He was finally home.

The feel of the wheel in his hands, and the powerful rumble of the engine through the floorboards brought to him a sense of familiarity. His return to his natural habitat helped to calm his murder induced fury, coming off of his bloodlust. It was like a drug, feeling the crimson liquid of life drip through his fingers, knowing exactly who it belonged to.

The warlord Scabrous Scrotus.

He wondered to himself if this was the end of his journey, or if possibly more death was meant to come. Max decided to seek the guidance of the wasteland prophet Griffa, confident that he would guide him to silence, after deciding on this he continued down the lonesome and dusty road to Griffa's temple. The sky began to grow darker as he drew near, dark sand blowing across the roads, hearing tribal chants grow louder inside his head that began to shift into the voices of people of his past, chanting his name in victory. He ignored the voices, focusing only on obtaining Griffa's wisdom while driving to a massive rock separated down the middle large enough for only a man to enter through. He switched his beloved Black-on-Black off, exiting his trusted car and approaching the apostle of the apocalypse, hearing nothing but the wind whisper as he did so.

Griffa stood surrounded by pagan symbols with his back faced toward Max, overlooking the baron wasteland that was once a beautiful world.

"I did it," Max stated triumphantly, "I killed Scrotus."

"So you say, but your place is not here", Griffa replied, still facing away from Max.

"If not here, where?"

Griffa turned around, looking Max in the eyes and searching deep into his soul, "You must leave this land, beyond the Big Nothing and the vast seas, there... you will find silence."

"I thought if I killed the warlord, I would find silence!" Max replied curtly.

"You will, but not in this place," Griffa produced a map from his satchel, "In this here land is where you will find peace."

Griffa pointed towards the north American continent on his map, above it scribbled, "SILENCE."

Max took the map, eyeing it uncomfortably before voicing his concerns, "How can you know this, the Big Nothing is just barren, nothing but sand dunes and storms, and everyone knows the oceans dried up, nothing is left!"

"Have a little faith", Griffa blew dust into Max's face, rendering him unconscious. After a few minutes Max came to, picking himself up off the ground and regaining his equilibrium. He then walked to his car and started it but hesitated to go anywhere, if Griffa was correct, which he has been every time so far, then Max would need mass quantities of supplies to make such a voyage. He set a course to Jeet's stronghold, knowing that after aiding them in their endeavors Jeet more than owed him one.

As he pulled up to Jeet's stronghold the outer perimeter guards were startled at Max's Interceptor, having never before seen him in it, only the Magnum Opus. Max waved his hand out the window to signal that he was a friendly, allowing him passage into Jeet's sanctuary, parking his Interceptor in the shop area.

"Hey driver, where's the old car, and that grease monkey o' yers?" Jeet asked.

"Gone, but Scrotus is dead."

"Hallelujah the big bastard bit the dust, it's a damn miracle!"

"I need a favor," Max stated.

"You've held up yer end of our business arrangements, and for fuck's sake you killed the worst tyrant of the wasteland, name it and it's yers!"

"I need food, water, ammo, and fuel, enough to last over a month."

"You planning a big trip pilgrim?"

"Something like that."

Max heard a familiar bark as Dinki-Di ran up to his savior, wagging his tail happily.

"Hey boy," Max said warmly, patting the Australian Shepherd's head.

Jeet's people grumbled as they practically gave all of their supplies to Max, who in turn was loading it all into the Dune Hauler that Pink Eye had rewarded him. After saying his farewells he loaded the Black-on-Black into the flatbed, him and his furry companion entered the truck and departed to his last stop. Gutgash.

He traversed Jeet's territory until he crossed the border into the land of salt, remnants of what was once an ocean. Salt and sand blew furiously across the packed down roads as he drove along.

"Storm's brewin'."

Max let off on the clutch, pushing the truck into a higher gear to accelerate, speeding down the sandy roads until a massive freighter ship came into his view. After pulling up and giving the signal he was allowed into the stronghold, he exited the truck approaching the bald-headed, bearded man.

"Hey driver, what're you doing back here? I thought you were gone for good," Gutgash said.

"I need a favor," Max replied laconically.

"What is it you need my boy?" Gutgash replied.

"I need a ship, big enough for my car and supplies for a month, preferably with sleeping space."

"Unfortunately I have exactly what you're looking for, it was intended to be a something of a scavenger boat, but because you've done right by us it's yours."

Max merely nodded his head in gratitude as Gutgash ordered his men to prepare the boat of Max's request, loading it on a trailer with a motorized crane. The boat resembled that of a small fishing boat, it had a twenty foot deck with a decently sized stern that held a bed and various objects. He carefully backed the truck to the trailer tounge, connecting the massive trailer on the truck hitch.

"I threw in a few extra cans of fuel, not much but it'll get you somewhere, farewell on your journey," Gutgash said.

"Thanks Gutgash... Take care of this place," Max farewelled.

Max put the dune hauler in first and continued on the path until Gutgash and his entire stronghold disappeared in the rearview. He silently prayed to whatever God that was listening that he wasn't wandering right into the mouth of death only for it to clamp its teeth shut on him. As he looked to the sky he saw lightning spiraling throughout the clouds like a giant serpent, he pressed harder on the accelerator in hopes he could beat the storm.

He found himself at the end of the road now looking out at vast fields of sand, he looked behind him hesitating whether he should just turn back and continue his nomadic lifestyle before he decided against it. He'd brought himself this far, and Max knew himself; once he got his mind set on something, he'd stop at nothing to acheive it. He confidently began to traverse the desert sands although the ride was slightly bumpier due to there being no packed down roads to travel.

As he continued on through the no man's land something caught his eye: It was the sail that Pink-Eye sent her children on to find the green place. The sail was tattered and on it were the remains of her children.

"Knew they wouldn't make it," Max remarked to himself.

As if the tattered sail was some sort of warning a storm began to roll through the eastern horizon. The sky grew dark within seconds, thunder booming throughout the air, oh how Max hated the intense wasteland storms.

"Damn you Griffa," Max said through gritted teeth as he braced himself for the heavy winds.

Max quickly plugged up all the vents within the truck to keep sand from swirling into the cab just before the first gust of wind slammed into the truck, nearly tipping it over. If it weren't for Max's superior driving skills he would've been dead long before his journey began, but after so much he wasn't going to be brought to his knees yet, he'd go out kicking and screaming if the need arised. Luckily he was able to outmaneuver the storms raging wind, being able to escape the chaotic event unscathed, however the storm knocked out his headlights. The sun had long set and he couldn't see a foot in front of him, that and the added stress and exhaustion of just trying to pass the big nothing prompted him to switch the truck off.

"We're beddin' down here boy," Max said to his companion affectionately. He propped his feet up on the dash, throwing a thick wool blanket on top of himself while Dinki-Di laid on the floor. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was the whisper of the wind upon the cab.

Max awoke to Di's furious licking, rousing him from his slumber. He stirred on the bench; sitting himself up with difficulty, everything was stiff.

"Gettin' old Max."

Max began to rub out the kinks in his back when he heard a strange but oddly familiar noise. It was a soft churning noise, pleasant and relaxing. He popped open the door of his truck, some sand piled against it from the night's breeze, and began to walk towards the source of the noise. When he arrived he was amazed: Clear, blue, sparkling water as far as the eye could see, Griffa was right again!

Max couldn't contain himself, he quickly unzipped his jacket, and threw off his shirt with haste, running to the water as fast as his gimp leg would allow. He entered the water, dunking his head underneath the surface. It felt as if though he was being baptized, the water was slightly cool but he enjoyed it, a nice difference to the blistering heat of Australia's wastelands.

After his saltwater bath he retreated back to the beach, preparing his boat for her maiden voyage. He transferred supplies and fuel from the dune hauler to the boat after backing the trailer into the water's glistening surface. He climbed into the boats stern, his furry companion in tow, before he hit the release switch that would allow his boat to slide from the trailer into the water he stared at the land he once called home. In a weird way he would almost kind of miss it, it was all he truly knew. After he had his moment he hit the lever and the boat slid into the water, he turned the ignition and the boat's motor fired up. He took one last look at his native land before he departed.

As he looked across the vast horizons all he saw was water, endless water that sparkled when the sun reflected off of it. Max felt a feeling of hope begin to rise in his chest, all he ever saw for the last two decades was endless sand, fighting for the few drops of the overnight dew, now it was everywhere; albeit salty. Max checked his course to confirm he was on the right path, he gave the boat's functions a once over, and made sure no water leaked in through the hull. Di pranced happily up to the front deck; his tounge flapping in the wind produced by the boats acceleration. The journey had begun; the journey to find silence.

Hours had gone by lost in the endless waters, Max moved his eyes from the never changing horizon to the fuel gauge and was alarmed at how much fuel his vessel had consumed. He walked on to the main deck where his treasured Black-on-Black was tethered, and kicked at the fuel cans he'd brought with him to hear a disatisfying empty clang. Panic began to rise into his throat, the last thing he wanted was to be stranded out in the middle of the ocean. He somehow still remembered how to fish if the need arose, and had mastered the art of using the sun to start a fire, though he would have to be more careful on a boat. He walked back to the stern and grabbed his map, he used the position of the sun to estimate where exactly he was, as the water was no help.

"Ahah! South Africa, with just barely enough fuel to clutch," Max proclaimed to himself.

Max began to steer the boat, while also focusing on the map to narrowly avoid being stranded; this was his only chance. It took nearly an hour, but he saw shore become closer and closer. About fifty feet or so from a rotted boat landing the engine began to stall and eventually was snuffed out as the fuel supply was depleted. Max; with some effort, was able to maneuver the boat to shore by merely coasting on the current, he threw a line down to the deck, climbed down over the side, and tied down the large boat. Max took a moment to enjoy the feeling of fresh earth under his feet; while water was a divine experience he still prefered solid ground.

Max grabbed onto a large fuel drum that he had to load on a heavy-duty wagon, and began to walk towards the center of the small port village. As he walked down the path that could hardly be called a road he noticed trash littered the street, as well as pictures, memorials, and missing notifications plastered on the post office walls. He knew the world had gone to shit, but if the ocean was still existent, then maybe he could see green for miles before the reaper came knocking on his door.

Max wandered around until he found a gas station; it was small and had only two pumps, which of course he knew better than to try. He knew if he wanted gas he would have to activate the generators in the back room; working in the police garage as a rookie taught him that much. Max approached wide glass doors, he reached his hand and gripped the handle; after giving it a hard tug the door wouldn't budge.

"Locked... everytime," Max uttered to himself.

Max drew his foot back and gave the door a swift kick, the heel of his boot impacted with the glass pane door resulting in a loud crash as the door shattered, leaving broken glass littered on the floor. Max ducked through the opening he just created in the door, and walked into the dark gas station. He clicked on his flashlight and proceded towards the back, and of course the back door was locked. He drew his double barrel from its holster and wacked the butt hard on the door knob repeatedly until it fell off. His eyes fell upon exactly what he had been searching for: the generator.

Max walked over to it and flipped the ignition switch, he grabbed the cord and gave it a hard tug, but it didn't turn over.

"Son of a bitch."

Max looked at the mechanical components and saw the wire unplugged from the spark-plug, he pushed the boot back on to the spark-plug and tried it again; this time with more success. As he pushed himself up off of the floor he heard a peculiar noise from the entrance, no doubt somebody had entered, but instead of hearing voices he heard strange croaking and clicking noises. He cautiously walked into the front, training his gun and flashlight on the figure, it had it's back turned to him. Max's boot crunched down on a fragment of the pane glass door, causing the person to whip around and face Max; the sight was truly horrific.

The creature had some sort of fungus sprouting from its face, seemingly blinding it, which would explain the croaks. The beast obviously used echolocation as compensation for it's lost eyesight. It croaked in Max's direction before letting out a loud screech, it began flailing its arms and jumped Max, but due to Max's fast reflexes he was able to smash the butt of his sawed off shotgun down on top of its head, crushing its skull and sending pieces of flesh flying. Max was about to continue outside until the beast grabbed his foot, apparently the blunt hit to the head wasn't enough. Max; out of pure instinct, shoved the barrel in its disgusting mouth and pulled the trigger sending buckshot through the back of it's skull.

As he exited the run down gas station he started to hear multiple screeches and moans, he looked down the street to see a horde of creatures; much like the one he just killed, spilling out of the abandoned buildings and dashing down the road towards Max. Max immediately took off down the road towards the dock, knowing even he wouldn't be able to take on that many. As he neared the dock he quickly pulled the fuel drum on board and began hastily refueling, he looked up to see the crowd begin collapsing into the water. Knowing if he didn't think of something quick he would die. When he finished fueling; the beasts clawing at the hull, he grabbed a thunderstick from the stern.

"This'll light you up you ugly motherfuckers!"

Max launched the thunderstick at the crowd, blowing them all into nothing but bloody fungus. With a sigh of relief Max started the boat back up and backed out of the dock. He studied his map and set the appropriate course for America, with a huff he looked at his companion.

"Well Di... here's hopin' that the states aren't this bad."