The Immortal Fury Road

As Max shared a respectful glance with Furiosa and Immortal Joe’s prized breeders before blending into the crowd and again departing for parts unknown the thought of “who killed the world?” began to come to a close. In a world that has been long forgotten from the days of technology. Where road warriors roamed the blood covered sand for supplies and water off of those dead or alive. Ferocious riders of industrial vehicles with metallic bits and fixtures constantly fixated on the ideas of salvation in the afterlife. Thousands of lost souls cheer and cry over the new ruler of the saturate supply. For what seemed like decades, killing for guzzoline was all the citizens of the Fury Road Wasteland required. From the Gastown to the Bullet Farm, from Green Place, all the way to the Citadel, Max had only known one thing, survival. It was Max’s one true instinct in the wasteland now.

After transforming gruesomely slow from a fearless cop to a rogue warrior the incline transition for a righteous cause kept blood in his veins bumping and air in the warrior's chest continuously growing. The world Max knew now with the Immortal Joe out of the picture was still considered fire and blood to him. “If you can’t fix what’s broken, you’d go insane” was a phrase constantly echoing in the back of Max’s mind. Where would Max go to search for a better self-was sadly to wander the wasteland in what seemed like for eternity? Similar to Furiosa who now ruled and watched over the Citadel, redemption had been Max’s next goal now. Having his bag packed, and motorbike fully fueled with guzzoline the sound of war drums and electric guitars had come to a halt as Max road out into the wasteland. Was Max still considering himself “the one who runs from the living and the dead?”

The brand from Immortal Joe’s time in power in the back of Max’s neck might have led to a clue. Memories of being out on harsh sands riding in the war rig still filled Max’s mind. The feral blood bag the half-life war boys know the rogue warrior for was over. For, it was Max’s blood that kept the night fevers away from Nux. That bald headed, blue-eyed, chromed mouth war boy hopefully got to see the Valhalla Nux wished for after giving his life to save Furiosa and Max.

Dying Historically on the Fury Road was Nux’s wish in his life, hoping those around him would truly witness the lost war boy. Although the water was not something Max had resented, one thing was for certain, the hallucinations of fallen friends wishing for help and salvation from Max still went on in the rogue warrior's mind. Was living, dying, and living again in the plans for Max? The rogue warrior did not share the same zealous views the blood bag v-eight wheel drivers did.

Astoundingly, a gigantic sandstorm began to form behind Max as he noticed dangerous riders locking eyes on Max’s bag close ahead. Max’s rusted cobalt Winchester rifle was slowly raised up towards the manic riders before flailing off a warning shot. Max’s last memory of being the blood bag strapped to a war boys' vehicle the last time a storm this vicious was presented to the rogue warrior. But on this day, the victory would truly be Max’s. If the riders confronting Max did not know this, destiny sure did. In his way, a defeat made a savage man blind in the rogue warrior's eyes.

The dangerous riders vehicles began swerving in and out of the sand dunes before crashing against the sandstorm. Fighting for his life, Max knew these riders would die very quickly. Max’s rifle could be heard from miles and miles away. When all said was done, the last thing heard was a giant roar a fiery engine on the sands of the Fury Road.

Copyright © 2018 LUiS Thompson