Rictus was at the flamethrower, again.
The Immortan stood near, oozing disgust. His giant son, strong in body but weak in mind, could not be trusted to use weapons alone. Broad swaths of bubbled paint on the flanks of Citadel vehicles flaked their agreement. The men tried to teach Rictus. Joe first, and when his patience dried out, Joe's Prime Imperator. When the Prime went reeling to the Organic, missing eyebrows and half his goatee, the Ace stepped in. Results were reported to Command via one single shake of his noble head: failure. No one had the heart to tell Rictus. Fuel lines were quietly disconnected. The giant tugged at the dry triggers, momentarily confused by the lack of flame. Then, the convoy rolled off with a roar, Wretched scrambling out of the way. Rictus made a War-face and snarled. This was fun!

Photo by @vaillancourt_photography @tximmortan @rictus_erectus

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