Hello! So there will be some very sensitive material in this fic, mostly rape mention. It will never be explicit, but it is a major part of a characterization here. There will be blood mention, violence, and cruelty detailed in the first part of the fic in italics, but only referenced after that.
If you're not familiar with my other fics, the setting is like this: Nux lives and is the leader of the War Boys, helping in the garage. Furiosa leads the Citadel. The Wives, now Sisters, have found their places in the Citadel. There will be some minor OCs to fill the gaps. Anything you need to know will be introduced to you, though, so no need to read my other ones :)
Thanks for all the support from this lovely, tiny community. You're all precious cinnamon rolls.
He was held down, his arms held behind his back, piercing, radiating pain from his nose. Pressure on his back now, too much, too heavy, an elbow, a knee. Laughter all around him, cheers, egging on. His face pressed to the ground with a hand much larger than he. The boy cried, pain stinging his back, his legs.
"You want to to talk back, boy?" a rough voice boomed from behind him. The hand moved to the boy's neck, turning his head upwards, bending his spine in a way it wasn't meant to.
The boy cried out in pain, only to have it silenced by the blood that rose in his throat. The crowd laughed, movement all around as the boy tried to focus. Pain, now all he felt, his throat unmoving, feeling blood pool and gurgle as he tried to speak.
He was flipped, blood trickling out of his mouth and onto his face, mixing with precious saliva. The boy's eyes widened as a large hand grabbed his crotch, painfully, rough, but he couldn't scream. Only a horrible gurgle. After a round of boisterous laughter the man released his groin, now straddling him, his large body intimidating and soaring. The boy felt close to darkness, not much older than eighteen but old enough to die here, right now. The man's hips crashed onto his neck, his knees keeping the boy's head straight.
He witnessed only a blur of movement before his vision cut. His mouth, he could feel, pain, stitched. He knew what was happening, but didn't believe it, didn't want to. He kept his eyes open as much as he could, knowing that if he welcomed the darkness his soul tugged towards he would be punished more when he woke again. They wouldn't kill him, they needed him too much.
After an eternity, the man released the boy's head from between his knees, rising above him, the blood making the ground sticky. The boy hiccuped, the blood stuck in his throat choking him, breathing only from the sheer need to.
"You think twice, now," the man's voice crashed down once more. "before you speak."
The boy was left to lay there, his blood pooling. His eyes closed, but not before noticing a figure approach him from the dispersing crowd. It crouched to him, gentle, slow, the movements blurring together. His gurgles unrecognizable as a human voice, he tried calling out to the entity that touched his face, fingers like tendrils from Valhalla. A voice called to him, muffled behind the piercing static he heard, behind the blood coursing in his ears. He heard only his heart beat, his choked breathing, before everything turned black.
The rule of Furiosa's Citadel was spreading widely, the other territories adopting new leadership as well. The Bullet Farm in particular granted a new leader into their ranks, unrelated to the previous: a man who went only by "Marcus". Furiosa had approved of his leadership, strong and valiant, yet fair. The three main territories got along in trade and in support, the Old Ways making way for the New.
Furiosa was a diplomat as much as she was Imperator, reaching out to the other territories. As far as she knew, all was well, social change happening all around the wasteland.
As far as she knew.
"Routine scrap trip!" Dignitary Nux called from the driver's seat of a Scavenger. Nux went on to be in charge of the War Boys, knowing they itched for adrenaline and the dust kicked up by their tires. He knew better than anybody the Boys' needs, often needing them himself.
Scrap trips were safe. They rarely resulted in any casualties, especially in the New World. No one attacked anyone over scrap; it was scrap, after all. There were always cars to find out in the wasteland, abandoned after a lack of guzzoline claimed them. Where their owners were, well, the Boys never liked to think about.
The engines roared to life, the catacomb garage bustling with the cheers and activity of Boys excited to fulfill their work. Though a job needed to be done, they made time to enjoy themselves, feel the purr of the engines they worshiped. As they cascaded through the desert, heading west towards the Bullet Farm, the Boys cheered, calling to each other, playing. It was like a game. They may have been War Boys, but they were just boys now. Boys with big toys.
Nux lead them, driving a vehicle specialized for savaging; it had a large capacity to store parts, but was agile, able to course through wreckage.
Nux's lancer bounced in the back, no guns attached to the car but he was armed on his person. He scanned the horizon, binoculars in hand. Spotting something, he slammed his fist on the hood of the car three times.
Nux looked up, feeling the memories of older times flood back. Back when Slit was his lancer. Now, it was Bones, named after his very deformed, very pronounced ribcage.
Bones called down to him, "Looks like a wreck, three vehicles, some kind of truck at least."
Nux nodded. Bones pointed his finger, his back hunched as it always was, towards the wreck. About fifteen degrees west. Nux turned the car, perhaps too dramatically, the other three cars following him.
As the wreck loomed in the distance, no sign of life or smoke or fire or struggle, Nux slowed down. He had to remind himself that this wasn't a raid, a fight. It was a routine scrap trip.
The Boys surrounded the wreck. It was three vehicles indeed, one truck and two cars. Plenty of metal to scrap. It was a good find.
Nux exited the vehicle, his pants heavy and his boots digging into the sand. He hadn't seen these types of vehicles before; the largest truck had a steel-covered cage attached to its cab, and the cars were rounder, less put together than more familiar vehicles. The extra material would go far in the shop.
"Let's get going," Nux announced, well received by his Boys. They jumped out, gathering their dismembering tools and, almost predatory, approached the wreck.
They started with the smaller cars. There hadn't been anyone in them, no bodies. Odd for a wreck to have missing drivers, but the boys didn't think to much on it, focused on what they could bring back to the Citadel. They chatted, screwed around. It was a good time.
Two Scavengers were loaded up, each car split among the vehicles. There were the useless remains left in the sand, left to the wasteland.
Two Boys began prying the cage off of the hull of the truck, the flat metal very valuable. They went at it with crowbars, wrenches... but the cage wouldn't budge. Nux jumped on top and, noticing a weak point and accompanied by the jesting cheers of his friends, pried the roof off of the cage with a crowbar.
Nux flew back into the desert sand with the hood, his friends laughing with him. He held up the piece of steel, the first clean slate they'd gotten in weeks, received by a whopping cheer. The other Boys went at dismembering the other sides of the cage, more difficult as it was soldered to the frame of the truck. They brought out their heavy duty cutters, sending them ablaze across the metal.
Nux leaned against the side of the box, watching.
Then he felt it. He couldn't hear it over the whirring of the cutter, but he felt it.
A tapping, a panicked rapping against his skin. Against the box.
"Stop!" Nux called out. The Boys listened, their leader knowing best.
It was quiet, then. Nux listened for more tapping, but there was none.
"Arm yourselves," Nux commanded, his words raspy and worried. The other boys didn't know what was going on, but listened, retrieving their guns from their holsters on their pants.
Nux knocked on the box, waiting for a response.
Nothing.
"Watch my back," he nodded towards his lancer especially, and wrapped his hand around the open rim of the box. He hauled himself up, unable to hold a gun. His feet still dangling, he peered into the box.
Skin.
It was dark inside the box, the sun not quite risen yet. They went out when it was cool, when there was the least chance of attack. But Nux definitely saw it- pale skin. An arm, wrapped around a leg, attached to a body.
"Are you alive?" he called down to the naked form, currently curled into a fetal position.
At the mention of another being in the box, the boys readied their guns. Nux looked to them, though, motioning to lower them.
Nux swung his legs over the edge of the box, uncomfortable. He noticed the being breathing, heavily and fearfully. It made no noise, though.
"We're not going to hurt you," Nux insisted. "We're just after this nice box, here. No need for blood where we're from."
The being moved now, first its arm moving to release its leg. Its legs stretched— the figure was a male. Nux noticed angry red scars and marks on the side of his body that he could see, scratches.
"It's alright, no one is going to—" Nux stopped short when the boy turned his head to look at him.
Thick black rubber had been laced through his lips, stitching his mouth shut. Where the rubber penetrated his skin was red, unhealed, painful. The boy stared up at Nux, his eyes wide, his chest trembling with fearful breath. Nux stared back, slightly disturbed by his face, but not enough to be scared. It took a lot to scare Nux.
"Hey, uh," Bones called up to Nux, "is someone in there?"
"Get me a rope, ladder, something," Nux replied, maintaining the pained eye contact with the boy.
Bones obliged, retrieving a makeshift ladder from one of the Scavengers. Nux sent it down to the boy, who made no motion towards it.
"You can come out," Nux encouraged. "No one here is gonna hurt you, we can help you. That looks like it hurts."
Nux had learned many things in the Citadel's New World. He learned from the Wives, now called the Sisters, from Furiosa, from himself. He had learned most prominently, though, of compassion through Capable. He'd felt firsthand how it impacted his meager half-life, how just a ray of tenderness had shone so brightly. He used it with his boys, he used it with Capable, he used it now, talking to this boy.
The boy made no sound, though he sat up slowly. He must be in pain, Nux thought, noticing the way his body swayed with the movement. He looked at the ladder, then up at Nux, then at himself. He moved to cover his groin.
"We've all seen a dick before," Nux joked, having seen the boy hesitant about exposing himself to him. "We all got one."
"Some more than others," one boy joked. The others laughed.
Nux shook his head. "Ignore them. They want to help, too."
The boy finally grabbed a rung of the ladder. He was unbound, but his arms and legs were stiff, hard to move. He had been in this box for a while. How had he not baked alive?
Nux offered his hand as the boy reached the top. His hair was matted, a long dusty brown that coursed past his eyes. He saw Nux's hand, looked up at him, and grabbed it.
Nux pulled him out, his scars and body now in full view of the War Boys. They tried not to gasp or gape, but couldn't help it. This was the last thing they'd expected to find on a scrap trip: a scarred up, mangled young boy.
The boy's feet hit the sand, his knees immediately collapsing. Nux reached under the boy's arms to support him, holding him up until he was steady. The boy made no noise, no groans, no cries, but he did look at Nux, the admiration in his eyes. His eyes were a deep brown, the gold catching in the now rising sun. Nux led him to his Scavenger, where he planted him in the passenger seat.
"We head back to the Citadel, top speed," Nux ordered, his voice still childlike but firm. At the words "Citadel", the boy's head snapped up, the most sudden movement he'd made yet. Nux took note.
They decided to come back for the cage later, if it was still around at all. But their new cargo was more important.
The boy stared in front of him, his eyes glazed over. Nux scanned his body, hunched over. His sides were adorned with small red "X"s, his arms unmarked. They were done in careful scarification; what did they mean? His throat sported the most gruesome gash, though. Nux knew whoever had cut him across his windpipe had not used stitches, the scar tissue pulling on thin skin.
"Can you speak?" Nux called out over his engine's roar.
The boy did not look at him.
Nux didn't try again.
Soon, the vehicles pulled back into the garage of the Citadel, arriving earlier than was planned due to their interruption. The other boys of the garage questioned, but occupied themselves on the scrap they'd found. The boys started to unload the Scavengers with Nux's direction, while he tried to coax the boy out of the car. He didn't move until Nux held his arm out, the boy weakly gripping it.
As he helped the boy to his feet, Nux noticed the rudimentary scars on the boy's chest, red and large. He didn't know what they meant, but he could read it clearly.
"RUTBOY"
