“Good,” he whispered, and cranked the ignition. It coughed. He cranked again. Almost alive.
He tapped .
He was the most powerful man in a world that no longer needed him to be strong.
And that was enough.
He reached for the water. His hand passed straight through it. It wasn't real. None of it was. He had infinite fuel, infinite ammo, no need to sleep. But he had no thirst to quench. No hunger to feed. No danger to overcome.
He’d heard the legends. A valley where water fell from the sky. Where green things grew. The hope of the wasteland. He pressed the button.
The Interceptor’s engine didn’t just start. It screamed . A perfect, unending roar. The fuel gauge, which had rested on ‘E’ for a month, spun past ‘F’ and kept spinning until it shattered. The War Boys fired their grapple hooks. Rictus stomped the gas. The car didn’t lurch—it teleported forward, leaving a trench of melted salt and the confused screams of his enemies behind.
The sky split open.
