Mad Max: Gasoline Alley.
ENGINE MASTER FIRST CLASS MATHIAS. V.O.
I remember a time long past. The vicious wars over water and the black fuel and then the mighty blaze that engulfed this fragile Earth. The sun shone not for many long winters and those that survived were battered and smashed in the chaos, the firestorm of radioactive destruction, the breaking of the world.
Now this blighted place lives once more, the desert once again sprouts great cities of pipe and steel, controlled by powerful warrior clans. In alliance with The Engine Masters and their Apprentices; The Wordkeepers, guardians of the arcane knowledge of the old world; The Priests who worship at the altar of Internal Combustion, the great God that rules this wasted land, they pump the precious crude from deep beneath the earth and refine it into the liquid gold to nourish and sustain our great God.
I remember the High Octane Road War in the place called Gasoline Alley, an area of the wasteland blessed in bounty by the great God Internal Combustion, rich in the black fuel. In the domain of the Wrecker Tribes and the People Eaters we fought the righteous fight, the fuel burning in our vehicles gas tanks an offering to our vengeful God so that He may bless our victory, and yet still I remember the Warrior of the Road, he who was called Max.
OPEN ON:
EXT. WASTELAND - REFINERY TOWN - DAY.
A heavily fortified industrial refinery town: Last Chance. Steel refinery towers pierce the sky. Massive pumps undulate endlessly, pumping the sweet black crude. Ramshackle dwellings and establishments constucted from the scavenged detritus of a long dead civilisation. A Post Industrial hellhole. Wastelander vehicles are lined up at the massive city gates, come to trade for fuel and clean water. Each vehicle is inspected by the Judge Advocate of Last Chance and his militia, if the occupants have items of value they are allowed to proceed into the refinery town.
CLOSE UP ON:
The black V8 Ford Interceptor, auxilliary fuel tanks and spare tyre in the lidless trunk. Next in line, it moves forward as the car ahead is waved on. The Judge Advocate looks over the powerful, high performance Police vehicle and the long haired, bearded man sitting in the driver's seat. He takes note of Max's pursuit driver's leather jacket.
JUDGE ADVOCATE.
You were an officer of the law in the before time, what have you bought to trade?
Max lifts an old fashioned carpet bag from the footwell of the passenger seat and opens it for the Judge Advocate to inspect. It contains a rolled up bundle of furs and skins and some scavenged items: an old mechanics manual; half a dozen ancient tins of dog food; a bulletproof vest; a hand generator powered flashlight and other miscellaneous items.
JUDGE ADVOCATE.
Very well you may enter.
Max nods at the man, puts the Interceptor in gear and drives on into Last Chance. He sees what is clearly a mechanics establishment and pulls over. A man who is tinkering with the engine of a wastelander vehicle, wipes his hands on a greasy rag and walks over.
TURBO.
A V8 Interceptor, been a hell of a long time since I laid eyes on one of these, what's wrong with her Bronze?
Max pops the hood and gets out of the vehicle. He limps slightly and his lower left leg is supported by a brace, the legacy of a healing wound.
MAX.
Dead spark plug, only firing on seven cylinders. Radiator hose is shot and the spare tyre is flat.
The mechanic inspects the engine. The radiator hose is patched with rags and duct tape, Turbo removes the leads from each spark plug in turn and inspects them.
TURBO.
That's all pretty straight forward Bronze, what have you got to trade?
Max shows him the car manual and the dog food.
TURBO.
OK we got a deal, give me an hour.
INT. LAST CHANCE - WATER AND REFUELLING STATION.
Max is bartering with the Fuel Master, the rest of his trade items are spread out on the counter.
FUEL MASTER.
That's the deal take it or leave it. Ten litres of Guzzaline and ten litres of water, what you got aint worth more than that.
MAX.
The water's clean?
FUEL MASTER.
Finest Kind. Pure Aqua - Cola, got a shipment from the Citadel three days ago.
Max just grunts. The Fuel Master writes out a chit and hands it to Max. Max looks at the piece of paper in his hand, turns and walks out of the fuelling station.
EXT. LAST CHANCE - MAIN STREET - DAY.
Two men follow Max out into the street, one is dressed in a similar leather jacket to Max. They follow him back to Turbo's workshop. As the two men approach Max, he pivots on his right leg, lightning fast despite his wounded leg. Double barreled sawn - off shotgun pointed right at the closer man's face.
MAX.
Why are you following me?
RAND.
Easy pal, we're on your side. I'm Rand, this is Cooper, ex MFP. We've got a proposition for you.
MAX.
Go ahead.
COOPER.
Ten litres of Guzzaline aint gonna get you too far, there's no more fuel for nearly five hundred kilometres.
RAND.
We're running an escort for a Pilgrim convoy. We're heading for a place called the Citadel, it's ruled by a Warrior Clan led by their Warchief the Immortan. We're taking an Apprentice Engine Master who is pledged in service to the Chief Engine Master of Gastown, the Immortan's oil refinery.
COOPER.
We've gotta travel through the turf of some pretty mean Wrecker Tribes and People Eaters and we could use some extra back - up. We were supposed to meet up with one of the Immortan's Imperators for our escort to the Citadel but we're three days behind schedule and the arsehole didn't wait. We'll pay you in gas, fifty litres down and full tanks with as much extra juice as you can carry when the Engine Master is delivered to Gastown and the pilgrims are safely at the Citadel.
MAX.
How far is the run?
RAND.
Nearly four hundred and eighty klicks as the crow flies, out beyond the Powder Lakes. About four and a half days, those old clunkers the Pilgrims are driving don't move too fast.
CLOSE UP ON:
Max. He is thinking it over, he would much rather travel alone but with only ten litres of gas he doesn't have much choice.
MAX.
Alright I'm in.
RAND.
We leave as soon as we're fuelled up. Meet outside the main gates in two hours.
EXT. WASTELAND - LAST CHANCE - DAY.
The Pilgrim convoy and Rand and Cooper's escort are parked up in the wasteland outside Last Chance's barricade walls. The ex MFP officers and their crew are clustered around Rand's Pursuit Special. Max pulls up and exits his vehicle.
RAND. TO HIS CREW.
Everybody this is the new guy.
RAND. TO MAX.
You know Cooper, this is Katana, she rides shotgun with me. Ballard, Logan and the Black Rider also ex MFP, Juice and Kilmister drive the fuel truck, Longbow, Brutus, Cortex and Hartmann.
Rand's crew give Max the once over. They are a motley bunch: the ex MFP officers are dressed in remnants of MFP uniforms. The Black Rider as his name suggests is dressed in black MFP bike leathers and black mirror visored helmet. Katana is an attractive dark haired woman about 28 years old, dressed in makeshift body armour with a Samurai sword in a scabbard strapped to her back. The rest of the crew are wasteland raider types, armoured, tattooed, armed with crossbows, knives and a few firearms.
RAND.
Okay we still got a long way to go through hostile territory, mount up and move out, standard formation.
The escort crew get into their respective vehicles and one by one in formation the convoy moves out into the wasteland.
EXT. WASTELAND - LATE AFTERNOON.
The convoy has travelled a hundred kilometres the first day. The slow pace determined by the Pilgrim's ancient school buses. The vehicles park in a circle to camp for the night. Max drives on a bit further to scout out conditions for the next part of the journey. The demons of his past threaten to break out of his memories again, Max mutters over and over to himself like a mantra.
MAX.
They can not hurt me they are dead. They can not touch me they are dead. I can not hear them they are dead.
EXT. WASTELAND - MOUNTAIN BLUFFS - LATE AFTERNOON.
Two men are watching the Interceptor. One, Junker, is short, fat, skin greasy with sweat, heavily tattooed and is wearing some type of optical device over one eye. The other, The Skin Feeder, is emaciated, with unnaturally pale skin covered in weeping ulcers and festering sores, corpselike facial features and sharpened teeth. He is watching Max through an ancient, cracked pair of binoculars.
THE SKIN FEEDER.
A road warrior, fat with water and juice, I'll feast on his skin tomorrow.
JUNKER.
Lots of juicy travellers ripe for the plucking. The rendering vats and distillation tanks will be working overtime, and we will all feast on the sweet flesh.
The two People Eaters leave their concealed vantage point and get into a customised Towing Rig, Junker's vehicle. They drive off back toward their canyon settlement.