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Fury dusts the road in brusque, though the madness feels abiding. A sense of tranquility is still needed in desperation to drive with rage. Still, he feels lucky that his second engine was easily fixed, presumably by his skillful mechanic partner. Losing his war rig crew one by one because of Dementus’ men's unforeseen hijack agitates Jack. Even if they bolted out of the pathetic group of senseless bikers, their craziness remains the same. Octoboss is just another person who lived under Dementus' callous ways until this moment, even if he has gone rogue for the same reason.
Somehow, an unknown crew helps him by delivering a killing blow to one of the Mortifiers blocking his way in a frenzied attempt to blow up the war rig. Amidst the dust, strands of dark red hair flow from under the truck. Jack recognises the dirtiness of the hair. They are from disciplined practices of engineering and mechanics. People who worked long, hard nights to create a faster, bigger, and stronger war rig have received that unpleasant darkness of grease on their hair and bodies. Then, that person finally comes up to the war rig’s cap, a young woman not of Citadel. Just by looking at her, Jack knew that this person truly dedicated her days to fixing the war rig’s engines and knew all of its magnificent parts, in and out.
The tenacity in her eyes is fiercer than the sounds of bullets and rockets, and those same eyes glint with a blaze more dangerous than the burning gasoline. She can obscure her identity for whatever reason she has to hide, but she should not think of hiding the flair of her capabilities and potential any longer. This is the first time Jack sees someone, his eyes open in a wide-eyed gaze, along with a trustworthy sense of reliance.
“Witness me!” Those were the last words spoken by the pale and fatuous War Boys. Yet, those were the very first words those unaltered eyes spoke.
Jack trusts his crew to an extent. Those War Boys are loyal to the point they go berserk. They are handy for Jack’s countless successful trips with the war rigs, but none has ever shown any smarts for engines. Their passionate craze only goes as far as the maddening roars they produce amidst violence.
None of the crushed bikers can let out a single breath. His confidence in her proves to be significantly worth it. The death of his crew was nothing to be grateful for, but he and the war rig survived along with this supposedly mute boy. They survived the road war. They are outlasts among rogues. A tumultuous day like this cannot go any worse. Even when the woman demanded to seize his war rig. It should not go any worse.
She points the gun at him. “Slow down and pull over.”
Furiosa’s boldness is without any means of killing Prae Jack. Her resolve is not a bluff, either. Furiosa is ready to blast her way out and follow the stars. This was her only chance after her victory against Octoboss, the one who tortured her mother. Not even one of Immortan Joe’s men can defeat her.
A hijack after a hijack. This one, Jack can manage. The killings of today have been enough. Without indecision, he pushes Furiosa out of his war rig. He cannot deal with anything like this anymore. But he then stopped driving his rig. Why drive and go on a venture alone, leaving someone who is essentially part of his crew? Someone driven by rage as big as the war rig, but without first counting the rates of her survival in a foreign land.
The same pair of hands that pushed her had the same pair of legs that could not withdraw themselves from her magnetic force.
“No questions asked” are the words from Jack that Furiosa never contemplated needing. However, it was always on the back of her mind, to get help. It was always in front of her eyes that all men crawling around the Wasteland were crooked. He was not a wasted man. Amid her fury, she could see that clearly.
𖦹
Driving back to Citadel again, Jack came with nothing. This was his first failure. But through such failure, he found someone. A young woman who is skillfully frisky enough to step out of the war rig unnoticed. Her fluidity goes with her instinct. Everyone swarms around him. Jack only bites his tongue, searching for any sign of her in the crowd. Despite all the bickering and questions bombarding him like aimless bullets, he remains quiet. His eyes search and only aim for her precisely.
Her curious pair of eyes were never unfamiliar with Praetorian Jack. To be a Praetorian, you must have had a dark, corrupted heart. Furiosa wonders how someone as gentle as him could become Prae Jack. His abilities are his sword, and his obedience is his armour, so he would not get struck as a rebel. Perhaps it is true that you can be well-kept only if you serve a purpose.
Furiosa always caught a glimpse of him stepping into the war rig with a smile, and stepping out with abundance. The abundance Citadel needs is apparently bullets and gas. Furiosa wondered if the adventures that the Praetorian went on had ever led to a road of abundance, at least near it. She was desperate to see the Green Place again, even if she had to return to the place with a war rig. Prae Jack’s hands had full control, deemed so purposeful.
Furiosa looks at him. His red hair was flowing through the dusty desert, and half of her face was covered with a plain and dirty hood again. Those pairs of eyes remain noticeable to Jack. Now, a nameless woman that he cannot easily forget. The whole wasteland is dark, but her eyes ignite something darker that is brewing in her. She survived to reach this far, and she did not have to prove to anyone her worthiness. Jack silently applauds for that nameless woman. A vocal woman who silenced herself for survival.
The nights were silent too, though the stars do not shine under the cave where the mechanics work tirelessly. Furiosa was the last one who remained inside. The other cannot take care of their own workplace, so she cleans the place up. The next morning, everyone would just treat it as a dull miracle.
After finishing another one of her late-night cleaning sessions, she looked at a broken piece of mirror that she never noticed while cleaning up. Furiosa takes a good minute looking at herself. There is not much to see when it comes to her face. It is always hooded, and behind goggles. She decides to take her hooded hat off. Her hair is such a mess. She pulls back the strands that are sticking around her face as if they were drawn around her cheeks, nose, and forehead.
“You’re still here,” says the familiar voice of a man.
Furiosa quickly grabbed the mirror from the ground and turned around to threaten the man, centimetres away from his neck. No matter how familiar a part of her life gets, she lives it as if she is always threatened. Her pupils calmed down after seeing the gentle man, raising his hands in surrender and without any means of harm. Jack slowly pulls the shard of mirror away from his neck.
“Well, I suppose that you have always been the last around here.” He smiles while pulling away the shard of mirror from Furiosa’s hand. He places them on the table near them. She could only notice how he truly treats fragile things as they are.
“Is there anything else that I need to work on?” Furiosa asks. Her eyebrows furrow.
“No, no,” Jack quickly answers. “I was just curious as to why you slipped away so discreetly.” He tilts his head slightly, questioning.
Furiosa shrugs while staying silent. “It will be hard for you to explain how you found me.”
“Oh! You're right.” Jack chuckles, but it sounds wry because his throat is dry. Drinking an hour before bed is unhealthy, and there is no free mineral around here to grab and chug. “But, don't worry. You will fit right into place even without the hood,” Jack reassures her.
“They are all living with short-term memory,” Furiosa reasons, adding to the reassurance.
Jack nods and rubs his chin. “I guess that is how most people in the Wasteland live. There is no use in remembering for too long because they will yearn for the impossible,” Jack quickly agrees.
The word is very special to her. It is a part of her. “Abundance.”
That was the word that has slain her soul and, at the same time, spared her life because of how much it fuels the hopes of the hopeless.
“It's not impossible,” she corrects.
Jack sighs and shakes his head. “This cursed place made it possible, but only for those above.”
He looks to the ceiling and scowls. “And so, the people of Citadel do live with short-term memory. They live in the present, knowing that the future will never get any better. That hope in the back of their heads has vanished.”
“Present, yet, not mindful. They are all greedy,” Furiosa adds with disgust.
“Yeah. They know that tomorrow brings nothing, so they get greedy.” Jack clicks his tongue. “I understand their desperation to an extent.”
“And how about you? What are you greedy for?”
If her stare could kill, Furiosa killed Jack because of how intense her blue eyes are. Instead, Jack is more drawn by that fury, sensing a strong intent by this mysterious girl.
She raises her eyebrow, waiting for an answer. “What? Is it power? A position on the throne, above?”
“No. I am alright with living my whole life as a Praetorian, driving the war rig. As long as my life is not wasted.” Jack smiles at how simple his life is and how glad he is just to live that way with nothing more and nothing less.
That smile again. Furiosa has never seen a smile during these hard times. Who would dare to express such a feeling of contentment when there is nothing to live for? Does he secretly know of abundance, the Green Place? The same tender smile that raised her doubts erased them too, shortly after. Furiousa blinks, then looks at the ground.
“I don't want to live a wasted life too.” Such a fragile hope that she did not want to jinx, even if she didn’t believe in such a thing.
“Mhm, I can see it in your eyes.” Jack nods.
Then he looks at Furiosa with serious intent. She couldn’t ignore those eyes and returned her head to look back at him. Furiosa anticipates what Jack is about to do or say. Whether it was a statement, though most likely, a very curious question.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“Thank you for your kindness, but I cannot share anything now.” Never once has she shared anything with anyone, and it’ll remain ‘never’ in the future, whether it is near or far. “Excuse me, but I need to sleep now.”
She walks past Jack but does not exactly get past him. His hand on her arm, right below her bicep, stops her from getting anywhere far. Such a bulky arm with strength that always drove the war rig surprisingly held her tenderly with concern. The palms of Jack’s hands are thick and rough, but never was he rough to Furiosa. If it was any other person, she would grab them, then push them to the table and pin them. She would’ve threatened them with the glass shard from the broken mirror.
But, it was Jack. Contrary to the fury in her eyes that she always keeps when looking at anyone while staying mute, she obeys the hand that stops her tracks. Furiosa looks at the hand, then at the man it belongs to. After gaining her attention, Jack loosens his grip on her while still maintaining a hold on her. A hold that she could easily escape. Even so, Furiosa chose to stay.
“I know you have a hard time finding a place to sleep at night. You should sleep where my crew used to,” Jack offers.
The thing about Furiosa is that despite her selective mutism, her brain runs abounding words. She deemed any words of any substance are useless when they are competed against absolute actions. The logic in her brain keeps running as she keeps working as well, whether it is day or night.
Without thinking, she nods and answers, “Yeah,” because such sincere kindness has never been so painless to accept before. No seeming acts of kindness have ever been so effortlessly given to her as a choice.
“Alright then.”
Jack couldn’t hold his chuckle. Furiosa looks at him, confused. The young man then pretends to cough, trying to pull himself back on earth and be serious about the situation. He lets go of the woman’s hand. She feels lucky that it was only an awkward chuckle. If it was Jack’s loose and vivid smile, Furiosa wouldn’t know what to do.
She was always mute; at least that’s what she shows to others. She doesn’t know how to respond to others, not that she ever desires to respond to others . Furiosa unconsciously wants to respond somehow to Jack’s endearing smile. As she follows Jack from behind, she practices trying to smile. To her dismay, Furiosa forgot how to smile, seeing that there's no need for that in these troubling times at the Wasteland. Perhaps once, when she reached the Green Place.
𖦹
They finally reach the pale brown land where everyone tries to find peace, but nobody sleeps softly and soundly. Although every night is unsightly, Furiosa has grown to appreciate everyone sleeping there. They worked hard every day, even if she does not particularly like a single one of those people. Fortunately, most of the engineers do not seem to profess their loyalty to Immortan Joe as strongly as the others. They know that they are alive because of their skills and proficiency in things that dimwits have no capability of understanding or possessing.
Furiosa tries to walk among the corpse-like sleeping men among her. Immortan Joe never viewed a woman as something more than a part of his harem breeding den, but that is only for the beautiful, innocent, and docile.
“Hey,” Jack whispers, calling out the woman.
She stops after only taking one step, then turns around and furrows her eyebrows at the man.
“This is where my crew sleeps. You can just sleep in here,” he explains.
Furiosa looks below. Contrary to her expectations, it is not a spacious place to sleep, though she keeps her thoughts to herself. She thought that the Praetorian and her crew would have a more spacious area to sleep. Nonetheless, the place where they sleep is the closest to the workshop. That is the only benefit to it—small yet meaningful.
Jack reads her face. “I know this doesn’t seem like much space to sleep; you probably had a similar space back over there too.” She nods, remaining silent. “It’s because some of the workers stole my crew’s space since all of them died, not leaving any dignity to those who died or gave even a bit of respect to me. Though I never asked for this, so I never ask for respect either.”
“Still, it’s better, right?” She nods again. “Well, you can sleep over here,” Jack adds.
“Then, where can you sleep?” She asks, finally opening her mouth after going back to her mute demeanor.
The filthy clothes, of those who died, that are full of holes and serve their task as the only thin layer of wall between the dirty ground and their sleeping bodies has run out. Only one is left, and the pillow made of children’s clothes is missing. These people of Citadel are desperate to the point that they get so greedy for disheveled things. When they sleep on it, it’s just two disheveled things uniting. Unclean and scummy.
“I’ll sleep on the ground, right here.” Jack looks down at the ground where he is standing. Precisely beside the last space to sleep, where Furiosa will sleep. She nods one last time without any vocal response.
She sleeps to the comfort of the last bed. It’s the most proper thing around Citadel, and even around the Wasteland, to be called a bed. Jack follows briefly, sleeping with his back facing hers. Furiosa has never heard a single person breathe normally after a long time sleeping around here. All she could hear was snore. This time, Furiosa and Jack can hear each other's breath, and they slowly sync their rhythm.
“Good night.”
The farewell for the night sounds like it’s addressed to Furiosa. She could not sleep just yet. A billion thoughts about what her future will be starting from tomorrow morning cross her furious mind. She knows that Jack hasn’t slept either because his breath inhaling and exhaling sounds short without a hint of serene slumber. He is probably still thinking about his future endeavors in the war rig. He will need a new crew to teach everything from the start. It could only be his voice.
From the start, Furiosa was never meant to be here. It was better than being in the hands of that bastard, Dementus, despite the hierarchy and tyranny in Citadel. She starts coming to peace with that fact. This place will be better when there’s an ally. With that new perspective in mind, replacing all the rusty old ones, Furiosa sleeps. In her early stage of sleep, before she goes too deep into this fleeting peace of the night, she might have just whispered back,
“ Good night .”