lot of work to do before you’re ready to go out again.”

Majima’s gaze returning to the floor served as his agreement.  It was still a monumental task, but he opted to crawl and drag himself back along, letting Michelle lead him back to the proverbial doghouse.

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Majima remained staunch as he sat on the bed.  The man in front of him was overcome by giggles over something he found funny.  Majima couldn’t personally see the humor in all his suffering but it sure was entertaining everyone else.  The shutter clicks of the man’s phone camera were going off a million times a second as he took god knows how many photos of his work.  Being recorded or photographed was one thing but the fact that he couldn’t be bothered to turn silent mode on got under his skin infinitely more.

Majima’s skin now bore numerous fresh cuts.  His body had been mutilated beyond belief ever since his capture and most of his wounds never got a moment to heal, but he’d been cut and prodded with the same pair of scissors tonight by another sick freak who thought gutting Majima was a sufficient punchline.  There was nothing he could do besides just sit and take it.

Majima was painfully aware of the business end of the scissor jammed into a gash in his leg, even when he wasn’t glancing at it.  There likely wasn’t an angle of the scissors he hadn’t seen, as his latest renter had done nearly everything possible with it by now.  All that was left was to use it as a cruel prop in this photoshoot he was an unwilling part of.

“I just love seeing the way you pout like that~” The pervert seemed to be drooling as he snapped burst after burst of photos.  Majima wasn’t necessarily pouting, he was hanging onto the small amount of fury that still resided in him deep down.  His situation was as good as helpless but that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel some type of way about it in his own mind.  He could only hope that this session went by quickly and he could return to an unconscious state before too long.

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Tapping out of his torment was nothing new to Majima.  He’d nearly perfected completely checking out of his current situation if he didn’t want to endure it.  Almost.  The system still had some bugs.  Sometimes there was far too much going on for him to be able to block it out.  This time, though, he had numbed out for a much different reason.

Any noise being made or even most feeling had faded into a haze for Majima.  His torture methods were always trying to one-up each other, he knew that, though he was sure they were trying to keep him alive for as long as he was useful.  He was sure this current excursion was a bit far, but any concerns he had were all buried once money had been passed between hands.

Majima’s left eye had been missing for a long time, gone from his adventures as a much younger captain.  He was almost unaware something was off about his vision by now.  Though, he’d never thought it could be used as some third hole until today.  A more adventurous renter than most had decided to repurpose his vacant socket as a penetrable hole.

The fit was tight, much more of a squeeze than his mouth or down under.  Though hardly any bit of it could fit inside, the man buying his time was thrusting into the socket.  The socket normally remained half open as no eye was there to hold it open.  His eyelids were forced as wide as they could open as what little of the man’s cock could fit rammed it mercilessly.

Tears wrenched from Majima’s good eye dripped down his cheek.  He could only hopelessly drool and softly grunt as he was violated in an entirely new way.  Whether or not his brain was being prodded, it sure felt like it.  This was somehow a new level to everything he’d been subjected to.  He guessed this was as close to a lobotomy as he could get.  Worse yet, if news spread of the success of this operation, a new flood of eager patrons would pour in.  There was already semen and blood pooling down the member and dripping down on Majima’s shoulder and chest but the sensations couldn’t register it.  Honestly, he probably wouldn’t properly awaken until the next day.

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Majima could hardly feel the pain in his ears.  He was nodding off, barely able to fight off sleep and stay the slightest bit conscious.  With a few exceptions, he’d mostly been able to escape being drugged for a long while.  Whether that made his situation better or worse he was still unsure of, but the prolonged absence of anything but the bare minimum of food and water in his system made the injection he’d been given much more potent.  

The new thing the vultures around him were focused on were his ear piercings.  Majima had pierced lobes and two small hoops in his cartilage.  Pirates wearing earrings or other fine jewelry was common.  All of them were after treasure but Majima’s pure, authentic gold piercings were worth the cost of a funeral and burial.  In this place, they weren’t of any use to him.  At Michelle’s request, her loyal goons took to removing them.

The gold adorning Majima’s ears wasn't a simple removal.  They were permanent jewelry, guaranteed to stay attached to him come hell or high water.  The earrings were only meant to be removed at the time of his death.  If they were pierced into him regularly, they had a higher chance of falling out, something he didn’t want given his profession.  Unfortunately for the captain, the goons had to get creative in separating him from his gold.

Majima had been unusually resistant to the removal of his earrings.  Normally, he’d go along with the torture he was forced into that day.  There was never a thing he could do.  As soon as a tool came close to him, he would jerk away, growling and snarling as they tried to wrench off his earrings.  After they’d had enough of Majima being difficult, he was jabbed with another sedative.

Once he settled down, the act of prying the gold off was much easier, though not without its own set of difficulties.  The metal could be removed, sure, but there was no way to get it off without tearing his ears apart.  Michelle didn’t want his ears to be too unsightly, so the surgical team did the best they could, though both of Majima’s ears resembled chew toys once the deed was done.  The gold could be cleaned and given to Michelle with no one being any the wiser, but Majima would awaken with butchered ears and a lot less gold to his name.

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Majima choked and gurgled, making attempts to not utter too many sounds.  Resistance or being too loud were punishable sins and he didn’t want to incur any more torture on top of what was already in progress.  He could only watch the gloved hands dragging the knife around his mouth.

He wasn’t sure what had led to this request.  If it was punishment, Majima wasn’t even sure what had brought it on.  He could do no right in the eyes of the Madlantis brass but any specific incident wouldn’t come to mind.  It could have been any number of infractions.  Either way, he was back in that dingy, disgusting excuse of an operating room, getting another “procedure.”

The right side of his mouth had been carved out to just shy of the base of his ear.  Of course they’d believe in symmetry here, so the knife was being worked through the opposite side.  Every bit of his mouth stung.  He would be mad about them using a dull knife improper for the job, but that was likely intentional.  Even if it was a small thing, anything that would elevate his torture from bad to worse was going to be used.

“There we go.” The faceless grunt took his sweet time removing the knife from the skin.  Majima slumped forward, only held up by the other rando behind him so he wouldn’t run.  He would have wanted to mess with his wounds but he was too numbed out to care.  The damage was done, nothing he could’ve done could have prevented it.  He was going to have to bear this fucked up Glasgow smile for however many days Madlantis decided he had left.

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Another spatter of blood fell from Majima’s mouth.  The last tooth in his mouth was extracted.  The last molar was pinched between the heavily bloodied, metal forceps and almost dangled in front of him as a reminder of what he once had.  As with the others before, it was dropped into the same dish all his other teeth now sat in.

It was almost surprising that a full tooth extraction hadn’t happened sooner.  Majima biting had been a real problem for Madlantis, especially in the earlier days of his capture, but he seemed to be allowed to keep his teeth.  Keeping them cared for properly was another story, as he knew the presence of anyone caring about the state of his teeth was absent.  Still, going fully toothless before today had seemed a step too far.

Majima’s tongue reflexively kept flicking back over his bloody gums.  It wasn’t so much that the removal of the teeth themselves were that painful, he’d already had so much worse.  It was the fact all of his teeth were being removed at once.  No anesthetic, of course not, not even a brush of something numbing over them.  All were unceremoniously yanked out one by one by goons he knew weren’t any sort of dental professionals.

Majima’s gaze drifted to the bloody teeth in the small dish they’d been relegated to.  “What’s she gonna do with those?” One of the grunts mused to the other.

The assistant grunt shrugged.  “I don’t know, maybe jewelry again?  She said something about how nice his teeth were, or something…”

The first shook his head.  “I don’t understand the Queen all the time but, her orders…”

Majima felt so small.  Every basic thing he still had was eventually going to be stripped from him.  He couldn’t predict what would go or when it would be taken, only that he had to be prepared every day for another basic part of him to be painfully removed.

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Majima was stiff, almost frozen in place save for his slightly twitching arms and hands.  He had seemed to settle from all his screaming and carrying on from earlier.  He had seen each of his fingers be severed but now sat with his partially dismembered hands, now able to sit with the reality.  Not all of  his fingers were missing, but just enough had been taken from him to make the act of doing anything with his hands more difficult.

Majima’s hands unconsciously trembled as he stared transfixed at the sight.  It felt different than when any other torture had been done to him.  Although none were pleasant or anything he’d wanted, he could almost forget they were there.  He was used to the ever-changing pattern of cuts that ran from head to toe on his body.  He rarely had a reason to open his mouth by now.  Having a slit mouth and no teeth wouldn’t be at the forefront of his mind unless he stood in front of a mirror.  But his hands were easily always in view.

He was rooted to the seat at the makeshift operating table.  They didn’t need to chain him down these days.  It was understood he’d be obedient no matter what he was put through.  His current onlookers were puzzled at the trance he seemed to be in.  Majima had been through almost everything that Madlantis could think to throw at him but he’d never quite had this reaction.

Thoughts weren’t exactly going through Majima’s head.  It seemed instead to be filled with an incessant, high-frequency buzz.  This was unspeakable.  This was reassuring his paranoia that he didn’t have many days left in this place.  Even if he wanted to move his fingers, he was paralyzed.   If the “surgeons” observing him said anything, he couldn’t hear it.  He only limply allowed them to begin to half-assedly patch up his wounds.  His vision wouldn’t deviate from his mangled hands, missing fingers at completely randomly decided severance points.  There was little time for him left with no chance of rescue in sight.

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“In here is fine for him, right?”

The two grunts carrying Majima laid Majima on the spare mattress.  It wasn’t the most ideal spot for him, but it was after hours to alert Michelle about this.  She’d know in the morning, and that was enough.  She likely wouldn’t even care all that much anyway.  

Keeping the freshly stitched incision in mind, the grunts laid the unconscious captain’s body down unusually gracefully.  The stitches were almost comically incapable of keeping the wound closed but they were better than nothing.  Madlantis’ surgical team wasn’t tasked because of any actual medical credentials, and normally, that wouldn’t be an issue.  It added another layer to Majima’s torture.  Though, when the time came for an actual procedure, it had devolved into pure panic.

Majima had been ill in a way that hadn’t been seen from him before.  Nausea, dizziness, general malaise and even coughing up blood wasn’t out of the norm from him.  What was odd was how specific his illness of the past few days had been.  When Majima had first started complaining about abdominal pain, he was dismissed, as almost all of his woes were.  As time wore on, though, the flapping of his gums about the agony in his midsection was getting harder to ignore.

Hours of the most nightmarish, panicked emergency surgery later, the cause of Majima’s sudden heightened vocalization about his pain had been revealed.  Appendicitis had been brewing in the man for who knows how long before he himself had started noticing.  It was an honest to god miracle Majima’s appendix hadn’t ruptured prior to being cut open.  If it had, they would have had to present his corpse to Queen Michelle as soon as she’d woken up.

The meeting of the minds that had taken place to make sure Majima didn’t die on the operating table was as fascinating and impressive as it was terrifying.  This was the first time the brass conscripted help for an actual emergency, not just to further the gimp’s pain.  There were some kind enough to lend their medical expertise for the operation.  It was likely that Majima was already scheduled for destruction, what with how much had already been done to him.  Michelle usually made a big show of the final days of her prey, though, and they had to ensure he’d make it to see that set day.

Majima, still completely out from the copious amount of sedatives he’d been shot up with, laid limply on the mattress.  One of the grunts moved a pillow under his head.  The mattress and loose sheet were filthy and unkempt, like most areas they’d put Majima in, but he should at least have a period of rest after that experience.

“I need a drink…” One of the grunts murmured as they exited the room, leaving Majima to rest for however long the drugs allowed him this time.

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The operating room was unusually loud as the current surgery was in progress.  Though Majima had a bit harder of a time forming words, he could still yell.  Loudly.  The fact he’d yet to burn out his vocal cords by this point was nothing short of a miracle.  He would sometimes react in a pained fashion, but today, he’d been incredibly resistant.

To the surgical team, Majima should’ve seen this coming.  It would only be a matter of time before another valued appendage was taken.  Maybe because it had taken this long it had put him at ease.  He perhaps thought that they’d forget to take this from him.  Unfortunately for him, Madlantis’ best minds would think of everything eventually.

Sounds that no human should ever make came from Majima as the last piece was excised.  Though the team had been careful to remove and preserve as much as possible as a trophy, the struggle he’d put up had resulted in some minor damage.  Drugging him for it had been tried, but his tolerance was either sky high or the adrenaline going through him was enough to block anything in his system from letting him pass out.

Majima was restrained as best as possible, given the neglected, rusted nature of the equipment available, and had been rendered an eunuch.  Both testicles and his penis were removed, awaiting embalming and being displayed somewhere on Michelle’s trophy shelf.  Majima would still be able to do his bodily functions…they assumed.  But, it didn’t matter at this point.  If he got sepsis or succumbed to all of his torture, that didn’t raise any concern. He’d already been passed around Madlantis so often he was old news.

Majima choked on his own voice as he stared at the bloody carnage between his legs.  He’d had a full view the whole time, even from his restrained position.  He couldn’t get out of his stirrups or the shackles around his wrists.  Multiple guards were there to hold him down to reduce his writhing enough to complete the procedure.  He almost couldn’t believe that everything below was gone.  The adrenaline was beginning to wear off.  His ears rung and his surroundings grew hazy, his good eye suddenly unable to stay open.  As he gave in to his physical whims, the faint sounds of the team rushing to patch him up dimmed until it once again faded to total darkness.

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Quiet, choked sounds were all Majima could make.  Nothing above a wheeze could leave his throat.  Every breath or attempt to vocalize anything made the fresh incision along his throat pulsate and sting.  It itched terribly but Majima knew he couldn’t so much as touch it, let alone scratch.  Crude stitches were woven along the cut, just barely holding things together.  He could still feel and taste blood in his mouth and still dribbling down his chest.

Majima wasn’t quite sure what had been removed this time.  He didn’t even know if something had been removed at all.  He’d been positioned to hold his head up the whole time so finding clues as to why the current surgery had taken place was an impossible task.  He only knew trying to make any sound was painful and something he appeared to be able to no longer do.

All the strangled sounds Majima attempted to make were ignored by those around him.,  He wheezed and tried fruitlessly to make a noise above small passings of air.  A thoroughly used rag was dabbed against his neck, not necessarily for the sake of his care, but just to ensure the wound would eventually close and the excess blood could be wiped off.  

Majima’s good eye darted around where it could currently see.  He couldn’t ask what had happened, not with something in his throat having been damaged.  Even if it was still intact, no one at Madlantis would have given him a straight answer.  He wheezed as his head was still at a forced, upward angle, anxious for when his final operation would be sprung upon him.

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Majima’s head slowly turned around on a swivel, his voice still only a series of crushed gasps.  Attempting to gauge where he was proved futile.  Everything was dark and his other senses gave him little clues as to where he was or who was around him.  The only discernable sensation was the deep pain he felt in his right socket.  

He couldn’t quite recall this particular surgery.  Maybe it was the nature of the operation, maybe it was sleep deprivation or any other ailment he’d contracted, but he only could remember small bits and pieces of his good eye being scooped out.  He knew it was missing, as every time his body reflexively blinked, there was no more eyeball in there.  Curiously, he expected to still touch it if he reached his mangled hand up to it, but he always felt an empty hole.

The onlookers facing him felt a range of emotions as they looked down on him.  Some felt pity for the state of this poor creature, others felt sadistic glee that he was coming apart right before their eyes.  He had gradually become less and less human the more that they took from him.  The once fearsome captain now seemed more reminiscent of a sad, beaten animal.  Everyone knew Majima would have some big “graduation” soon, though he wasn’t fully decommissioned for the patrons of Madlantis just yet.

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Majima howled when the mystery fluid hit his flesh.  He assumed it was acid, even if he couldn’t see what it was.  He could feel his skin burning and reacting with the chemicals.  Not only that, the smell of the acid and his incinerating flesh was horrible.  Despite several of his senses having already been ripped from him, he could very much smell every foul odor around him.

He shook and mewled as layers of his skin fizzed away under the layer of acid.  He reflexively took a defensive position, curling into himself, fearing that another attack was coming soon.  He panted, hyperventilating as he scooted away from where he thought the acid throw had come from.  Tears flowed from his tear ducts, still intact even after the removal of his sight.

Majima sputtered as he cried and coughed, wheezing as he was close to vomiting from the smell.  His arms and legs hopelessly flailed as he backed up against the wall.  His poor, strained voice tried to form words.  Even a simple “no” wasn’t able to exit his mouth.  He was far too out of sorts to get anything resembling actual words out.

“Ugh, god..” One of the attackers let the barrel in his grip fall.  The smell had reached him and the other onlookers to the abused life form in front of them.

“If I’d have known it’d be that bad of a smell I wouldn’t have done it all at once…” The gruff voice mumbled, pulling his shirt up over his nose in a half-hearted attempt to block the scent.

“Whatever, we got him..” Another grunt motioned for him and the others to leave.  As the men left Majima behind, he only continued shaking and crying, revolted from the smell of his flesh and seizing from the pain.  He didn’t know how much more he could possibly be subjected to but even in this state, he knew nothing was off the table for Madlantis now.

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Majima raised his right arm, weakly trying to confirm what about it didn’t feel right.  A cocktail of drugs swam through his bloodstream, as usual.  He had been unconscious for another stretch of time.  Without sight, gauging the passage of time was nearly impossible.  Even telling whether it was day or night was difficult.  Majima already wasn’t getting decent sleep but it was noticeably worse now.  Still, even now, he could tell when he was coming out of another barely anesthetized surgery.

His drugged, thoroughly fried mind tried its best to process what had been taken from him this time.  He may not be able to see it but something had happened to both of his arms.  As his fatigue slowly began to dissolve, he realized he couldn’t feel any of his remaining fingers.  Not in the sense that his nerves were gone, though that wouldn’t surprise him, but in the sense that he no longer had any of his fingers.

Small noises of shock and panic came from Majima as his newly stumpy arms flailed, often just making contact with his own body as he struggled to process the change.  His onlookers giggled amongst themselves.  Nearly everything the gimp did amused them.  They were honestly surprised it took Majima this long to figure out what had happened.

When Majima’s fingers had been chopped off, no one really thought to make sure his wounds closed up and healed properly.  That wasn’t really in the job description for anything concerning Majima.  What no one had realized until it was far too late was that Majima’s body was always at an elevated risk for infection and disease.  It wasn’t until shortly before his current surgery that anyone had realized the necrosis creeping up Majima’s fingers and hands.

Amputating Majima’s hands were all that Madlantis’ surgical team could really do.  Maybe the necrosis or other infections had spread further within him by now.  Whether or not he had anything worse beneath the skin afflicting him didn’t matter.  As long as he somehow made it to his big graduation, he could have anything sinking its teeth in his arteries.

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The roar of the crowd was deafening to Majima.  He couldn’t see how many people had actually gathered around for the occasion but it sounded like everyone who’d ever set foot in Madlantis had shown up.  His head was swimming from the noise, as well as the heat.  Madlantis was already in a warm location but the heat of every possible light at their disposal was aimed directly at him.  The world around him was dark but also burning at a million degrees and full of a cacophony of noise.

Majima could tell from even the first few minutes of the event that he’d not only been restrained with rope but was somehow suspended with all limbs above the floor. He couldn’t be sure how high up they’d left him but no part of him could touch dirt, wood, concrete, or anything besides what was in reach of his mutilated limbs.

By now, it had already felt like an eternity to Majima.  Any patron who paid the right price and who lacked enough of a moral compass had free reign to do whatever depraved, violent thing they wanted to do to Majima.  He’d been raped countless times, usually with no break between whoever was taking turns.  Mutilating him no longer had a limit.  Today was Majima’s “graduation” - really, the day he’d be massacred for all of Madlantis to see.

Majima no longer screamed or even reacted as he was violated by every eager person who wanted to get their hands on him.  He knew this was the end but it couldn’t come fast enough.  He could only pray to anyone that might listen to hurry up and end his suffering.  He weakly slumped down, his restraints being the only thing holding him in place.

A low wheeze came from Majima as he felt an intense, burning sensation tearing up his abdomen.  He realized he was being cut open with some huge instrument.  Instead of the incision being made with some degree of care, the slice opened up a wide hole in his stomach.  A new kind of fear and pain fell over Majima as, even for a fleeting moment, he could feel the innards Madlantis had let him keep unceremoniously falling out of him.

The agony of his internal organs meeting with the outside world was excruciating.  Still, he was oddly thankful for it, in a twisted way only falling prey to Madlantis would provide.  The pain gave way to a tingling sensation throughout his whole body.  HIs ears were no longer filled with the commotion of the Madlantis crowd.  Instead, his ears filled with a ringing sensation that drowned out everything.  Despite how heinous everything he’d endured was, something about being able to embrace death without intrusion was nearly poetic.

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“How’s that look?”

Michelle took a peek in the box.  She let out a small chuckle - not to mock the work but because the contents themselves were amusing enough.  Sitting atop a small smattering of shredded packing paper was the preserved skull of the once illustrious Captain Majima.  The skull being this intact was a bit surprising.  The repetitive beatings and abuse he’d been put through would surely have left some noticeable impact on his skull.  Still, the only truly odd thing about it was all the missing teeth.  Michelle wouldn’t give that over, but the skull?  She could part with that just fine.

“It’s perfect~” Michelle reached in, only to adjust the pirate’s hat perched on the skull.  Majima hadn’t actually worn any of his old pirate garb since his capture.  It was hard to believe he’d once worn it proudly.  “It’ll sure get the message across to his crew, if any still remain.”

Raymond let out a bemused grunt.  He’d not really stopped to think about the rest of Majima’s crew still being out there somewhere.  Maybe it had been on everyone’s mind at the beginning but everyone had lost themselves in the festivities.  The emphasis had swung from alerting Majima’s crew to just how far they could push the envelope with him.

“If they’re out there…I don’t think anyone tried coming back for him.”  Raymond closed the box, reaching for the packing tape to seal it shut.

Michelle shrugged.  She couldn’t recall, either.  Maybe they still didn’t know where their captain had ended up.  “He did run a big ship, maybe there’s at least one poor soul who’ll accept the gift~”

Raymond chuckled as he picked up the sealed box, carrying it under one arm.  “If anything, it’ll show any pirate what we’re capable of…~”

Michelle smiled, nodding as she followed Raymond out, wanting to see the handoff of the precious cargo at the docks.  “I miss him already, but I’m sure there’s always someone else to take his place.”