Nux (
gonnadiehistoric) wrote in
ya_assemble2015-06-01 07:30 pm
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Witness [tons of spoilers]
Nux wasn't sure he believed in Valhalla anymore. After all, Valhalla was supposed to be the place where Warboys walked eternal with Immortan Joe, where they lived with the heroes of old.
But Nux had learned the truth from the Wives - from Capable. He'd realized how wrong he'd been about Immortan Joe. He'd found better heroes in Furiosa - and even the road warrior, nameless and muttering and mad but willing to help them as best as he could - and even in The Vulvalini, who had been outnumbered but fearless, all of them willing to fight to make a better world out of the mire of despair Joe kept them all in. They had wanted to build and protect and stop wasting those that lived in the Wasteland that was their world.
And the man he thought was his god, his redeemer, had died just like that, died like he was any other man. Nux had already mostly believed the wives - and cared enough about them, about Capable, to silence what doubts he had left. He'd mostly understood everything Joe had done was wrong, but for him to die, hearing Cheedo yell it out, cemented it in his mind with a finality that could not be denied.
Immortan Joe was not immortal. Immortan Joe was not his savior, he was mad lunatic that treated people like things - Nux included. Just a thing to be used, just a thing to fight for him, die for him. It had made it so much easier to die for Capable, for the Wives, for the Vulvalini, for the road warrior and Furiosa. And also for the wretches of Citadel, for the milk mothers, and the War pups, and the Warboys sick and at the end of their half life that deserved a better end than dying for nothing at all.
They would make it better. He believed it. The Wives and Furiosa and the surviving Vulvalini - and the road warrior, if he stayed. They were better than Immortan Joe would ever be. They were hope.
He was hope. That was what he could give the last of his life for, a much better death, a much shinier death than any way he could've died for Immortan Joe.
So, when it was clear he wasn't escaping Rictus, when it was clear the only way to block the pass was to crash it all, he had whispered for Capable to witness him and he had seen her hand move, the gesture of mourning for the Vulvalini, like she was taking him forever into her heart - and what better witness could he ask for than Capable? Then he had wrenched the wheel to the side as hard as he could, felt the war rig veer and lurch and then...and then ...
Then he had wound up here, wherever here was. And he felt so...good. Barry and Larry were there but they weren't chewing at his windpipe and he felt like he'd never have another night fever again. He felt good, like a full life.
That was why Nux wondered if Valhalla had ever been real at all. Because he knew he had to be dead and clearly he was somewhere, somewhere where the sickness in his bones had lost its hold. But there were no gates waiting to open for him, like the grills of a pursuit car, shiny and chrome. There were no heroes of old. And he already knew Immortan Joe was a liar. Someone who cared more about the hurting and the owning, not protecting, growing, helping.
This place looked like a place from the before times. Streets all paved and unbroken, buildings intact, lectric lights shiny and bright. There was more green than he'd ever seen in one place, in patches nearby (parks, though he didn't know the word), and green stretching off into the distance (forests) outside the place, the - he had no word for the cluster of buildings and streets. City? Town? He knew there were many old words for places like this and knew a few of them but didn't know enough to tell them apart. The cars were plain and un-salvaged, and sometimes new. Maybe that was what really came after death, a place like the before times, an unbroken, unblemished paradise.
He saw a woman walking down the street, holding her child's hand - a child that was unblemished, without tumors or growths, no deformities, perfect in every way - and called out to her.
"Where am I? What is this place?" he asked plaintively. "Am I arrived in Valhalla?"
But she didn't see him, she didn't hear him, she and her perfect child walked right through him, with the feeling of cold mist, like the cool, moist air in the muddy place with the crows, a place that was pure deadness.
He fell to his knees, and he despaired, oh, he despaired. He was ruin, he was beyond redemption. That was the way of it, wasn't it - he had warred and killed and broken because of Joe's word and maybe he hadn't done enough to find that redemption the road warrior and Furiosa had spoken of. Maybe his death hadn't been enough.
"It was my fault. I know!" he cried out to whatever, whoever, had damned him, cast him to this place. "We should have been dying for the protecting. The Wives asked who was to blame and it was all of us, Joe and us listening to Joe. I know. But I did what I could. That was shine, what I did - isn't that enough?"
There was no answer.
Who broke the world? Men like Joe and the people who helped him did. Maybe the stain was too great for what he did at the pass to wash it away. Even if there was a Valhalla, this wasn't it. This place wasn't warm welcomes by dead brothers, and feasting with heroes, this was an empty place, a place where he was even smaller and less important than back home. It was a place of cold mist and loneliness.
And darkness. Shadows lengthening, turning into monsters, living nightmares, with claws and teeth. Shadows and enemies in the dark that had him breaking a car window, hotwiring a car, and revving away on a merry chase.
Those that came after him to bring him to the Pole at Manny's behest would find themselves in a high speed chase on the highways outside of Burgess that led into the mountains, a trail of police cars full of mystified police officers on his tail - followed by a mass of fearlings the police officers couldn't see.
You had to give the new guy credit: he sure knew how to make an entrance.
But Nux had learned the truth from the Wives - from Capable. He'd realized how wrong he'd been about Immortan Joe. He'd found better heroes in Furiosa - and even the road warrior, nameless and muttering and mad but willing to help them as best as he could - and even in The Vulvalini, who had been outnumbered but fearless, all of them willing to fight to make a better world out of the mire of despair Joe kept them all in. They had wanted to build and protect and stop wasting those that lived in the Wasteland that was their world.
And the man he thought was his god, his redeemer, had died just like that, died like he was any other man. Nux had already mostly believed the wives - and cared enough about them, about Capable, to silence what doubts he had left. He'd mostly understood everything Joe had done was wrong, but for him to die, hearing Cheedo yell it out, cemented it in his mind with a finality that could not be denied.
Immortan Joe was not immortal. Immortan Joe was not his savior, he was mad lunatic that treated people like things - Nux included. Just a thing to be used, just a thing to fight for him, die for him. It had made it so much easier to die for Capable, for the Wives, for the Vulvalini, for the road warrior and Furiosa. And also for the wretches of Citadel, for the milk mothers, and the War pups, and the Warboys sick and at the end of their half life that deserved a better end than dying for nothing at all.
They would make it better. He believed it. The Wives and Furiosa and the surviving Vulvalini - and the road warrior, if he stayed. They were better than Immortan Joe would ever be. They were hope.
He was hope. That was what he could give the last of his life for, a much better death, a much shinier death than any way he could've died for Immortan Joe.
So, when it was clear he wasn't escaping Rictus, when it was clear the only way to block the pass was to crash it all, he had whispered for Capable to witness him and he had seen her hand move, the gesture of mourning for the Vulvalini, like she was taking him forever into her heart - and what better witness could he ask for than Capable? Then he had wrenched the wheel to the side as hard as he could, felt the war rig veer and lurch and then...and then ...
Then he had wound up here, wherever here was. And he felt so...good. Barry and Larry were there but they weren't chewing at his windpipe and he felt like he'd never have another night fever again. He felt good, like a full life.
That was why Nux wondered if Valhalla had ever been real at all. Because he knew he had to be dead and clearly he was somewhere, somewhere where the sickness in his bones had lost its hold. But there were no gates waiting to open for him, like the grills of a pursuit car, shiny and chrome. There were no heroes of old. And he already knew Immortan Joe was a liar. Someone who cared more about the hurting and the owning, not protecting, growing, helping.
This place looked like a place from the before times. Streets all paved and unbroken, buildings intact, lectric lights shiny and bright. There was more green than he'd ever seen in one place, in patches nearby (parks, though he didn't know the word), and green stretching off into the distance (forests) outside the place, the - he had no word for the cluster of buildings and streets. City? Town? He knew there were many old words for places like this and knew a few of them but didn't know enough to tell them apart. The cars were plain and un-salvaged, and sometimes new. Maybe that was what really came after death, a place like the before times, an unbroken, unblemished paradise.
He saw a woman walking down the street, holding her child's hand - a child that was unblemished, without tumors or growths, no deformities, perfect in every way - and called out to her.
"Where am I? What is this place?" he asked plaintively. "Am I arrived in Valhalla?"
But she didn't see him, she didn't hear him, she and her perfect child walked right through him, with the feeling of cold mist, like the cool, moist air in the muddy place with the crows, a place that was pure deadness.
He fell to his knees, and he despaired, oh, he despaired. He was ruin, he was beyond redemption. That was the way of it, wasn't it - he had warred and killed and broken because of Joe's word and maybe he hadn't done enough to find that redemption the road warrior and Furiosa had spoken of. Maybe his death hadn't been enough.
"It was my fault. I know!" he cried out to whatever, whoever, had damned him, cast him to this place. "We should have been dying for the protecting. The Wives asked who was to blame and it was all of us, Joe and us listening to Joe. I know. But I did what I could. That was shine, what I did - isn't that enough?"
There was no answer.
Who broke the world? Men like Joe and the people who helped him did. Maybe the stain was too great for what he did at the pass to wash it away. Even if there was a Valhalla, this wasn't it. This place wasn't warm welcomes by dead brothers, and feasting with heroes, this was an empty place, a place where he was even smaller and less important than back home. It was a place of cold mist and loneliness.
And darkness. Shadows lengthening, turning into monsters, living nightmares, with claws and teeth. Shadows and enemies in the dark that had him breaking a car window, hotwiring a car, and revving away on a merry chase.
Those that came after him to bring him to the Pole at Manny's behest would find themselves in a high speed chase on the highways outside of Burgess that led into the mountains, a trail of police cars full of mystified police officers on his tail - followed by a mass of fearlings the police officers couldn't see.
You had to give the new guy credit: he sure knew how to make an entrance.
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The kitchen was unoccupied when they arrived fortunately. She hooked an ankle around a chair leg to pull it out for him as she headed for the mugs. "Water? Cocoa? There's eggnog too, and we've got coffee and tea as well."
Once he had something to eat and drink, she could take another stab at explaining magic to him, and trying to explain why and how they were there.
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"What's - what are all of those things you said other than water?"
A pause.
"I didn't know there could be so many things for drinking."
Water and mother's milk, that was it where he came from.
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"Cocoa is a sweet tasting drink made from plants," she said. Which really didn't do it justice, but she wasn't sure how to describe it either.
"Eggnog is made with eggs and milk and sweetener. Tea is made from special dried leaves steeped -- soaked in hot water, and coffee is made from dried and ground beans soaked in hot water. Cocoa, tea, and coffee are all served warm, eggnog is served cold. Tea and coffee are more bitter, but can be sweetened."
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"What's leaves? That's like plants, right? The green parts?"
They tended to eat the other bits of the plants. The non-green. The orange parts and red parts and so on. So he knew the name for the vegetables they ate but he was a black thumb. He'd had absolutely no experience with maintaining the green. He only knew the names of the bits that got served up to them.
"I'm a black thumb, not a green thumb. I don't know plants."
So far the water was still sounding the most reasonable but he was...curious.
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Come to think of it, maybe right now wasn't the best time to be offering him caffeine.
"I usually go for cocoa or water, myself," she said. "Depending if I want something warm or cold."
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"The cocoa then. Whatever it is."
If it was made of plants it might be more nourishing than water, like mother's milk, and you always went with whatever fed you the best if you had a choice. If it was that revolting he could always ask for water instead. (And if she didn't let him have it he could try to take it anyway).
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She took out all the ingredients and made the cocoa at the table, so he could watch the entire process. Then, while the cocoa cooled down to a more drinkable temperature, she raided the cookie supply and prepared an assortment plate. It wouldn't have won her any competitions at a charm school, but she figured she should try for as many different types of cookie as possible.
The mugs went on a tray so she could carry them with one hand and she brought everything over to where he was leaning against the wall.
"We never traded names, did we?" she asked as she put both trays down between them, settling herself cross-legged on the floor. "I'm Cassie, Cassie Sandsmark."
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After she brought it over, he looked at the strange brown liquid curiously, picking one of the cups, staring into it as he took it unto his hands.
Then his eyes darted nervously back to her face.
"Nux. My name's Nux."
He was calmer now but part of that was things were finally calming down around him. Nothing at all harrowing or strange had happened in the last few minutes as she made the cocoa and gathered the - what kind of food was this? This did not look like food.
"What are these?" he asked of the cookies, the cocoa mug still resting in his hands, where it would stay until she drank from her mug first. "They don't look like food."
Food was the more colorful bits of plants and beans and bugs from the bug farm and mother's milk. And sometimes road meat, if food was scarce and they were fighting with enemies whose bodies weren't wrecked in battle and they had time to collect them.
Never full-lifes. Full-lifes were too valuable as blood bags. But sometimes their enemies' bodies were intact enough to be worth a meal or two. You didn't waste road meat during times food was harder to come by.
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She noticed he was watching her, waiting, and she took a swallow from her mug to show it was safe.
"They're cookies," she said. "They're like bread, sort of, if you have that." She pointed at a particular cookie. "The brown flecks in this one are chocolate, like what's in the cocoa." She pointed to another cookie. "This one is oatmeal raisin, the flecks are dried grapes. This one's a sugar cookie, that's what the shiny stuff is on top." She picked up the sugar cookie, which was star-shaped, and snapped off one of the limbs, popping it in her mouth and offering him the rest of the cookie to try.
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That was a good sign.
"You're from a different people, aren't you. Like the Many Mothers," he said. "They're also from the wasteland but they have...different ways."
That was the only word he could think of to describe how they believed different things, had different sayings, had different gestures.
He put the mug down.
"Like the War Boys, we have - " He showed her the sign of the V8, a gesture he no longer put much stock behind. So much of it was tied to Immortan Joe that it didn't feel comfortable anymore, as much as he'd never stopped respecting its power. To worship the V8 was to worship Joe and he wasn't sure yet how to separate them apart. "But the Many Mothers have -"
And he showed her their sign of mourning - the last thing he'd seen Capable do before he'd crashed the war rig.
"When they lose someone. Different...ways. Things. Signs. Different reasons for them, too."
Different beliefs.
The War Boys and Many Mothers had more things in common than he had with this stranger, because they were both from the Wasteland, but they had their differences. And just like his people had their differences from the Many Mothers he was starting to understand that he and this Cassie had very different frames of reference, even if they were speaking the same language.
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She nodded as he spoke, listening to him describe the different people he was familiar with.
"I'm an Amazon," she said, and set her mug down so she could raise her arms above her head and bring her bracers together in an x shape. "This is our salute. It's a greeting sometimes, but it's also for showing respect to our fallen sisters." She lowered her arms and held them out before her. "And we wear these bracers to remind ourselves of times when we've been held captive."
She'd been given hers after she'd been mind-controlled into trying to kill Diana and had broken free.
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He mimicked the gesture back, crossing his arms in the X shape, which said something about him, that he'd try to communicate on her level. Other people had better ways, he'd learned that already. And his people didn't have a proper greeting - they didn't do greetings. They did raids and captures and hunts and pursuits. You didn't need greetings when a proper War Boy greeting was a lancer bombing someone from a pursuit vehicle. So it was her gesture he mimicked back, hoping desperately to find some kind of commonality, some kind of connection so he wasn't truly alone in this place.
Nux didn't know what a vocabulary was but she wanted to match something so maybe what they had to do was tell each other more about where they were from until they could find some kind of understanding.
Maybe if he explained Citadel and what had happened to him recently, it would help.
"I'll try to - to give you words. Enough to understand." He licked his scarred lips. "I'm a War Boy. From Citadel. Citadel is - a mountain. Mountains. Carved out on the inside and that's where the green is kept and the milk mothers who make the milk and the tread mill rats that pump the aqua cola - the water - and raise and drop the platforms. And down below are the wretches and sometimes they get raised up but they get put to work inside the mountain. For the War Boys, we start as War Pups and become black thumbs - mechanics. And then lancers and drivers in the raids and trades and supply runs. We used to serve Immortan Joe. He was - he was in charge, controlled all the water. The center of our whole world. He taught us that he was immorta, he died and lived again, but that was a lie. That was..."
He trailed off, looking a little lost. That was his whole life turning out to be a lie and it was still a hard bug to swallow.
"Furiosa - she was one of his Imperators, she was, uh -" What word could he find. "Boss lady. A leader under him but over the War Boys. She helped his Wives - his prize breeders - escape. And we went on a merry chase and I brought my blood bag."
He was starting to realize a lot of his words would make no sense to a stranger.
"A blood bag is, uh." How did he explain that one. "I'm half-life, born dying." He pulled down the blanket to gesture to the tumors at his neck. "Barry and Larry are me mates, giving my windpipe a hug. A blood bag is a full-life that we hook up to give blood to sick War Boys. I was - I needed to be topped off, nearly falling on my feet, so I brought my blood bag on the chase and he got free and joined Furiosa and the Wives on the war rig Furiosa stole. And then I failed Joe and hid on the war rig because I knew there was no going back. Capable - one of the Wives was so...she was kind. And I started to realize what was wrong."
He shook his head in a way that was somewhat frantic.
"Everything was - everything..." Everything he'd believed in. "They didn't want to be things and my blood bag, he turned out to be less high-octane crazy. Still crazy but he wanted to - to help. And I helped them, too, because I started to understand and we joined up with the Many Mothers - Furiosa's people. She wanted to find them and the Green Place. Where she came from when she was young, before she was taken by Citadel. We were all going to go to the Green Place but it turned out the Green Place had spoiled and gone poisoned and most of the Many Mothers were gone. So my blood bag - the road warrior - came up with the idea to go back to Citadel and take over the Aqua Cola and the green. We made a run for Citadel and planned to block the War Boys at the pass. Which I did. The Wives and Furiosa killed Joe and I crashed the war rig at the pass behind them."
He was babbling, he realized that now. But he was very confused and if he couldn't understand anything here, maybe he could make her understand everything back home enough that she could find a way to bridge the gap.
"I don't understand." He gestured to the kitchen. "Any of this. It's not - there's nothing here I know and I don't understand how it works. No black thumbs, no V8, no milk mothers. Nothing. Nothing's the same. It's wasteland back home. There were wars. Long ago. Over guzzoline and water. That's when they dropped the poison bombs and most people were made half life."
He leaned forward slightly as if sharing a secret.
"And I should be dead." A pause. "And I feel...good." He gestured to himself in confusion. "I've never not been sick."
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There were some details that she couldn't quite grasp, but she didn't really need to. What she did get and what she could extrapolate told her plenty.
"My world isn't like that at all," she said softly, looking at him with sympathy in her eyes. "My world looks like the one you saw when you got here -- it's green and brown and blue, and there's still water. There's --" her eyes went hard again, "--I won't say there's no one who treats other people like this Joe scumbag treated people, but they mostly have to do it in secret, because other people would try and stop them. Would stop them. There are people in my world who can fly or can throw cars or outrun them, people who have actually died and lived again after -- but they never acted like it made them better than anyone else. They were just glad to see their friends and loved ones again. And they use their amazing abilities to stop people from doing things like Joe did."
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As for the rest, he looked on in confusion.
"They really - they really are immorta? The can outrun cars? Pick them up?" Wonder started to creep into his features but then it was cut off at the knees. "No. No, when Joe said he was immorta it was a lie, it was -"
A pause.
"But you flew. That was real. That's normal where you're from? Does everyone fly?"
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There, actually asking instead of making assumptions; took you long enough to work out that basic communication tool, Sandsmark.
"Not everyone flies where I'm from," she said. "Most people can't. The ones who can look for other people who can so they can teach them how to do stuff without hurting people. That's how I became an Amazon. When I started flying, Diana taught me how I could use it to help people. And when she couldn't teach me, she got one of our other sisters to teach me and keep me safe until I could keep myself safe."
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Apparently people in alternate post-apocalyptic futures liked to drop their L's.
But the rest, the rest was -
"Oh, not everyone can fly, she says," he muttered to himself, clasping a hand over his face for a moment. "Just some people."
Did she even realize how that sounded?
With her describing her world, he finally understand what she meant by it being another world, by her comparing it to Valhalla. Clearly it had to be an entirely different sphere of existence, somehow, like the afterlife was. For it to have all those impossible things.
"Why am I here? You're from - from a different place than this. That's what you're saying, right? A place that's like the before times like this place but not - not this place. Not where I'm from either. We're both in this place, because - because of stories. Somehow. Impossible things, all of it's impossible things. Magic - that's what you call these impossible things. Why did the magic bring us here? You said this world is looking for heroes. Why? Places don't look for people, people look for places. How can this be a place looking for people from stories? Even if the stories can travel from place to place."
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She couldn't help cracking a smile when he started muttering to himself. Sarcasm meant that he probably wasn't freaking out too badly, and she had plenty of experience with boys being sarcastic at her. She sobered again when he started asking questions about why they were here.
"There are...magical creatures here," she said. "One of them was stupid and opened a door he shouldn't have, and a monster got its claws in the door so it couldn't be shut out. The monster is trying to get the rest of the way in now, and it's making cracks in reality, like a car ramming into another car." Metaphors, similes, those were good. Tangible things he could use.
"This world is more magical than mine, it's got guardians to keep its people safe. But the monster captured some of them, and with the holes in the walls the monster was already making, the magic started getting out and trying to find people that could be temporary guardians. Following me so far?"
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"Monsters making cracks in the world. I think - I think I might see if there's a way I can go back to the crashing the war rig. Any chance of that?"
He was just a War Boy.
"I shouldn't be here. I'm not - I'm not anybody. I can't fight some kind of monster-thing. World-breaking monster thing. Magic things. There's no magic where I'm from. No flying. No impossible things."
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"Also, you're magic now, remember? You're tougher and stronger and you feel better than you did back home, and you heal really fast? And I bet you noticed you couldn't talk to people when you got here. It couldn't bring you here without making you magic. You'll be able to do something magic now -- I don't know what, it's different for everyone. But there's a guy here who has no more magic than you in his world, and he makes us heal faster now that he's here. And we get more powerful the more people that believe in us."
She took a deep breath. "But if you really don't want to fight, no one's going to make you. We can't send anyone back -- it's one way right now -- but we can set you up in a safe place with people who can see you until we've finished fighting. Then you can go home again -- or maybe even somewhere else instead, so you don't have to just go back and die."
no subject
It was all completely impossible but that was what she was trying to explain. Yes, it was impossible. Where they were was impossible, because something impossible was doing the impossible. Where she came from was impossible, what she was was impossible, and now he was impossible.
All of it was impossible.
"This thing. What does it want? The world-breaking thing. The monster thing. What happens when it breaks the world?"
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He looked like he'd been punched in the gut. He knew how awful his world was, especially now that he better understood everything he'd been taught about Joe was wrong, but to imagine it snuffing out...
"Seems almost like mercy," he said, the words coming out of his mouth before he could stop them. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and winced, knowing how terrible that was, his hand dropping, his lips pressing together. "But then there'd be no hope. No chance of the Wives and Furiosa making Citadel better. And any places that maybe are better, far off from us in the wasteland, will be gone. And your world - your impossible world, and this world, other worlds that are like the before times, not broken yet. They'd break."
This thing wanted to break his world even worse, wanted to break worlds that weren't broken, wanted to break all worlds. Worlds where people flew, worlds that were whole, worlds with little flying wonders and colors in the sky.
Killing everyone and everything. Capable, the Wives, Furiosa, the road warrior, the war pups, the milk mothers, the treadmill rats, the wretches...'
"We're not to blame," he'd told the Wives.
"Then who killed the world?" Men like Joe and the people who helped him.
But what did you call the ones who stepped aside and let the world get broken? That didn't try to stop it? He didn't know but he didn't want to be whatever that word was.
"I'll fight," he said. He'd been gazing off into the distance as he thought about it but now he looked up at Cassie and nodded a tremulous little nod. "I was already dead. Even with this, surviving the pass, this isn't to last, is it? Being fit and strong. This is just...I've stalled." He gestured up and around. "World's just got to replace a fuel filter when this is over and then I'm on the move again. I'm already dead. I've already been dead. Might as well make use of the extra miles I've got."
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"You wouldn't have to go back to the exact point you died," she said. "Or even back to your universe, if you don't want to. And if you decide this fight's too much for you, no one's going to look down on you for taking a step back. But in the meantime..."
She picked her mug up again and raised it. "Here's to the world continuing to spin," she said, and tapped it against his mug before taking another swig of cocoa.
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But it seemed to be something he was maybe supposed to match in gesture so having missed the tapping part he finally picked up his mug and took a sip of the strange brown liquid in it like she had.
Then his eyes popped open wide, and after he swallowed, his jaw dropped open like cocoa was the single thing he found hardest to believe in all this.
"Glory me! You said this is made of plants?"
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