Chapter 3: Intuition

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Not sure why Furiosa asked me what to do about this if she was gonna do it anyways. Somewhat irritated I go to start working on my car again. I really need a better engine. The one I have in mind is so rare and hard to find, much like most things in this wasteland.

I want to know more about Phoenix. Beautiful eyes, long black hair. I studied her enough to hint that she seems to work with her hands a lot. Maybe she has extensive knowledge on cars.

I decide to ask Furiosa if the girls are staying with us or leaving the next day. I search for her and find her leaving the vault were the girls are. "Are they staying?" I ask, giving her a irritated look. "Yes." Furiosa says sternly, knowing I'm irritated.

I walk back to my car working on it some more. I wonder if Phoenix can help me search for the engine. Maybe she's good with cars. Why am I even having these thoughts? I don't even know if I trust these girls, let alone like them.

They could help though. Extra pairs of hands is very helpful. It is more people to keep safe though. I already have Furiosa to worry about. Maybe these girls are worth worrying about. Keeping safe.

I focus more on working on the car then I do thinking. I hear the voices. Day in day out, they haunt me. I try to shake them off, as I'm working on my car, modifying it. They cannot touch me. I have to remind myself that. They are long dead.

Maybe I'll go on a raid tomorrow. Looking for scraps and that engine. I could see if Phoenix would like to tag along. It would be nice to have company every once in a while.

My head tells me I shouldn't get to attached to them but my intuition says I should trust them. Maybe I should, but I can't lose another friend. I can't.

Here they come again. Worming their way into the black matter of my brain. The voices. The visions. "Why didn't you save us, Max?" They tell me. Sometimes it gets overwhelming. Sometimes they're to loud. I know that they aren't there.

I sit down trying to shrug it off. "Max, I'm sorry about earlier. It gets stressful sometimes." I hear a familiar voice tell me. Furiosa. "It's alright." I groan, my voice low and raspy. Nothing to take personally. I understand. Everything that happens out here is stressful. It gets overwhelming. I turn to look at her, "I understand. You need to relax." I say understanding and slightly sympathetic.

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