Miles of sand and burning heat stretch out before him, light bending around the dunes and giving the illusion of water that's shining just out of reach. Nux hasn't been fooled by this apparition since he was a pup, but at least it breaks up the monotony of patrolling the wastelands. He wonders if he will eventually go as mad as The Fool out here.
Toast once told him the man's name was Max, but it is only Furiosa who calls him name, on the rare occasions she speaks of anything that came before. It is the threat of the Imperator's ire that has stopped Nux from simply calling him Blood Bag, but he figures 'The Fool' is an apt enough name for a man who dared to go up against Immortan Joe and his army of War Boys. Nux supposes that makes him a fool as well, and his grin turns a little manic at the thought. A mad fool.
But Furiosa has been true to her word - she has brought them all to the Green Place. In the months since assuming authority over the Citadel, she and the former wives have transformed the dunes into something living once again. The freely flowing water has cleansed the land of poison, and the seeds of the Vuvalini have begun to take root there. But while the inhabitants of the land thrive, the Citadel is still weakened by the loss of so many warriors, and there are still those who wish to capture land for themselves. Mere War Pups maintain their defenses within the city, while the more seasoned among them patrol the borders.
Which is why Nux is out here alone, driving aimlessly through the wastelands for days on end, his mind unraveling in the face of so much silence. He misses the doof warrior and the wailing of his burning guitar, the beat of the drums. And he misses having a brother along for the ride, each feeding off the energy and fury of the other. The other boys have not yet forgiven him for killing their living god and so many of their own, for closing the gates of Valhalla to them all, but a half-life is not long enough to hold a true grudge.
His thoughts turn to Capable, her refusal to accept that his blood is poison. Each time he returns to the city she feeds him some new and horrible concoction of green things that she is certain will cure him, and he is certain he will just retch. He knows the truth, that he can never be cured. The poison in his veins, Larry and Barry choking him, were brought on by his own sins, and he will never atone. Never be welcome in Valhalla.
The sight of smoke in the distance draws him out of his brooding. At first it appears like another illusion, a trick his mind has played on him to keep him from going mad at the sight of more endless dunes. Perhaps he already is mad! But no, the smoke is real, and he guns it towards the source.
Glory be! He spots a single scavenger rig around the wreckage of another vehicle. He may not have a rider, but he has bullets enough to overtake a single car by himself. At last, something worth traveling through this godforsaken desert! And such a lovely day for it! He floors the accelerator, leaning out the window as far as he can manage with his foot still on the gas to take aim at the first of the twitchy scavengers he spots.
"And there shall be a reckoning! Witness me!" His words are mostly lost to the wind whipping past but his bullets reach their mark. A tally in Nux's favor.
As their comrade falls to Nux's shots, the other two scavengers are quick to return fire. Nux is forced back in the car, several shots cracking his windshield and a few lodging themselves in the seat beside him. He knows he is being reckless, but it's been ages since he's ridden down Fury Road, and he will not be denied! His blood roars in his ears as he prepares himself for a firefight, but just as quickly as it all began the shots coming from the vultures cease. The remaining scavengers are back in their rig, racing away.
"Cowards!" He yells at the dust in their wake. Scavengers don't put up much of fight if there's nothing material to be gained, they don't appreciate the glory of a battle hard won. Nux considers chasing after them but he knows the victory will not be worth the waste of guzzoline. He resigns himself to picking over what's left of the carcass they fled.
Stepping out of his rig, he can't recognize the wrecked car as coming from any of the nearby towns. Smoke still rises from where the engine once sat, the scavengers having already stripped the vehicle of its choicest parts. He rips off the rusty hood ornament out of spite, but then decides to pocket it, thinking to himself that maybe he can shine it right up all chrome. He moves over to look into the cabin, finding the driver with a bullet in the head and hands still gripping the wheel. A woman. An uncommon sight this far out. And alone? Maybe not, Nux hears small sounds coming from the backseat. He can't see anyone else in the car through the dusty windows so he yanks the rusty door open to discover the source of the noise.
He finds it buried under a threadbare jacket. Not a person, at least not a whole one. Something much smaller than a person. A sprog? He's never actually seen one before, and this thing is smaller than even the youngest of the War Pups. It's also screaming now. Nux grabs the tiny thing up to figure out what's wrong with it, and the sprog quiets down almost immediately. It doesn't seem to be hurt in any way, healthy in a way that few are, other than being abandoned here in the desert heat. Nux sets it back down, and the ear-splitting cries resume immediately, making him think he's actually discovered a banshee child and not a human one. He picks it up again to see if he's somehow hurt the squishy little bugger with his own carelessness, but the baby quiets again in his grasp, content.
Nux pulls the tiny Banshee closer to him to a careful hand over its face, still wet with tears. Nux had once thought of the wives as soft, shiny things, but he is a witness to their strength. This sprog, however, is nothing but softness. He's almost afraid to touch something so fragile, so breakable, but it's making happy gurgles as he draws his fingers across its features. A tiny mouth catches hold of his middle finger and begins suckling on it, startling Nux a bit. He pulls his finger out of it's mouth quickly, reminded of Capable's warnings about dirty hands, though he can't even seem to remember what's so bad about them. He tries wiping his hands against the fabric of his pants, but they only come back worse. He reaches for the canteen at his waist to tip a small stream of water over his hand, judging it adequate. He looks back down at the baby, wondering if it needs water too out here in the hot sands. Where was the woman even trying to take it? They're close to the Citadel now, but he isn't sure what direction they may have been traveling before the scavengers reached them. It's pointless to try and guess. He tries offering the baby some water, but it simply stares back at him with wide eyes.
"Helpless" he scoffs, but tips his canteen gently into the baby's mouth. The drink is immediately spit back up as the baby starts coughing. Too much. He dips his clean finger in the canteen, and tries to drip a little water into the waiting mouth, finding his finger once again being nursed. He repeats the process several times and finds the sensation a little odd but not entirely unpleasant. He begins to smile at the little sprog without fully intending to. He realizes he can't just leave it here; even a full grown warrior won't survive for long out in the waste. So he wraps it up in the abandoned jacket, and tears off the still functional side mirror of the woman's car to bring along with him, and heads back to his rig. Attempts to secure the baby in the passenger seat just brings more tears, so he finds himself with Banshee seated in his lap, driving more slowly than he can bear towards the Citadel.