Leda was both smart enough and stupid enough to get into that car with that goddamn Warboy, Nux. Smart because she wouldn't survive to get to Furiosa if she stayed bike-bound in this kind of storm; stupid because Warboys near the end were even more kamakrazee than the Warboys at the beginning. So she jumped; she had lost her own Warboy, Cutter, to one of the buzzards so it was easy.

She needed to get to Furiosa, so she needed to make it through this storm – and by the look of that cyclone that was growing on the horizon, she needed Nux.

"If you're gonna fang it through, you need a counterweight. Get your Blood Bag toward the back," she commanded, shouting through the sounds of the coming storm. The other Warboy on the rig, Slit, began to comply.

The spare Warboy got behind the blood bag and unpinned him from the lancer's post. Screaming things at the feral that Leda didn't care enough to pay attention to as he dragged him towards the back of the car.

They got closer and closer to the dust storm and Leda realized that it was inevitable that the feral would try to escape, especially since Slit would probably kill him in the process of getting him to the back. She followed the pair with her pale eyes, ignoring Nux. True to her prediction, the feral started to struggle, pushing and head-butting until the Warboy slipped, grasping at the feral's leg until its boot came off, the Warboy falling into the sand with it.

The blood bag spun to peer through the back window. Leda knew his next move would be to try and get in the car with them, so the War Bitch pulled the top shut before he could clamber in the only hope of shelter he had from the storm.

Leda saw now that the cyclone was deadly close, whirling and clawing at the vehicles that pursued Furiosa. It devoured them. And when Leda looked over at Nux, she saw what he saw; a gateway. And then he started to boost the nitro.

"Oh what a day!" the Warboy screeched in excitement. "WHAT A LOVELY DAY!"

"Stop." Leda's voice was calm and cold and ready to strike, just like the hand that had shot towards her blade. But Nux ignored her. Instead just practically singing:

"I'm the man who grabbed the sun riding to Valhalla!"

"NO YOU'RE BLOODY WELL NOT!" She began to unsheathe her blade but there must have been a hesitation, a moment of weakness where she didn't want to kill this child, this boy that she had made into what he was. With this hesitation came consequence – Nux used it, just like she had showed him, to palm the back of her head, wrap her hair in his fingers, pull her back and then slam her forward, hard into the dash.

She felt disoriented, displaced as she faded back and forth between the cold of unconsciousness and the heat of reality. But she still heard Nux as he said, "Sorry, Mother. But you said… Witness me Blood Bag! Witness! I live, I die, I live again! WE LIVE AGAIN, MOTHER!"

Then she felt weightless as they crashed. Then she felt nothing.

Leda had never – not once in her 28 or so years on this wasted planet – woken up peacefully. She always tore her way out of the vivid dreams that dressed her sleeping mind. She clawed at the barrier between reality and the recesses of her brain like it was a vile womb.

This was no different. Her battle-shook brain awoke seeped in anger and a pitch of panic. Something's touching you, Leda. Hmmm. Your back. Shake, shake, no one's home. Creeping up – HE'S GOING FOR YOUR BLADE, her mind hissed in the muscles contracted violently as she fought for consciousness and won.

Her eyes flickered open. Feet. Only one boot. NOT NUX.

Oh, fuck that.

The feral obviously hadn't registered in this moment and a half that she had roused that she had roused in the first place. So he wasn't ready for one hand to jerk out and pull a foot out from under him while the other reached for the handle of her machete. She rolled away rapidly, putting distance between them before she jumped up. Swiftly unsheathing her blade, she assumed the stance she always did before she gutted a man.

He's bigger than you. SMALL. WEAK. POOR EXCUSE FOR A FULL-LIFE.

But I'm faster.

But he has a gun, she realized. SHIT. Leda the fucking War Bitch could dodge a punch as well as she could take one but you don't fucking walk off a bullet wound of that caliber. The gun the feral clutched in his hand was practically a blunderbuss.

Option One: Run. No. She had taught too many boys to be kamakrazee for her not to be fearless when it came to a gutting. Her lack of fear when it came to death was one of her best traits.

Option Two: Convince him to fight fair and drop the gun. Fat chance.

Option Three: Surprise, Bitch.

Surprise, bitch it was.

Leda knew the best way to deal with an asshole with a gun was to get closer to said asshole with a gun. Well, the best way if you were someone like her. So she moved towards him deftly and very fucking quickly, weaving one arm around his waist and another around his back before twisting her torso, lifting him high on her back, and swinging him down. Hard. He landed with a groan and she stepped on the wrist that held the gun. She knelt down and put her machete to his jaw, right under the muzzle and began to apply pressure.

The blade had been sharpened that morning. Rivulets of blood dripped down his neck. To Leda's surprise, the feral's eyes widened. In shock maybe.

"What?" she said gently. "Did you think I wouldn't kill you? That I'd let you kill me? Or maybe that I wasn't strong enough?" She paused for a moment. "I'm sorry that your last thoughts are so idiotic then."

She was about to deliver the final blow before something rang in her head, sharp and strong and right.

It takes more strength in this world to fight for life than to fight against it.

Those had been the last words spoken to her by her mother, a rare Wasteland full-life who was soft and kind and – after Leda's birth had rendered her sterile – useless. Immortan Joe had killed her before she could poison his daughter with such traits.

USELESS.

Leda recoiled from him like she had been stung. The feral took his opportunity and hit her. Hard, with the butt of his gun.

Before Leda's world went dark, she could have sworn that her mother was hovering above her, looking down in disgust and pity.

She didn't see anything, she didn't see visions, she didn't see her regrets. It was quiet, it was dark. Cold. It was escape.

Maybe it was Valhalla. Maybe she hadn't lied.

But it didn't last. She woke up, her head splitting and when she sat up with a volt the pain flashed through her skull so hard that bile, stomach acid rose in her throat. She could feel drying blood in her eyelashes. But it didn't matter.

The feral wasn't there. But neither was Nux. That would slow him down. And judging by how far the War Party was, she hadn't been out long, she could still catch up to him. Leda stood and examined her surroundings – Fuck, where's my blade? He must have taken it. But he hadn't searched the lining of her jacket. So she still had those blades, small and dull as they were.

He didn't shoot her when he could have, and that meant the gun was shit. But god it incensed her.

And when she looked to the horizon, she got even madder. The War Rig.

MOVE, FURIOSA, MOVE. HE'S COMING, HE'S COMING, THAT FERAL FUCK.

And then she ran. And ran. And ran.

Whew. Hey, guess what guys? Next chapter isn't gonna be from Max or Leda's perspective…

Grizzlybearsandteacups: I love the combo of Nux + Leda + Max. I call them the Crazy Babies. Like they're a boyband or some shit.

Comingsummers: THANK YOU FOR APPRECIATING MY STRUGGLE YOU ARE BAE

ToRestOrRange: So I always assume that Max is in a state of WTF/FML so when he realizes what's going on with Leda he's going to be very just…. Whhhhaaaat? Dis bitch? But I promise that just because Leda is chilling with the good guys, she's not gonna put on the airs of a good guy. She's not in the same boat as Furiosa; she's not looking for redemption or forgiveness. It's gonna be an interesting dynamic.