Chapter 1: Bartertown Reborn

As Aunty Entity watches Max disappear into the distance, she realizes the necessity of becoming a more rational leader who makes compromises that benefit everyone because if she continues to play the iron-fisted ruler, she will be consumed by the Wasteland and eventually her evil ways would catch up with her, dragging her down to destruction like every mad scientist before her who was eventually overwhelmed by their own creations. She survived the collapse of society and rose to power by her own means, but with great power comes great responsibility, thus Bartertown began it's journey of a thousand miles with a single step back towards civilization. Instead of raiding nearby settlements and tribes to increase her own strength as was done in the past, she decided to live up to her town's name and started bartering her way to prosperity, slowly regaining the trust of those who lived around her and attracting nomads from all across the outback who sought shelter from roving biker gangs and vagrant criminals. Those who were old enough to remember society began constructing proper variants of everything that used to be; banks, a school, a town jail, markets, repair shops, and even a library came to be, although she could not have ever imagined that the books she saved for future generations would eventually be captured and hidden away in a tower to be read only by those who were entrusted with preserving the legacy of a man she had yet to meet.

One such group who came seeking shelter from the harsh reality of life in the Wasteland was the tribe of Pappagallo who left their native area after the refinery which provided them a home for so many years finally ran out of oil and was abandoned by those who found it due to the oil derrick violently coughing up the shaft connected to it's main pump, rendering it useless. After many weeks, or possibly several months, these nomadic survivors ran into a convoy who said they were headed towards a place known as Bartertown to refurbish their vehicles, refuel their tanks, and restock their supplies so they could continue their journey across Australia, hoping to eventually find the coast where they might become fishermen and cultivate a steadier supply of food if the oceans are still filled with life. Having no other options, the tribe decides it would be best to see whether this settlement is somewhere they could start over. Several members of the convoy said it used to be a place that good men were wise to stay away from, in past visits they had to shoot their way out of place, but others said it had changed and the woman who controlled the place was now using "lawn orders" to establish a civilized way of living.

Establishing the rule of law and order would prove to be a daunting task. Aunty Entity started by constructing a jail from shipping containers and simply locking the doors to hold prisoners at bay. Anyone who spent a few days in a boiling hot metal crate with very little water tended to change their attitudes at a fairly brisk pace, deciding that it would be best to conduct themselves in a civil manner while within the borders of Bartertown. Gangs were not allowed to enter as a whole, rather a convoy had to enter with representatives who would conduct the negotiations and they were not allowed to carry any weapons through the gate at the risk of being shot by one of the many armed guards who were stationed throughout the settlement. There was also the matter of establishing a court to moderate and judge disputes between individuals. Rather than the old way of fighting to death in a cage, two men enter the courtroom and two men leave. The benefits of such civility quickly became apparent, those who came in from the cold nothingness of the outback would revel in the calmness and lack of paranoia that permeated the air. Everyone was so at ease with each other and a sense of trust spread from town to town like good news, slowly at first but eventually picking up speed once people realized it true. Those who visited hated to leave but nothing is permanent and they promised to visit again if they could, always telling others that Bartertown had the best guzzoline and clearest water in the wasteland.

Upon the tribe's arrival, they discover many others made the same decision they did and approached a formerly rough community with a renewed sense of hope, many could remember what life was like before the Fall and everyone was building something for the future rather than fighting amongst themselves for just another day under the scorching, unforgiving sun. Guns and other weapons became increasingly common as everyone came together to combat the hordes and lone criminals who sought to undermine their progress and an immense sense of community developed among the inhabitants and those who settle in the periphery of Bartertown. Orphaned children were given the best home they could be in such circumstances, truly living up to the phrase that it takes a village to raise a child. One such child always carried a music box and had an innate obsession with something called an "Interceptor" which he vowed to drive one day as he went from place to place, fighting the bad guys and helping those who couldn't help themselves like his childhood idol, the mythical road warrior who saved his life and his tribe. Everyone told him that this was nonsense, the worst of the collapse was behind them and it was time to rebuild. Life on the road was dangerous, it was a good way to die young as far as all the old timers were concerned.

So this young child with no name settled down and accepted his new life, remaining always the introvert who spoke very little but nonetheless becoming wise to the ways of wasteland. But his obsession with V8's would continue, despite his responsibilities on the outskirts of the settlement he would always be there when a trade convoy rolled into town and he would always silently go through every vehicle with a fine-toothed comb like a thief in the night looking for what he needed to build his own Interceptor, often drawing the vehicle on whatever bits of paper or fabric he could find, much to the chagrin of the older generations who understood how valuable such materials were, and he'd show these diagrams and sketches to whoever had come by to trade their willies and their wares for more vital supplies, never once caring if he interrupted anybody or said something that was totally out of context to the current negotiations. However, despite his initial carelessness he eventually became a great negotiator and Aunty Entity's trade coordinators often consulted him before making a final offer since he was so good at covertly inspecting the cargo without anyone noticing. Often times, he found that the barrels of fuel had false bottoms or the majority of the food was actually spoiled. It was by these methods that he was able to start with a broken two-stroke engine which was given to him as a project by one of the mechanics in town and traded his way towards the motorbike which would play a pivotal role in his future.

The years went by and the child was now well into adolescence and like many adolescents who came before him, he started showing a keen interest in cars. Always underfoot at the mechanics' shop, he had learned his way around engines at an early age and had only become more dexterous with tools as he grew older. Although he wasn't the best mechanic they'd ever seen, he certainly showed a lot of promise. One day while he was riding his motorbike outside the compound to see whether the carburetors he had traded for were better than the old ones, he spotted something he'd only seen in his dreams. The profile of a road warrior's interceptor was coming across the plains on the highway leading to Bartertown, any minute now they'd take a leisurely right hand turn towards the driveway of the settlement and he raced back to be there the moment Aunty Entity began negotiations for the lot. By the time he skidded into the hangar where two or three parties usually haggled with each other, negotiations were well under way; he casually mentioned the Interceptor a few times but the owner was firmly determined to keep it. "This is a scrap deal, kid, you don't ask for a car with potential in a scrap deal." Finally, the feral child went for broke and blurted out, "I'll trade you my motorbike, it's perfect in every way and I just put better carburetors on the engine". Aunty Entity was just staring at him in disbelief, working vehicles with strong motors were such a rare and precious commodity in the wasteland, he had done so much to restore that bike. Why would you trade something that it's perfect working order for the shell of a childhood fantasy?

But the older man admired the kid's spunk, he went out on a limb for something he wanted and there was a lot to be said for that. So the Interceptor's body rolled off of the flatbed trailer on four bare steel rims and a gleaming motorbike was strapped down in it's place as the convoy prepared to leave, and the feral boy knew it'd be years before he could breath life back into this worn metal hulk, but it didn't matter. He had what made him happy, and if he was able to fix up his bike then why wouldn't he be able to make a proper car out of this coupe? The man said all the gauges worked, the manual transmission shifted smoothly, the windows still rolled up and down, all he needed was a V8 and a supercharger. All he needed was to find the stuff of legends, the things people committed murder to have. The pieces of his puzzle had been scattered to the four corners of the Earth, but nothing could kill the happiness that was buzzing through him like electricity. One day the Interceptor would ride again. One day he would be a cowboy, riding hard and fast under the eternal sun of hopelessness, always believing that something better was just over the horizon.

Many of the older members of his tribe said this was an irresponsible move, like many of the wanderers who came to Bartertown looking for security and a future the tribe of Pappagallo lived in the periphery of the settlement and had a duty to help patrol the perimeter for roving gangs and warlords who might have nefarious intentions. A car with a running V8 would paint a giant target on his back and his motorbike was a much more sensible means of transportation, it had been part of the feral boy's livelihood in addition to being a breeze to keep in working order, now how was he supposed to get anywhere outside of camp? Was he planning on walking every single time he was needed to leave? Bartertown itself was over half a mile away, but like many teenagers he had no regard for this sort of thing and he began hitch-hiking as necessary, sometimes running if he saw a large convoy headed in because that meant a higher likelihood of finding things like cylinder heads or a good set of tires for his car. Eventually he traded his way to an old shipping container which would serve as a workshop to rebuild his car, setting up a crude garage in his tribe's camp which prove invaluable in the coming years and would even save his life one day.