"Lucky yer guts didn't fall out," Organic slurred, his oil-stained skin glossy with sweat as he wiped a line of saliva from his lip. There was a whole heap of demolished War Boys to patch up, and most of them would need further care back home. "Good thing we brought along a few Blood Bags, eh?"
Exsanguination was the name Death took for several of the Fallen that day. Boys barely out of Puphood were skewered on broken steel, slashed by shattered windows, bones cracked in wreckage. Those who walked away with nothing but cuts and bruises were now an Elite gang, top of the line High Octane. And Slit hated all of them as Organic's staple gun punched into his flesh to hold his gashes together, blood bubbling up from their edges.
"Didn't get the meat, though. Just yer hull. Little rest, Mother's Milk, you'll mend. Get on…" He waved Slit off his table to make way for the next junked up War Boy. There was a long night ahead, and the Mechanic's assistant ushered Slit over to a line of dangling bodies, and pressed a needle under his pale skin, Guzzle-ine for his emptied engine.
Nux's wounds had been minor, all things considered. A gash across his nose, soldered closed, a broken finger bound and mudded, bruised ribs and possibly a concussion, but nothing to worry about. In the grand scheme of things, he had come off light, even limping less already. (The leg wasn't broken, just something one of the Organic Mechanics had deemed a 'contooshun'.) The most threatening to his well being, he figured, were the violent acts of congratulations that he had received left and right. Shoves and hefts and punches and well-wishes. Cups of Shine shoved into his hands which he drank giddily. By the time he had spotted Slit on the line of Bloodbags, he was buzzing with drink and adrenaline still, high off of his own Good Deeds.
"We will be GREAT, you know! The GREATEST! This is for the best, Slit, you'll see! I'm glad they could patch you up! I'll need the best Lancer the Citadel has to offer!"
Slit would have sent his fist across Nux's nose, if only every movement didn't send a stab of pain through his side. So he settled for sneering, and turned his bruised back on his betraying Brother.
"Find shum other Lancer," he growled, his damaged tongue taking the bite out of his words. There was black shame in his stomach again. Just like the year before, but worse, because for all the months of practicing, all the toiling over his Runner, Nux had been the one to crush it all to dust.
"I don't want another Lancer," Nux snarled, glowering down at Slit and his disgusting moping. "We are BOTH victorious today, Brother! You'd rather a lame Lancer, just to drive? This is for the best! I could have run last year, but I put it off! How many failures? Until you get ripped to shreds? Useless for everyone! I'm tired of cowering in your shadow, Slit. I'm tired of being useless TRASH. Today I proved myself, did I not? Today He looked at me!"
"Hmn," Slit grunted, frowning down at his own calloused hands, and the little cuts interrupting his faded war paint. The little grease stain had done well. Better than all the others. Better than him. Slit had wanted the honor of the Wheel, wanted the coveted respect and station it brought. He had always been above Nux, was always the one both to tear him down, and protect him from others. His Brother. And there had been a thrill in Lancing. He took naturally to it. He never missed. It was his place after all, wasn't it? To be the Eldest. To be the one setting fire to Nux's enemies, clearing the path to Walhalla.
He looked over his shoulder, still scowling, but the sharp resentment in his face had softened.
"He wush shcanning the crowd…"
Wounds or not, Nux gave his Brother a sharp punch to the shoulder, "There was no one else! Unless you mean he was scanning you in The Bog!"
Slit growled and shoved Nux back, but couldn't help the twinge of a smirk fidgeting at the sliced corners of his mouth. "It wush the sun shining off the wreckage, drew Hish eye!"
"INSUFFERABLE!" Nux cackled, relief pouring over him. He knew Slit couldn't hate him for long! "Besides, you know as well as I it's not guaranteed I will get the Wheel," Although being the last Boy standing certainly increased his chances. As far as he knew, the last few nearly always were chosen. "Suck up that blood, Brother. There's celebrating tonight! Once we're patched they'll have the ceremony! No sleep tonight!" He was practically bouncing on his good leg, brimming with drink and delight. "I will find you some Shine! Get you started! We will be the Shining Boys of the Citidel in no time! If we live long enough, perhaps even become Imperators ourselves!"
Before he could answer, Nux was already hobbling swiftly away, Slit supposed to find the Shine that would drown out all the shame and ill-will still swirling at the bottom of his belly. And the pain. It was an incredible pain killer, that terrible tasting liquid, and it woke the fires of Walhalla within the soul of every War Boy in Gas Town. When his Brother returned, Slit drank deep, and ignored the burn on his tongue, and the fire in his throat, until all he felt was radiance.
An hour later, already intensely drunk, Slit was unhooked from his Blood Bag and released to the festivities. The sky was dimming, and soon the Immortan Himself would announce the names of his new Drivers, to join the ranks of his Auxiliary. As he ascended the steps to join his Council on their platform, the crowd roared their enthusiasm, waiting with baited breath as he deliberated with the People Eater and The Bullet Farmer. Decisions would soon be made, and Slit was glad to be Shining, glad he couldn't feel the gnaw of resentment eating its way through his heart. He draped an arm across Nux's shoulders, can of Chrome in hand, and offered him a wide and wild grin.
"You ready, Brother? Ready to Shine?"
Nux was so ready, in fact, he was having trouble staying upright. The drink had sent a thrilling numbness through him, his wounds forgotten, dancing in place as though the drummers were pounding away in his heart as he bounced and wobbled. He had never had so much positive attention before, so many congratulating cheers, nevermind so much Shine in his system. The liquor was a rare commodity for the likes of him, usually, reserved for those of a higher pay-grade. But the winner of the Arena Demolition? It was like the flood gates at the Citadel had been opened and out poured nothing but the wonderful, terrible burning liquid that numbed his senses and made everything so Shine, so Shine indeed. Sparkling. Even Slit's face was sparkling! "I'm gonna'... gonna' be the besst… best driver they ever… ever saw! Just… just you wait!" He gave Slit's stapled cheek a sharp poke just so he knew how serious he was about this proclamation.
Slit grunted, his draped arm wrapping firmly around Nux's neck, as if ready to haul him down and blast his skull with a pointed knuckle. He'd done it several times before. Beyond counting. But, instead, he simply lingered there, and kept his gaze on their All High Father...their Daddy, whose voice broke open and silenced the cheer of the crowd, and spilled out His Decisions. All names were hollow to Slit, empty and void of meaning. Some small part of him still dared to hope that his sharp name would pass through the Immortan's lips, fist clenching, muscles bunching at his Brother's neck.
"NUX!" The name, a venomous snake, slithered down Slit's throat and struck down that little spark of hope, and pumped it full of hate. But he smiled, lips tight and nostrils flared as he jostled the War Boy at his side.
"Well now...was there any doubt…"
Nux's eyes went wide. This was all one big dream. He had died in the middle of the arena and hallucinated this aftermath in a fevered dream before burning away to Walhalla and that wasn't HIS wheel being offered out to him, so shiny, so chrome, sparkling in the hand of one of the Imperators he was supposed to approach.
"NUX! NUX! NUX! NUX!" His cohorts who were far more impressed than Slit chanted around him, and he wobbled forward, his stomach in knots, tears in his eyes, he could hear the heavenly wail of guitar in his mind's ear as he stumbled up to receive it… but no, no there it was, cold and beautiful in his hands, plain and ready for his own personal touches… waiting to be hung at the Shrine back at the citadel with the other's, official and everything…. "NUX! NUX! NUX! NUX!" And tomorrow, he'd scavenge for parts, first choice, anything he liked to fix up his car and blaze home in glory…
With a wild yell he wove the wheel victoriously in the air, but unfortunately the gallon of Shine burning away in his stomach seemed to be quite excited as well, his face going green behind what remained of that day's clay on his skin… Not on the Imperator NOT ON THE IMPERATOR-
He turned sharply, crumpling down to be sick at the commander's feet, just barely missing his boots.
Laughter roared and spread like wildfire through the crowd, some still gleefully chanting his name. And Slit retreated with disgust, weaving and half-stumbling between the other racked and ruined bodies of his peers. No one noticed. Many were already turning round and leaving as the announcements ended and the Immortan signaled that the real celebration ought to begin. The drums and guitar struck up, spotlights flashing on and focused on The Doof Warrior, filling the night air with electric splendor as every War Boy sprayed Chrome across his screaming mouth. Euphoric, orgasmic chaos.
Slit drank. Then drank more, and stained his own lips silver in the relative quiet of Gas Town's entrance. Quiet compared to the mosh pit of thrashing, ecstatic young men, dancing to the furious riffs and chords sung down to them. But it all echoed out into the Wasteland, probably carried for miles, and the Shine turned it to poison in Slit's ears. Lancer. His place. His lot in this life. Big, protective Brother, indeed…
He spat at the sand with contempt and tipped back the metal can of liquor, emptying the last of it to burn away his fury, and only managing to add to it.
Nux, meanwhile, had been caught up in a flurry of celebration. He had Feasted with the other New Drivers, a sure cure for his upset stomach they assured him, the freshest produce he had ever tasted, crisp and green, and something called Bread, washed down with a fresh cup of Shine. Before he could even think to look for his Lancer, he had been dragged out into the dance floor, thrashing and screaming and Chroming with the other drivers in a fit of ecstasy.
Sure, they would probably tease him about his sickness later, but he had never been happier. The Immortan had smiled down upon him! Or at least had deemed his driving Worthy - HE was worthy! Dreams come true! His life would change that day, he knew it, he felt it, change for the better. The first step toward the most glorious death imaginable…
After what had to have been hours, he finally was able to pull himself away, staggering along with his Wheel strapped to his belt to go take a well deserved piss. He wobbled out toward the gates of the facility, the sounds of the raging festivities muted only slightly, and he wondered if his ears would ever stop ringing, but he didn't care. It took some concentration to empty his engine, so to speak, but as he drank in the cool air that smelled fragrantly of oil and smoke, breathing clearly for the first night in ages, he caught sight of a shadow not so far away… "SLIT! Sssliiit!" He tripped over his own boots as he made his way over, "There you are! I wondered… wondered where you'd gone off to, Brother!"
Slit's skin prickled. His head swam with Shine. And it made him honest, stripped down the hull of goodwill he'd attempted to show Nux, and exposed his black frame that still shuddered with resentment. If Nux had been sober, he might have seen it coming, might have recognized that look in his red eye that always flashed when he was ready to break Nux apart. And when the younger War Boy finally made it to him, reaching for him, Slit moved cooly out of the way, murderous eyes shifting down to the glint of silvery steel on his belt.
"Is'at it,then? That's your wheel? Give it here…"
"Yes! Yes, isn't it Shiny? I'll add something here I think," He tapped the bare center, fumbling clumsily to unhook it and hand it over proudly, beaming at his Brother, yearning for his approval, for his appreciation and support. "Some wire, some tidbits I'll… I'll scavenge… I still can't believe it! You think… you think people'll… remember the… the bit where I yoked?"
"Mmh...maybe start callin' ya Puke 'stead'a Nux," Slit grumbled, and turned the wheel slowly in his hands. His wheel. It should've been his. And as the gashes in his stapled side throbbed, it drove deeper his hate. Slowly, he extended a hand, and wrapped his fingers round the back of Nux's skull, to bring him close, noses touching, breaths mingling in the chill of the air as Slit's molars gnashed together.
"Been through lots...you'n me," he began, speech slurring thanks to his sore tongue and the Shine. "And Brothers is Up Front...mmh? Brothers pay their debts."
"Through lots, yes!" Nux grinned, brimming with excitement still as they leaned in together, "Through lots more before we die! Together!"
"That's right...you'n me…" His grip on Nux's skull tightened, and his breath plumed like a snorting bull as the air grew colder by the moment, and the moon lit them up against the sand, angry tears brimming in Slit's eyes. "You're Shinin', Brother….thanks to me...thanks to what you stole…Say it."
His grip on the wheel turned his knuckles white, and his breath trembled, bubbling on the boiling surface of his fury and heartbreak.
"What?" Nux laughed nervously, Slit's grasp on him turning worringly tight, even in his inebriated state. "I've stolen noffin' from you, Brother! Anything what… what HAS been stolen has always been SHARED, regardless, eh?" He gave Slit a playful elbow to his side, hoping to relieve the tension, his own grip returning to the wheel to try to take it back.
"Let's share it, then," Slit hissed, releasing Nux and drawing back, fist flying hard across his temple as he wrenched the wheel from his hand. "Let me share it with you!"
He brought it down on him, again and again, violent and merciless and hateful, pistons firing from his shoulder, to the wheel, and down onto Nux's flesh, without care for where it landed. Each vicious blow punished Nux for his success, for the dream they'd shared, and he stole for himself. Greedy. Selfish. Heartless. And by the time Slit's fuel gave out, and he stood panting, blood dripping from his fist and the circle of steel it gripped, Nux lay gasping in the sand.
Beatings from Slit were not an uncommon occurrence, but even so Nux was somehow taken by surprise. At first he had been too shocked by the first blow to even think to try to block the second. He had been barely able to stand when huddling with his friend, and quickly found himself flat on his back, arms crossed to try to catch some of the brute force, but it was unending. Why? What had he done, really? Slit went on about wanting to drive, but never listened, never listened when Nux had, their whole lives, dreamed of it himself. It was one quirk that hadn't been beaten out of him, no matter how hard Slit might have tried, and if he'd just thought about it he would have known all along…
Slit threw down the wheel, huffed out the last of his own steam, and felt better. Nux's debt was paid in blood. "It's for the best...eh, Nux? We'll be unstoppable…"
He turned away, and swept up his discarded metal can, thirsty for another drink, ready to throw himself into the fray of War Boys as his dream evaporated into the night sky. He would be Lancer. The best of them all. He'd survive them all, and dance on the graves of every Buzzard, Badger, and Raider he sent up in flames, a bitter vengeance on the world.
Nux decided, wheezing once he was certain he was alone and could flop flat on his back and concentrate on stopping the world from spinning, that perhaps he should just stay there for a bit. He ached, even through the Shine, and maybe it was the Chrome still circulating in his system but he was grinning as he stared up at the stars through a swelling, bloodied eye and bruised face. "Unstoppable…!" Slit would get over it, as he always did. If he really had wanted the position, he would have killed him. But he didn't, which spoke volumes to him. Brothers. Until the end.