The sky is dark and overcast, the wind blows sand, burning my skin. All around is desert and ringing silence. Immortan Joe stands on the top of a cliff, looking out over his domain

The screech of heavy tires echoes in the mountains. The sun has not yet risen, but it is enough to remind everyone who is in charge here. I watch my people like a shepherd watches his flock. They fear me, but that is good. Fear means they trust

"Water... they always want water," I mutter under my breath. These cries from below: requests, pleas, pathetic attempts to awaken something human in me. But I am not a man. I am their god, their judge and executioner

The clatter of boots behind me makes me turn. One of the warriors is climbing toward me. His face is hidden behind a metal mask, but there is fear in his eyes

— Master Joe, — the voice trembles. — They demand more water.

I am silent. I go down to where the darting shadows of the slaves below tremble in anticipation of a miracle. With one movement of my hand I silence them

Do you want water? my voice sounds like thunder, drowning out their cries Do you want a life you are not worthy of?

Silence. Everyone froze in anticipation

Then prove that you deserve it!

I raise my hand, and a stream of water cascades down from the mountain. They rush under it like hungry dogs. And I watch and smile

Everything is going according to plan. The world belongs to me