The sun was hot again. Warbird actually missed the chill from the night before, but she was grateful enough for the daylight that it was bearable. Nothing at all was happening, and she was left with no choice but to sit down in the shade next to a car and wait for someone to decide to do something. The good news, now, was that she was coughing less, and there was only a moderate amount of blood in her mouth at any given time.

It was a sad improvement.

She had ripped her shirt up so that it more resembled something the wives would wear, using the scraps to cover various wounds and pad various bruises. While she was tearing the cloth, she finally realized just how filthy it was, and grimaced as she tried to remember the last time she had gotten a new set of clothes. The fact that she couldn't come up with anything was disappointing in itself.

Everyone else just sat, war boys eyeing each other warily. Just because the Citadel was allied with Gas Town and the Bullet Farm didn't mean anything. There was still a lot of potential for violence, especially when they were all out in the middle of nowhere, not at all close to any semblance of civilization. Warbird was really hoping that nothing broke out, because if there was a fight, she was pretty much fucked.

It was around midday when she found the strength to haul herself up and go on a search for something to drink that wasn't her own blood falling down her throat. All she came up with was mother's milk, and while it was warm and not at all refreshing, it was better than dying of dehydration. Her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten in what felt like forever, and her next mission became finding food, which proved marginally harder than her last quest was when she realized that not only was there barely anything to consume out in this wasteland, but also that nobody was willing the share what meager scraps they had managed to find.

All she found was a bug. Again, it was better than nothing, but just barely. She was used to not eating for days on end, and crunching on it quieted her stomach a tiny bit.

Immortan Joe seemed to be sulking, and the People Eater and recently blinded Bullet Farmer were getting extremely fed up with him. It led to the agitation of their armies every time anybody overheard them complaining about their losses, and as Warbird made her way back to the shade, she passed a few boys who were growing close to throwing punches at a Bullet Farm polecat.

"Knock it off," she snapped. She was surprised when they listened.

It was then that Joe stormed over to her, seemingly out of nowhere, and grabbed her by the hair.

It was getting really old.

"You owe me." He hissed, his breathing machine only adding to the noise.

"For what?" She asked in irritation.

"Damage to my property!"

"I wasn't the one who ran her over." She growled, her eyes narrow.

That really seemed to do it.

With a gurgling roar, Joe cuffed her over the head, sending her ducking over while her ears rang. She swore under her breath as she tried to dodge another hit, almost making it out of the way as the edge of his hand clipped her jaw.

"This is getting…" she coughed and wheezed a few times as she wiped some blood away from her face. "...really old."

"You insolent little-"

"Immortan!" A voice called.

Joe froze almost completely, nothing but his eyes moving as he tried to find the speaker. The war boys were all still, save for Warbird, who straightened up as best she could to face their leader as he scanned the small crowd scattered amongst the cars around them.

"Who was that?" He asked, his voice dangerously low.

"Leave her alone!" The voice yelled. Heads turned, eventually pointing towards one young war boy who stood holding a wrench.

"Clutch, stop it." Warbird commanded when she saw who it was.

"You dare to speak against me?" Joe asked, expecting the boy to back down immediately like they always did. They revered him, after all; if someone ever got rowdy like this, all he ever needed to do was remind them who exactly it was that they were talking to and the problem was taken care of. On the off chance that it didn't work, the others always made sure that the boy in question would never speak against anyone ever again.

"Yes." Clutch said firmly, stepping forward through the tense air.

"Clutch, stand down." Warbird said, her voice as harsh as she could make it. But there wasn't any fire left in her eyes, and the others could all see it. There was nothing that they recognized there.

Rictus crept up to stand next to his father, his head tilted curiously as he watched the exchange. He cocked the gun in his hands. "Want me to kill him?"

Joe narrowed his eyes. He didn't want to make a martyr out of this boy, but he didn't want him to encourage the others, either. "Give me that." He yanked the gun away from Rictus and aimed it, pulling the trigger before anyone had a chance to react.

Warbird jumped at the noise, her stomach dropping when she saw the bullet tear through Clutch's lower jaw. Blood splattered out, running down his throat and chest, the red a stark contrast against his white skin as he fell back, the back of his head hitting the ground.

The boys around him all stumbled back in shock. They were used to seeing each other get shot, but not by Joe. This was the most dishonorable death anyone could have-Clutch never had a chance to ask for a witness, and while they were all there to see it, nobody dared speak up about it. What were they supposed to do now?

"Does anyone else have anything to say?" Joe roared, looking around at them.

Nobody moved.

He turned with a huff, shoving the gun back into his son's arms as he stomped away. Warbird stumbled forward, stopping next to Clutch and falling to her knees. He was already gone, blood oozing out of what used to be the lower half of his face. She could see a tiny bit of the bottom of his brain where the bullet had torn through to the stem and obliterated it.

At least he didn't have to bleed out before he died.

Rage was bubbling inside of her. Her nostrils flared as she looked up at Joe's retreating form, sauntering as if nothing had happened. Rictus peered down at her for a moment before following his father, but as they left, the tension in the air remained thick. Boys glanced around, unsure of what to do, uncharacteristically sullen as they watched Warbird push herself up off the ground.

"Witness," she said quietly, emotionless as she looked down at what remained of Clutch.

A war boy to her left echoed her, and soon the word was traveling through the crowd, murmured and whispered but still present. It hung in that tense air for several moments, an uncomfortable sensation for the warriors that weren't used to any kind of mourning. For a lot of them, it felt like the world was inverting itself somehow; this wasn't right, wasn't how they were supposed to think and feel. It was strange and different, as was seeing their imperator so broken before them.

But they weren't cowards. They knew that much. Were they supposed to just sit there and pretend nothing had happened? No. Something was changing around them and they could feel it, and as they kept their eyes trained on Warbird, many of them realized that they were beginning to feel pretty lost. Their imperator was starting to seem like the only thing they had left that they understood.

"What now?" somebody asked.

Warbird looked around at them. "What do you mean, what now?"

They all looked so forelorn. She didn't know what to do. They were looking at her expectantly, wanting something to happen, waiting for some kind of order, but she didn't have anything to say.

"We...wait," she said, searching for something, anything to tell them. That was all she had. "Go find something to drink. Go back to your cars. I'll...figure it out."

And so they did, reluctantly turning and leaving. Warbird was left alone, and as she looked out at the blinding horizon, she sighed. Where was Nux? Was he still alive? And Furiosa and the remaining wives...had they made it? She was going to be absolutely livid if they went through all of this only to have everyone fucking die.

She was left with nothing to do but try to find a patch of shade and wait. The sun was merciless, and Warbird knew that she was weak enough as it was without baking in the light. All she could do was sit under the edge of the Doof Mobile, hiding in the dark as much as she could while everyone else slowly began doing the same. There was nothing left for them to do; they had no orders, and with Joe staying silent, probably trying to figure out what to do himself, the boys were left to tinker with engines and exhaust pipes. Eventually, even that became pointless, and they all resigned to flopping down on the ground to wait for something to happen.

They cast occasional glances over at their imperator, but she always looked away or stared back until they stopped, making sure she gave no indication that they should approach her. They shouldn't. She wasn't in the mood to talk.

She was still furious with their leader for what he had done that day, and every other day that they had been out there. It wasn't fair, and she cursed herself for not realizing sooner. She had been so blind, so naive, just like the rest of them. As much as she thought she could, she had actually never been able to think for herself; she always did the Immortan's bidding, always followed his lead, always chased after his favor like a starving dog. She hadn't thought that things would ever be like this, that she would watch his descent like this. Of course, she hadn't ever thought that she would be helping his wives escape with a fellow imperator, so honestly, this shouldn't have surprised her.

Warbird looked down at herself. She was dirty, sweaty, and bleeding. Her shoddy clothes were stained red and tan, the latter from the mud and sand she so often found herself in these days. She looked at the way she was sitting, forced to situate herself in a way that none of the others ever had to. They never had to worry about their hips, did they? They never had to sit in a certain way. She watched them all sprawl out or curl up, however they wanted to, contorting themselves in ways that she would never be able to.

With a grimace, Warbird hissed at herself. Fucking useless. She shouldn't have been allowed to live this long. What good was she, especially after all the beatings she had endured in this short trip? If they got back to the Citadel, if she survived, she would be confined to a bed-or, more than likely, the ground-for a few weeks, or even months. What good would she be there? The others would all leave her, they would all grow tired of having to take care of someone who couldn't even sit correctly.

How had she gotten this far, anyway? They all thought that she was so strong, that she was invincible. She wasn't. She was scared, and weak, and in pain so much. All she wanted was to lay down and rest, but she feared now that if she did, she would never wake up. That's how so much of her life felt-like she needed a break, but she could never come back from one if she tried. Years of this had gone by, never ceasing, only growing.

But...at the same time, years had gone by. She shouldn't have lived this long. How had she gotten this far? Anger? Because that's how it felt. Maybe she was alive out of pure spite. Maybe that was her purpose. In any case, it was feeling like she didn't have much longer, and if she only existed as some embodiment of vengeance, then she knew exactly the person she had to destroy.

The Immortan.

As the day continued, the war boys began perking up. Not because it was cooling off, because it wasn't, but because of what they saw: a figure, standing bravely amongst them, hair slick with grease and motor oil, back covered in scarification and tattoos. As she stood there, as straight as she could, the sun beating down on her, they all began wondering what was going on, and why she seemed so different. They had all thought that her spirit was breaking, based on the way she had been acting, but now…

Their Warbird was back.

"All of you, get your asses down here!" she shouted, her voice stern and commanding. When they all just stared, she repeated herself, anger lacing her words.

They complied, surrounding her curiously. What was going on?

"Today, you all saw what I saw." she said, turning in a full circle to look at all of them. "One of our own was executed. By someone we looked up to. Someone we trusted." She paused. They were all watching her intently, which was good. But was it working? "Today, and on this entire journey, we've seen that our leader is nothing. He has no one. All of you, his loyal war boys, followed him into battle, and how were you repaid? With death."

They began murmuring, glancing around at each other.

She raised her voice. "Who really runs the Citadel? Is it the Immortan Joe, who sits and lives in comfort, surrounded by luxury? Or is it the war boys, the black thumbs, the workers and warriors who are the back bone, the gears, the engine of our home?"

"War boys," a few of them answered.

"Who is it, that when duty calls, go out to throw their half lives on the line? Who will fight tooth and nail to prove their loyalty?"

"War boys." some more of them joined in, sounding more confident.

"Who is it," Warbird shouted, turning in another circle, "that when faced with certain death, with impossible odds, with chances so slim that the sane wouldn't dare try, will drive straight to the Fury Road and come back out alive?"

"WAR BOYS!"

They erupted into chants and cheers, and as Warbird looked around at them, a grin found its way onto her face. It was finally time.

"What is your will, imperator?" Axle asked, stepping forward.

"Start your engines." she said. "We're going to make a stand."