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Published:
2015-05-21
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The New God

Summary:

After the Death of the Immortan, Furiosa inherited hundreds of War Boys who worship a dark metal god...if she was going to rule over the citadel, she'll either need to embrace the V8 religion or build a new one.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

The War Boys had spent the better part of the week looking for something to murder. This wasn't because Furiosa told them to kill people, it was because that was what War Boys did. Their religion, their belief system had told them to kill and they knew of no other way to live. Immortan Joe's religion, the Holy V8, was a belief system built on killing and dying. If a War Boy refused to kill something, he didn't get in to heaven, so in the two weeks since Furiosa's rise to power, she found much of her day was spent wrangling the War Boys to keep them from killing everything in sight. It was a tough job and Furiosa knew she couldn't keep doing it forever. 

Sooner or later, something had to be done about the War Boys. 


The Pilot, a skinny, awkward looking man, had landed his gyrocopter outside the Citadel two hours earlier and was now standing inside Furiosa's quarters. He claimed to be from the Gold Coast and handed her the letter upon his arrival stating as such. Furiosa could barely read beyond a fifth grade level but she still managed to grasp the main points of the message: The letter was an offer of Alliance from the Gold Coasters and a promise to resupply the Citadel with car parts from their junkyards.   As she examined the message, the Gyro Captain waited patiently for her to finish and then  leaned against the doorway of her "throne room", the Immortan Joe's former vault. Furiosa felt the old man's gaze examining her and her spine stiffened. She had put up with the wandering eyes of old perverts for her entire life, if this old man didn't stop staring she was going to cut him in half. 

"I thought this was Immortan Joe's house." The Pilot muttered as he examined the green leafy vegetation hanging from the ceiling. 

"I killed him and took it." Furiosa spat out the words like a challenge, daring him to doubt her, "Me and my friend Max tore his bloody face off."

The Pilot froze, turning to look at her with an unreadable expression. "Did you say Max?" 

Furiosa felt her hand migrate to the gun on her belt, wondering if this was one of Max's old enemies or someone the crazy wanderer had crossed in his travels.

"My people, the Gold Coasters, we used to live in the Wasteland under Lord Humongous. You remember Lord Humongous?" Furiosa looked at the old man like he was crazy, everyone knew the Humongous, "I had a friend named Max, too. When we were scared, when we had no one left to help us...we had Max and he killed the Humongous." She was stunned. "You remember the Night Rider?" She nodded, "Rumor has it a man named Max did that too." 

The Pilot chuckled, shaking his head in amazement. "I wonder if your Max and my Max are the same man." 

Furiosa didn't need to wonder. She knew it to be true. 

Suddenly, Furiosa had an idea...


"War boys!" Furiosa shouted and the hundreds of ghost white bodies came running to her side in the darkness of the caves. They stood next to the idol of the V8 as they awaited her orders with breathless anticipation. But they all gasped when she reached over with her good arm and pushed the sacred V8 to the ground.

"Today you have a new god!" She said, "Today I will tell you about the Max..."


 

The Max's Prayer

Oh Great Interceptor, Holiest of Drivers 

One who rides the wastes,

One who slew the Immortan and the Humongous and the Night Rider.

He who survived the Thunderdome.

Forgive me my sins and empower me to protect those beneath my charge.

As we drive towards the sunset, hear our engines roar.

Let us honor you as we battle those who strike against the righteous and weak. 

Protect us as we burn the evil and the cruel from the face of the desert. 

Protect us as we wield the sawed off and the pistol, just as you have done. 

Protect us as we build the family that you may never have. 

If I may fall in your service, guide me to Wallhalla, as you have guided so many others.

Amen

Notes:

For the record, I imagine that the War Boys would start dressing like Max now, with busted up highway patrol jackets and running around with sawed off shotguns in the air.