They call me Max... my world is fire, and blood... I run from both the living, and the dead... my life is in shambles. I am a man who has lost everything... so I wandered, trying to find redemption, to find peace in a world gone mad.
I wander in a land with no gods or angels, only demons and devils.
I was hunted by scavengers, bandits, and warlords. Forced to fight back, lest I become a slave, or a bloody meat sack on the side of the road. The voices follow me wherever I go, haunting visions of those I had let down in the past remain with me. Taunting me, blaming me for their deaths... I carry them with me, and I always shall...
I always assumed, I would end up dying in storm somewhere... forgotten...
But it seems, fate... has other plans for me.
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The world is a desolate shell of its former self, bathed in thermonuclear fire and warfare over a precious resource. Years have passed since the Great Conflict over the oil, and now all that is left of the world remains a broken dangerous wasteland. Filled with many undiscovered dangers both past and present, filled with people who wish to do nothing but harm to anyone they happen to see. Without a vehicle, you were doomed in the desert.
And that was the case, for one man who was trudging through the sand.
He waded through the ankle deep sand, a small storm blowing his way kicking up sand and blocking his vision. He held up an arm, a scarf and goggles around his face to help him see. It worked, to a degree, if the goggles were not caked up with dirt and rust that is. His leather clothing protected him from the storm, and his boots the scorching heat of the sand. He lugged a backpack along with him, one that held various items he will probably end up having a use for.
By his side dangled a sawn-off double barrel shotgun, his prized and trademark weapon of choice. That's not to say he won't use anything else, if he happens to come across a revolver or something, he'll use it. He just prefers his sawn-off.
Damn storm. He cursed inwardly, straining to see past the wall of sand he was trudging through. He had traveled quite far after leaving the citadel in the hands - hand? - of Furiosa, what remained of the five wives, and the last of the many mothers. He would have stayed, but he felt as if he would only bring about trouble. Everywhere he went he ended up in some situation that ended with him helping someone, or risking his life for some poor sod.
He had quickly gone from a blood bag of Immortan Joe's to saving and then taking over The Citadel where thousands of people were able to get fresh clean water. Max had no doubts in his mind Furiosa would be a capable leader, with the War Pups, she could possibly train them and eventually have her own army if she plays her cards right. With the death of Immortan Joe, all that remained of his forces were trapped beyond the canyon south of where he came from.
Even if they had somehow gotten past the canyon, there is no way up into The Citadel he knew of aside from the elevator that they used to lower down vehicles... speaking of vehicles.
I lost my interceptor... he cursed that fact, that was his prized vehicle, and one that had been with him for many years and now, now it was gone. Lost in the sand, its fate, a rusted half buried junk heap. Maybe I should have gotten a vehicle from The Citadel. He could have, instead he walked off, disappearing into the crowd of survivors and eventually, away from the place where he was almost branded. I'll find something to ride.
Max...
He stopped, his eyes glancing to the left and the right as he heard the voice again. All he saw was sand and rocks, and the faint outline of a little girl. Why do you torment me? He asked, knowing he wouldn't get an answer.
Max... The voice called out to him, somehow he could hear it over the storm. Suddenly, his vision was overtaken by visions, of people from his past. Survivors he had met, the people he had killed and the people he failed to protect. They swam throughout his vision, making him close his eyes, but it did very little to help him. Why didn't you help, Max? She asked him.
Max trudged forward after the ghost. He ran up the hill of sand, hit something once he reached the top and ended up tripping and falling down the other side. "Ah!" He yelled as he rolled down the sand, tucking and rolling to avoid any bodily damage. He rolled down for what felt like hours before finally hitting the ground with a thud, he felt dizzy, his head hurt and he was sure he had hit something metallic. Max shook his head, opening his eyes and looking around, he saw he was in a rather flat desert area and, as luck would have it, near a small hut that had an intact wall.
Max stood up, shaking off the sand and moving towards it as the sandstorm raged on even more fierce than before. He moved towards the building, pulling out his shotgun and making sure both of his new shells were inside. Once he saw they were there, he closed the breech and held it up, advancing on the hut. It was relatively small, made out of parts from a few cars and trucks, and looked abandoned, but he knew better. He's seen things like this before, sure they look abandoned, but that doesn't mean someone might be hiding inside.
The door was slightly ajar, a door made out of what looked like the siding of a tanker. He carefully made his way over, nudging the door open and going inside. He saw it was empty, a couple of car seats were situated near one end, fashioned into a couch of sorts, a few other odds and ends sat around, most of it looking useless to his eyes. He pulled down his scarf and goggles, allowing him to see better. He turned around, closing the door and going to check the hut, after giving it a quick once over he sighed. It was empty.
Turning around he took of his pack and sat it down, sitting on the couch with grunt. Setting his pack down as his eyes drifted across the room, eventually settling on the floor. It had been several weeks since he left the citadel, crossing the harsh desert landscape was tough in of itself, and seeing how he had no vehicle that only made it harder on his body. His legs burned, his body was coated in sweat and he felt the need to sleep. It had been years since he had gotten a good night's sleep.
I'm alone for now... maybe I can shut my eyes for a bit. He did just that, taking out his shotgun and laying it by his side before leaning back, closing his eyes.
*THUD*
But it was not to be so. Max's eyes shot open, his hands flying to his shotgun as he looked around, getting onto his feet and looking towards the area where he had heard the thud. He stalked towards it, his body rigid and ready for an attack. His mind drifted to what it could have been, a dog, bandit, one of the War Boys, maybe just some poor sod who had the same idea he had?
He expected a lot of things when he entered into the other room that held a bed... the one thing he wasn't expecting to see... was a small creature with a shiny brilliant gold coat of fur, with a vivid orange mane and tail with light amber streaks in it, sitting on the bed, staring at him with orange eyes. His gun was trained on it, and his eyes were locked on its own. He knew what this creature was, from an old book he recalled reading he found about mythological creature...
A Pegasus. He thought, eyeing its tiny wings and messy mane as he found himself lowering his shotgun in shock. The look in its eyes, and the small lashes told him it was a female pegasus, though why she was here, he had no idea.
The poor thing shivered in fright at the newcomer, small whimpers escaping the filly as she looked at the human in front of her. She didn't know what to do.
Another hallucination? Max wondered, prepared to back out of the room before he found himself stopping.
Max... The voice cried out to him, sounding closer than ever. Are you just going to leave her, Max? The voice asked again, making him turn towards the Filly who was looking around as the storm raged on outside. The young filly looked absolutely terrified of the storm, her eyes wide with fright.
More visions appeared, one of a man long dead, who he had handcuffed to a car before it exploded. His burned charred body locked eyes with Max. "Why'd you do it, Bronze?" He asked, pieces of flesh falling off. "Why'd you do it, Bronze?!"
Max looked at the floor, holding a hand to his head as his mind tried to wrap around what was going on. No, you're dead, have been dead! Max looked at the filly again, the voice was tormenting him again. The filly was too colorful, its eyes too big and body too small to be something of this world. He didn't know what to do, he wanted to leave.
You're going to leave her? The voice asked again, making him grasp his head tighter. You're going to leave her to die, like you've done to everyone else who's come into your life?
*CRACK-BOOM*
Suddenly Max found himself falling backwards as something collided with his chest, he fell to the floor, his gun slipping from his grasp and falling onto the floor beside him as the filly had propelled herself at Max when the thunder sounded from outside. Wrapping as much as herself as she could around him and shivering, Max shook his head from the fall and looked down at the pony, he thought she was a delusion... but the force of the fall and the pain in his chest from the collision told him otherwise.
She is real. Max couldn't believe it, the pony currently clutched to his chest was indeed a real thing, not a hallucination. What in the hell is going on?
Protect her, Max... The voice told him, whispering in his ear. A vision flashed through in front of him, split seconds passed and all he saw was something bursting into a room, a buddy blasting through the desert behind him, and the small filly hiding behind the couch in fear. Max shook his head as the voice came back, saying once again. Leave her to die, just like the rest...
Another thunderclap sounded outside, making the filly burrow into Max's jacket in hopes of escaping the loud noise. Her whimpers prompted Max to wrap his arms around her, pulling her close as the storm outside tore up the landscape. Slamming against the shack with full force. The filly held onto Max's form as he whispered, "Calm down," his vocal cords were not used to speaking again just yet, as he had spent months, maybe years in complete silence. "It's just a storm, it'll pass."
His words seemed to had an effect on the filly, her whimpers died down but she remained in his embrace. Her eyes wrenched shut and her wings clamped firmly to her sides, Max began rocking back and forth slightly as he rubbed her back. Her fur felt different then anything Max had felt in a while, it was smooth, clean, and soft to the touch. Her mane likewise was silky, and it seemed the more Max petted her the more she quieted down, eventually she had stopped, looking up into his eyes curiously.
He looked down at her, his own eyes filled with questions. "Where did you come from?" He asked her, not exactly expecting her to understand. But imagine his surprise when the filly's eyes teared up and she shook her head, another heart wrenching whimper filling his ears. "You don't know?" Again, another head shake, he sighed softly. Running his fingers through her mane, she seemed to like that as she gave a small coo in response as she closed her eyes. Can't believe I'm talking to this thing like it's an actual person.
Max had seen many things through his travels, most of them being crazed cults, mutant wildlife, relics from a bygone era, all kinds of things, people and places. But this, a tiny pegasus filly that looked like it belonged in a child's book, it was unreal. Now he had the voices in his head asking, no, pleading to him.
Protect her, Max. They all cried, making him tighten his hold on the filly as more thunder rolled through the skies outside. The filly kept her eyes locked on his, he did the same.
"Do you have a name?" He asked her, this time however he got a nod. "I don't suppose you could tell me?"
She scrunched up her muzzle, opening her mouth, Max waited for a word... but all he got was a squeaky noise. She threw her hooves over her mouth, blushing.
Max just shook his head, a tiny chuckle making its way out. Suddenly, light shone through from above, looking up Max spotted some holes where the sun was peeking in, its rays bouncing off of the filly's coat and almost shining like gold, her mane and tail likewise was shining. Her mane looks like fire. He noted, watching as the light reflected off of it. The filly hopped off of him, any fear she had was gone as she flapped her wings and flew up, much to Max's surprise as he previously thought wings of those size couldn't possibly lift up something so big. But she proved him wrong as she looked out of the hole outside...
And promptly flew back after some sand got into her mouth. She flew back to Max, landing in his lap and started spitting onto the ground, trying to get the sand out of her mouth. "Pbbbth pbbbth!" The filly spit, shaking her head.
Max found himself trying to fight back a laugh, suddenly. He found himself thinking of a word, and he asked. "Fire?"
The filly stopped her spitting, looking up at Max and nodding, her mane bobbing as she pointed to her mane, then started spitting again before gesturing to her mouth.
"Fire?" He asked again, getting a headshake. Max thought for a moment, scratching his chin before finally asking, "Spitfire?"
She nodded again, this time giggling and smiling happily as she bounced in his lap, clapping her hooves together.
The Road Warrior sighed, nodding his head as he patted her head, getting another giggle out of her. "Spitfire..." He started, leaning back as the filly looked up at him with bright eyes. "You're in a dangerous place," His voice softened as he continued petting Spitfire, the filly leaning into his touch. "And I'm not sure what to do..." Max looked towards the door, he couldn't leave the poor thing here, but he didn't exactly have the means to care for another person, let alone a creature such as Spitfire... The voices, while they haunted him, they had helped in a way, giving him certain abilities and keeping him alive.
Spitfire seemed to sense his inner turmoil, and hugged him, laying her head on his chest and snuggling into his jacket.
Max slowly stood up, holding Spitfire close as he picked up his fallen weapon, his backpack and went into the room he found the filly in before sitting on the bed, placing his bag to the side and holstering his shotgun. He laid back on the mattress, the dirty old thing squeaking under his weight as a few springs poked him through the fabric.
I guess we'll find out tomorrow what happens.
With that done, Max's eyes closed with Spitfire's, the two breathing softly as they drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
