All Bobs Must Die:

Now that Nux was a bit more adjusted to his new surrounds and a bit calmer, he'd taken to exploring a bit. There was quite a bit to explore, given how many levels there were to this place, and each one of them had amazing things to see. There was a whole level of paper. Just paper spewing out of the mouth of a massive carving of a wooden man, maybe some kind of soldier? And inside the paper was more paper, and on that paper there was writing. He'd picked up and read one of the papers and it seemed to be some kind of message scrawled in what might have been a child's handwriting, naming things that might have been the toys being made on the other floors.

On each floor they made all different toys. He hadn't even dreamed there were that many different kinds of toys that could be made and the sight of them reminded him of something he'd long since forgotten. His Mamma and Dadda had made him a toy when he was very young, a little doll of scrap metal and wire. He'd forgotten it but for some reason this place made it easier for him to remember some of the things he'd long forgotten.

He was fairly sure his parents had been kind to him. Yes. Yes, "beautiful boy," his mother had called him. But then his father had gone away and his mother had gone still, and the rest was...

The rest was a very long time of not having had that sort of kindness. Oh, he'd had his place with the War boys, certainly. They had their strange camaraderie, but it was one filled with head butts and punches and challenges and aggression. And they were not truly important to each other because they were only important if they died for him.

Not like Capable's gentleness. Not like his mother's soft words or his father's soft promises of a better life.

( How had he forgotten it? )