I love the premise of the game, but I hate the story.

Yup, not much to go there, I just do. The game itself isn't canonical, and neither is this fic, but I hope you like it.

Enjoy :)

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"Hey!"

I ignored his pleas for mercy as I fastened the loop around his neck.

He tries anyway. "Hey! You off me, Scrotus'll shred you! I'm iz Top Dog!"

The big man gasps suddenly as I kick off the hollowblock that supported him upright, leaving him to dangle precariously as the noose tightens over his throat. Robbed of breath, the last of the enemy outpost soon dies of asphyxiation, held aloft as both a message and a warning to my sworn rival Scabrous Scrotus.

I looked out into the remains of the previous battle. We had taken them by surprise today. It was easy pickings. More gas and bullets for the war.

I sat down on a pile of tires and fished out a cigarette. The relic of the old world was the last of ten sticks, each one I light for every Top Dog of Scabrous I kill and inhale of its noxious fumes as if to drink in the souls of the slain.

They call me Doctor Dementus.

Name was given to me by the lucky few I left alive after a fight, and that happens only when my arms are too tired to hack off limbs or crack heads on some stone. It stuck like a fester on a wound, a moniker I am so eager to shed off but allowed to remain.

The name inspires fear, and fear is a weapon that cuts deeper than a shank or bullet.

My real name is Damian Thorne, kind of close enough to what they call me if you think about it. The 'doctor' part wasn't far off, I used to be an army medic back when this wasteland still had some semblance of order to it.

When the world fell to chaos, I took a ride back to the ruins of a city with my mates. From there, we formed a motley band of raiders that would occasionally venture out into the wastes to prey on some hapless victim. Our prize was in loot. Sometimes fuel for our ever-thirsting engines of war. Sometimes scrap for our makeshift tools of death.

Or sometimes, flesh.

It wasn't hard to devolve into something so vicious, like a pack of starving wolves desperate for even a small slab of meat. But during the moments I actually put some thought to it, I realize that once the line had been crossed there's no going back. That much was proven after I made the nasty habit of mutilating my enemies when they crossed me.

I remember the first I've had the displeasure of cutting up.

It was during an argument between myself and my mate whats-his-name, over a woman we dragged out of a burning vehicle.

Men have needs that are not so satiable as hunger or thirst, it causes one to do the unthinkable. I still hadn't crossed that line, but my mate did.

The woman had the legs of a goddess, and the tits of a pornstar. He wanted her, very badly. I told him the usual excuse, it wasn't necessary. But the truth was I wanted to look the hero so the woman would show a little gratitude, then maybe I get to fuck her later when she's less resistant.

But the thing is, none of that really mattered at the moment. I found that I had a craving that lay beyond the sane part of a man's mind. After my mate's blood had smeared warm all over my face and hands, after his flesh had stopped twitching…

I knew I loved killing. I did, as much as a man loves fucking.

Sounds bad, but that was the truth. The more I accepted it with each victim, the easier it got to sinking the blade or pulling the trigger.

And the woman? God knows where she is now.

But I do remember I did get to fuck her when she was compliant, then let her go.

After that, I journeyed east with my band. We found a lot of action in that direction and decided to stay, mark a territory and settle. We lived like kings, each moment as if it were our last.

I ruled that little hamlet with what semblance of order I could muster out of this chaotic existence. The rules were simple. Few did manage break them, although I ensured they received their due response.

Don't kill anyone within the walls unless in a duel, don't steal unless you want your hands cut off, and don't ever fuck with the Doctor. That last part had its punishments left to the imagination. I'm very creative with my methods.

After a while, it became clear that I wasn't satisfied with the little territory we had to ourselves. There were bigger and more powerful factions out there in the wastes, and we were too small to prove any real threat to them. That didn't stop me from gathering people together, though, and we grew. Ambition was the fuel that drove me down the path of a warrior-king, and I soon acted as one.

Three tribes I forced to bend the knee under my colors and took command of their war-engines, taking their boys as warriors to expand my army's manpower. Fear was a powerful tool that I regularly used on the people, but one that went hand in hand with fairness. Their loyalty stayed true all that time because I avoided the tyrant's path. Someone will overthrow me eventually, only a fool would think his reign is eternal, but while I'm seated as king nobody will say that I am without reason.

Tales of my growing empire soon reached the other factions vying for supremacy in the wastes, but before they could have at me I struck first.

Battles of this scale wasn't something my warriors were used to, so I taught them ways on how to manipulate situations to their favor. Like a surgeon stitching up a horrendous wound, we won everytime even when our methods were a lot simpler in comparison to the master tacticians of old.

With an abundance of vehicles, looted food and water, loyalty soared within my little empire. 'twas good, for I needed it in the days to come.

Scabrous Scrotus wasn't content to let me shank him and do nothing, so he struck back. He never really managed to get at me, until after I set my sights on Gastown. That decision bore with it both bitterness and sweetness to my life.

We had stormed the gates of that smoking, toxic city. Fuel was plentiful here, and the realization put a savage glow in our eyes as we gazed at the towers spouting thick black mists into the ruined skies. The guardians of that place were weak and few. Their weapons were taken from their corpses as we rapidly seized control of Gastown and its outlaying territories.

The captives were hanged or beheaded at my command instead of being shot, since ammunition was something I didn't wish to waste.

And then, I found her.

A gift to the former Guardian of Gastown, whom I executed only mere moments before. She was in the dungeons, the last place I visited as I inspected the place. The moment I laid eyes on those fiery red tresses flowing free as the dunes on the Wounded Plains, I felt a faint stirring in my twisted heart. She glared at me with all the fires of hell, little hands grasping defiantly to a jagged metal shiv as she backed herself into a corner.

Two bodies, her captor's guards, lay at her feet with torn throats and bleeding bellies. I took a liking instantly to the girl. I could've wrestled her to the ground and taken her like all the animals under my banner, but I decided not to.

For a moment, the vicious nature that defined me evaporated. Until this day, I cannot comprehend what drove me to act as I did.

I took her away from that dungeon and moved her to the Spire, the little palace sitting atop the center wherein the giant turbines pumped oil from the earth's dying heart. When I was not busy giving orders or planning in the war room, I visited the redheaded vixen.

It became like a game in my fractured mind. How long can I last acting the shiny white knight before I revert to my true nature? If I counted, that game lasted all my life with her.

I never lost.

Her name was Hope. She was a young woman just fresh out of her teenage years, growing more beautiful each day. Within the Spire, I kept her well fed and safe from the other men, but for all that time I did not touch her.

Something so pure, I reckoned, was to be watched not handled.

And so the game went on. Until the day came when she couldn't take it anymore.

"What do you want with me?" The question repeats day after day, without ever having its answer. The truth was, I didn't know what I wanted with her. The reasons for keeping her locked up in her castle, like a dragon guarding her and waiting for a hero to slay him for her hand.

Or perhaps, I am a little bit of both? Dragon and hero.

This wasteland does that to men, twisting the sides of good and evil into something irrecognizable. We are these abominations, cursed to live out our lives in self-destruction.

"I don't know." I would confess while staring at those bared legs, unblemished by the horrors of the new world. I am blind, unable to grasp at what I truly wanted. No amount of death, blood or violence could fill that hole in my soul. Ambition falls short, and my kingdom will not last forever.

"Hope." I said to her, "Why did you mother call you that?"

"Because I was all she had." The woman replied impatiently, "I am what remains of her longing for a better life."

"What is a 'better life'?" I thought out loud, seating myself on the floor before her. She regarded me curiously at how I presented myself. Here, she saw a man whose mind has traveled back to his youth, a subtle hint that only a woman can see. I was disillusioned…lost.

It moved her heart as much as she moved mine.

Or at least, that's what I think happened back then.

The moment vanishes, the man kills the youth and returns to the world.

I pushed Hope into the bed and raked my hungry gaze across her body. She was resistant to my advances at first, but gave up halfway. No one would come to her aid, and my guards stood at the door outside. If she resisted, a gruesome fate awaited her. I caught a tear slide free from the edge of her eye as she turned to look away. Her teeth bit down on her trembling lip as she mustered the strength to endure what she thought I was about to do to her.

I loomed over her like a dog sniffing a bag of meat, torn between sinking its fangs into the juicy flesh or to abstain from it entirely and go its own way.

I wanted to ravish that woman then and there so badly.

But then I thought to myself what fun is there to take an unwilling mate? I'm not exactly a saint, but I'm no savage either. Dr. Dementus is still Damian Thorne, a medic in the ADF.

So I stopped.

Instead, I laid on top of her and embraced Hope.

"W-What are you doing?" She whispered.

"This world may have broken me." I said softly, looking up at her with sincerity blazing true in my eyes. She was so beautiful, so pure. Too pure for this godforsaken world. "But I will not allow it to break you."

She stares at me in disbelief.

For one serene moment, we shared that gaze. Then I spoke, "Hope. I will send you away from Gastown, far from the wars to live free in the wastes."

"Why would you do that?" She asked in astonishment.

I tilted my head, allowing that spark of insanity to light up my eyes. "Because I'm in love with you." Civility keeps one from giving voice to one's thoughts, and thankfully there's a severe lack of it around here. "There are few that I hold most dear, but I protect those that I do."

Hope was silent for a moment, "But you cannot do that by sending me away. Where would I go? To whom shall I seek aid? The desert? You will only damn me by letting the vultures or the Buzzards lay claim to me. And they will not be as generous as you."

I hadn't thought about that part. Silly me.

Back to the question. "Then what do you want, Hope?"

She thought of this for another moment, then proposes the unthinkable. "Let me remain with you, as your Breeder. Only then can you truly protect me, if that is truly what you wish."

"Are certain of that?" I asked, "I am not exactly the most reliable mate. Living with me is dangerous."

"Lesser than that of being out in the wastes." She pointed out, showing wisdom that belied her years. The instinct of survival can drive one to age quickly. "I'd rather be under your wing than take my chances with the Buzzards."

"Then you agree to be mine and mine alone?" I asked quietly.

"I am yours, Dr. Dementus." Hope consigned herself into her fate willingly.

"Boss!" A gruff voice interrupted my reverie.

I flicked the remains of the cigarette out of sight and stood up from the pile of slashed tires.

"Boss!" My lieutenant was impatiently calling from the smashed gates of Scrotus' outpost. "We've got a problem! Patrol's coming in!"

Three scout vehicles have been gone from the place when we attacked, they're coming back to refuel and resupply for the next run. With the way the fires burned and the wrecks of destroyed war engines are so openly displayed out in the fields, there wasn't any room for subtlety here. They'll know something's up.

"Get our marksmen to kill the drivers." I told him, "But don't wreck the cars. We'll need them for our assault on Gastown."

"Aye sir." He said with a nod.

I didn't even need to get up and go for this. I've got a moment of respite, and I'll revel in it as long as I can.

I closed my eyes and thought of my redhaired woman, to remind myself of what I was fighting for.

The man screamed in agony as the cross was lifted up and dropped upon the hole dug into the hard dirt. The hard jerk of his weight and the sudden resistance of the soil caused his flesh to tear against the nails driven into his wrists.

Could I blame a man for trying to take what was not his, when driven to hunger? Perhaps. If the case concerned food.

No, another kind of hunger drove him to make the attempt, and so the punishment would be his crucifixion.

I was away from Gastown on a raid for the day, returning to find Hope nursing a bleeding lip and bruised cheek. The girl had been touched by one of my guards. Although she kept him from forcing himself on her, he left his mark on her face as much as she did his. The shank she kept proved useful. What followed was a swift hunt, sentence and execution that served as a warning to all who would harm my Breeder.

I wasn't angry. Or at least, I wasn't as much as I should be. This presented as another opportunity to gain Hope's trust, and I seized it. Most people in the wastes may call me strange for how I ran things, but I didn't care. It's a twisted kind of altruism, or whatever they call it. For me, it's the new kind of benevolence that anyone can muster in these horrid times.

As for Hope, she was grateful. Enough that I was able to bed her without any resistance.

The wait was long, and my needs screamed for me to sate them.

That same bed where we struck the bargain was where we would consummate the tie that bound us together. All thoughts of ravaging her maidenhood like a wild dog were kept at bay by what little remained of my sanity. There were few things that ever resembled bliss in this cursed earth, but I shall endeavor to give the woman the one thing I can.

"Doctor Dementus."

"My name is Damian." I whispered to Hope as I moved on top of her.

There was uncertainty in her eyes, but a lot less than before words were traded between us. There was a small measure of trust. Few, but existent. "Please...please be gentle with me..."

"I won't hurt you." I promised, planting a reassuring kiss on her cheek. "No more than necessary."

I worked slowly, tugging at the fabric that covered her young breasts. They slid free, releasing those full and very round mounds of flesh that glistened with sweat from the heat of the midday sun. I left hot puffs of air where my mouth assailed her skin, breathing in the musky scent of her body as I worshiped her bared stomach. I traveled lower still and pulled at the sash holding up her tattered white trousers, revealing those creamy white legs that have caused my blood to boil for so long.

Hope uttered a timid squeak when she felt my lips kiss her thighs. She must've thought I would've taken her as most would do their Breeders by now, undoubtedly surprised I would take my time to get her worked up.

Her underwear was in the way, but even from the thin fabrics I could smell the overpowering scent emanating from those orifices between her thighs. The prize lay within reach, and the temptation of let myself loose on her grew with each second I stared at it. I let out a groan as I felt my pants suddenly tighten. Restraining myself proved difficult, but I kept on going for the woman's sake.

The roar of the engines pulled me back from her embrace. I sighed, knowing that the hour was upon me. Within a few minutes, I would lead the warband across the Wastes towards the burning capital city of oil and blood- to retake Gastown and reclaim what is mine.

"Tell it to me again, lieutenant." I said.

"We found her, boss." Came the answer, "Slim's never let me down with that 'noculars o his. It's Hope, she's being loaded up as a prize for a death race of sorts. No sign of the kid, though."

Glory. She's close. Hope's a stubborn woman, she won't have the child too far from her. The bastards're probably keeping her down in a cage somewhere.

In the past, the Guardian of Gastown had grown complacent, weak and pathetic. His defense was shoddy work at best, but that won't be the same for the one Immortan Joe put up the second time. Doesn't matter, though. I came too far to be denied.

"Road Warriors!" I addressed my mates in what could be the last time I would ever share a word with them. "The Chrome Boys took something from all of us when they gashed us out of our home! It's time we gash them back, and this time play Gastown for keeps!" I rapped at the rusted metal roof to quiet the resulting whoops and warcries of the hundred raiders under my command. "Stick to the plan, slip free from their teeth and nails until you get to the gates and the day's ours! FOR WAR!"

"WAAAAAAAAAR!" The thunder of the V8's echoed the sentiment, and the warband sped out of the ruined outpost, setting its hungry gaze upon the glowing spires of Gastown in the distance.

I clutched at the wheel so tight that the scabs on my knuckles broke into fresh wounds, adding their sting to the chilling bite of the desert night winds. I ignored the minor annoyance and pressed my foot down harder on the pedal, driving the APC to its limits. The gunner atop the transporter let out a whoop of excitement, unleashing a storm of heated lead at a wandering band of buzzards that made the foolish decision of attacking our warband. As the guns rattled, I let out a sigh and gathered what little remained of my sanity that I may focus on the task at hand.

I remembered those rare moments in the tattered past where the warmth of the Waste had healed instead of torn, and where the fiery-haired woman satisfied that longing of my soul.

The entire bed squeaks as I moved atop of her, forming a strange rhythmic cacophony in tandem with her breathless moans. Sweet agony, if there ever was such a thing, was all she could feel- my ministrations made sure of that. She chanted my name as I thrusted deep into her heated core, tearing away the shrouds of doubt keeping the two of us apart that the unanswered desires could finally be met.

I groaned out her name in return, burying my face in the damp tresses of her red locks.

It is said that when the world fell, all of sanity went along with it. Everyone was left broken in their own way. No one cared to see how it can all be mended back together. No one saw that love, even in this twisted parody of life, can bloom like a rose in the desert.

Hope.

Yes, her name was a testament to it all.

"Hope."

I whispered hoarsely into softness of her neck, felt the gentle touch of her hands as they snaked along my hideously scarred shoulders. This world has left its marks on me, turning me into a splitting likeness of its nature. But with her, it was like looking into the past...when everything was peaceful...where everything was beautiful.

Could things return to the way they used to? Or am I fool to think so?

Her clothes were in ruins, as was she. Hope gazed up at me with half-lidded eyes, a content smile forming on her lips as she reveled in my attentions. I was staring down at her for so long, I had forgotten everything else. Nothing mattered, save for my wife and the warmth shared between us.

Nothing else mattered, save that I can once again hold her in my arms.

But first, the blood of Scabrous Scrotus must warm my hands.

The rattle of gunfire reverberates across the narrow halls of the walkway, just barely making itself known above the noise of the whirring turbines. I plucked my Bowie knife out from the eye of the warboy I had killed and dragged my bleeding leg out from the fallen piece of debris that had wrenched itself free from the ceiling. The warboy carrying the grenade-launcher had paused to reload, hunkering down behind a steam pipeline just a few feet from where I stood.

We had broken through the gates, unleashing hell upon the warriors of Scrotus- secondborn son of Immortan Joe. My men had the element of surprise, running down the fear-stricken warboys as their war-engines barreled past. Their blood made an ugly stain upon the earth as their bodies were dragged under the wheels, their screams adding to the horrific sounds of battle that soon came after.

The big guns were turned on us. Scrotus himself bellowed his challenge, his hand holding the chain attached to Hope's collar.

Seeing her up there in the Spire, with that giant's hands on her, something primal roared to life within me. Raw as the fires of an ignited furnace, furious as the engines of the V8, I rammed my APC against the walls of the palace and stormed up the tower- intent on wresting my girls away from Scrotus. I had only a few minutes until the warboys decide to regroup, which was more than enough time for me to free Hope and Glory and get the hell out of there.

Fortunately, Scabrous Scrotus was no tactician like his father, more a brute than a thinker.

My service-pistol jerks up violently as I sent a bullet through the warboy's head. Quickly, I picked up the loaded grenade-launcher and pulled myself up the emergency ladder that led up to the top of the Spire. Adrenaline pulsed swift through my veins, the surge of which drove the pain away from the wound in my right thigh, allowing me to keep all thoughts on my goal.

Finally, I reached the throneroom.

Scrotus was nowhere to be seen. But his men where there. They were fixing a noose over Hope's neck, intent on hanging her from the Spire!

Moving with a speed born from desperation, my training kicks in and I unholstered my gun to let out five shots. Three of them missed their marks, but the two were all I needed to save Hope. She teetered on the edge of the balcony, just barely distributing her balance on the thin bars lining the ledge. Her assailants fell, killed from the two bullets I so generously gave.

"Hold on, love!" I rushed to her side, gently lowering her down from the precipice to free her from her bonds.

One twist, and I release the noose from her lovely neck. My knife does its job, splitting away the hard cords on her wrists. Hope sniffles and threw her arms around me in gratitude for saving her in a nick of time.

Three months of restlessness, well worth the wait. She was here, in my embrace as I have dreamed for so long!

I drew away, "Where's Glory?" I asked her.

A loud explosion momentarily interrupts our conversation, and Hope answered. "Scrotus has her!"

My lips twisted into a snarl, and I handed her the launcher. "Come, I'm getting you both out of here!" We made our quick descent from the Spire, heading out into the battlefield below. Just as I expected, it had quickly turned into a massacre. The warboys had regrouped, bringing in the heavy gunnery to bear. My warriors were better-trained, having served in the ADF before the Oil and Water Wars, so they held out longer than most. The raiders who had sided with us didn't fare as well as they did, but at least they put up a fight before they died.

"Boss! You got her?!" My lieutenant had been shot in the eye, his hand was over the bleeding hole as he leaned against the battered brick wall.

"But not my little girl!" I answered, dodging a stray round that took an ex-ADF soldier's head clean off behind me. I ignored the corpse as it collapsed to the ground beside me, "We're not leaving without her!"

"Leaving, boss? I thought you said we're here to stay?"

I had to keep it together. There wasn't any escaping this kind of life until after the shooting stops. "Scrotus has Glory! Gotta nail the bastard, then the whole warband falls apart! Get me a marksman to plant a bullet in his head if he peeks out!"

The sniper crawls into our huddled corner, she brought with her an ancient Mosin Nagant- which in my opinion would do the job just fine. "You know what Scabrous looks like, right?" I asked her.

The marksman nodded, taking position at the narrow hole in the wall where she stuck the barrel through.

I had to flush the big man out, and I had just the right crazy idea to do that. Seizing a heavy metal plate the size of a riot-shield, I ran out of cover to draw the warband's fire. Most of the bullets were homemade, so they didn't pack that much of a punch. Twice, I nearly lost my balance as I neared the barricade where Scrotus stood.

He was there, standing with Glory's head tucked under his arm. The other hand carried his bloodied gear-axe, face affixed with a grim smirk. I didn't hear what he said, but I definitely heard the snap of the Mosin Nagant as the sniper shot the fateful shot.

Scrotus' head jerked back with a thin spray of bright red going out the back of his shattered skull, and his body follows.

Almost immediately after my charge, my men surged forward like the tide of the long-extinct seas of the Pacific. Our cries drowned out the frightened yells of the warboys, whose will to fight died with their fallen warrior-god. Glory lay there beside his corpse, whimpering and scared out of her wits. Amidst the chaos of the battle, I plucked her from the sands and staggered back to her mother.

"It's time! Hope, I want you to push! Now!"

My wife uttered a strangled cry as the heaved for all she was worth. Blood and water gushed free from the gaping cavern between her thighs, only to be stemmed as the gleaming dome of the babe's crown popped free from her womb. Hope let out a curse and lay back, face and neck drenched with the sweat born from her exertions.

"I can see the head! Push, love, push!"

Hope was too exhausted to cry any further, so she whimpered. "I can't...I hurt all over..."

"Yes you can." I reassured her, "Bring this child to this world, Hope."

She shook her head as the tears fell free from her eyes, mixing with the sweat on her cheeks. "I don't want it to live...not in the Wastes...not while the world burns!"

I couldn't tell whether it was Hope talking, or the pain. Either way, it would prove difficult to reason with her while she's delirious. I held her hand, the only way I knew she could feel a tangible anchor onto reality. "Push, goddammit!"

"AAAGGHH!" Hope shrieked, eyes wide as the excruciating agony reared its ugly head for the final time. Guiding the babe out with gentle but firm hands, I allowed the contractions to do their work until it was out of the birth-canal and out into the open air. Hope collapsed back into the pillows, the last of her strength spent.

That beautiful little thing cried a sound that nothing else in the whole world could ever match. A glorious sight was she.

"It's a girl." I smiled proudly, holding my daughter for the Organic Mechanic to snip off her birth-cord. At my words, life returned to Hope's pale cheeks, and she stirred to behold the child she fought so hard to bring into the world.

"Glory." She said softly as she touched her for the first time, "My little Glory."

"Mama!" Glory screamed happily as she threw herself at Hope. Mother and daughter reveled in the sweet respite offered in their reunion amidst the turmoil of the battlefield.

I slunk down against the wall, exhausted beyond words. My wounds were non-lethal, but hurt nonetheless. The pounding in my ears had faded, and so did the adrenaline keeping the pain at bay. I groaned, an understatement given the state of my battered body.

None of that mattered, honestly. Through my agony, I could see the results born from my work here.

"Ow." I winced as Glory crushed my neck in a punishing embrace. "Ease off, youngling. Papa's hurt."

She wasn't listening. Glory remained there, sobbing with tears of relief as she embraced her savior. Still all around us, the battle continued to rage, but was the final moments of a battle being won. The warboys of Scabrous Scrotus were being put to route, and would soon face a painful end on a cross.

Hope beamed at me as she crawled to my side, her eyes holding that tender warmth that she reserved only for me.

At that moment, holding my wife and daughter in my arms, I had an epiphany. The world heals itself in moments like these, where savagery and chaos dies to give life to peace and serenity.

It's not much, but it's a start.

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