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[The feed opens on Furiosa. She's looking like any of the other Flooters who had found themselves caught in the meteor's wake; a little like death warmed over. Her face is paler than usual, except for the dark circles under her eyes. She hasn't taken care to shear her hair recently, and it's something of a greasy fuzz over her scalp. Her eyes have always had that wastelander haunt to them - though perhaps not as deeply as Max's - but there were few moments when she actually looked directly at the camera. She was wrapped up in blankets, cold, and tired, but unable to sleep.]

I'm not one for religions. They all seem pretty useless to me. In my world, you had the here and now and you could come up with any idea on what happened after and it was anyone's guess. No one knew. The -- [What would she even call life at the Citadel?] -- society -- I was a part of, however, believed in Valhalla. They followed a crazy tyrant who claimed he would lead them in the afterlife.

[She shifts to get more comfortable. Even though she was wordier than Max, it's not by much, and this is a lot to talk about all at once. It's a lot of details from her world (though, notable, not exactly her own life. That she still held close to the chest).] My world was poisoned. There were Half-Lifes who never made it through their second decade. They would either get sick, whither away, fall victim to lesions and tumors. Or ... through the Cult of the V8, Immortan Joe [No hiding the vitriol in that name], and Valhalla, they would 'Live, Die, Live again.'

The goal, then, was to die heroic on the Fury Road. For others to bear witness to your triumphant end and what would hopefully be their entrance into Valhalla. It's all lies told to boys so they'd happily follow a maniac to the very brink of hell. [She pauses, looks down at her hand. She had a point, what was her point? Why was she telling everyone this?]

[When she continues, her voice is softer,] This is not Valhalla. Whatever reason the Atroma saw fit to bring us back, it's not about glory, or immortality. It's selfish, flippant, belligerent.

[Not that she's not happy to be back; but she doesn't want it going to her head. This is just as much a warning to herself as it is to others.] It's always an end. Don't forget that.

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Your home sounds like a lovely place.

[Rose knows it's against her best interest to ignore the video feed (especially when she has nothing positive to add), but she can't stop herself. She's not a 'religious' person by nature, but given her job back home, she can't help but be spiritual.]

And you sound like you have a death wish.

I don't, actually, but the 'lovely' world I grew up in tried to kill you in every way.

Don't think I've heard of anyone else having a world more determined to kill its inhabitants.

You might be surprised. Even the most docile looking worlds have their threats.

[Trust her, she knows.]

Is that coming from experience?

[She raises her brows, wondering if there's a story there.]

In a way, yes. There are many ways to die, even before death takes you. Losing your free will, for example.

[Which, admittedly, is a problem she doesn't need to worry about. But that doesn't stop it from being a threat for everyone else she knows.]

[Furiosa gives a wry grunt of a laugh,] Yeah. I'm familiar with that one.

[To a point, but under Joe not a lot of people had a lot of options.]

Then I'm sure you understand. It doesn't matter how beautiful or forgiving a world is, if you can't live in it as your own person.

[In a way, it applies to her as well; even if she doesn't have to worry about actually being tempered, there's no way for her to escape her responsibilities.]

[...Which still beats being tempered.]

Yeah, I guess. [Although her world would never be beautiful, under the rule of Immortan Joe and men like him, but she could see what this woman was trying to say, too.]

How long have you been with the fleet?

About a month, give or take. It's a lovely place, isn't it?

Lovely isn't exactly the word I'd use, but there are good people here.

[And food, and water, and at least some small semblance of free will.]

How are you settling in?

[She doesn't have to risk her life all the time here. That's pretty cool. She's okay with that.]

About as well as can be expected. I'm not particularly fond of being kidnapped.

[This person looks like they might be able to sympathize with Furiosa. After all, he looks like he is currently on death's door, with how corpse-like his face is.

He listens quietly as she speaks. It looks like he's perpetually glaring at the ground, but this is a glare of concentration. To be fair, it doesn't look that much different from his usual face.

Hearing about such terrible injustice angers him, especially since there's nothing he can do about it from here. But this woman knows that this system in her world is unjust. She wouldn't be talking about it if she didn't. So Justice doesn't see the point in declaring the obvious for once.]

Where I lived, I was able to watch the souls of perished mortals pass through on their way somewhere else. I do not know where they go, but I know that there was more for them after their bodies failed. I know that each one of them, no matter how short and humble their life, left traces behind that linger in the world for lifetimes. I could feel them.

[Each word is slow and considered. He does not know if this woman will really care about what he's seen human souls go through. His social skills are awful at best, and perhaps he is saying the exact wrong thing. Hopefully, he's not.]

I do not know how or why this place subverts the laws of nature. It is cruel to toy with people so. Death is unquestionably an end. But it can also be a beginning.

[In all honesty he doesn't look that different from any of her warboys, perhaps just ... more realistic. They were already pale and gaunt on their own, though, and with the tattoos and scarification it really helped set the aesthetic.

She does listen carefully to his words. She understood that this was a fleet built of of representatives from numerous worlds, and by know she's no longer surprised by the scope of some of the places other flooters have come from. She doesn't flinch that he's not seemingly not human (or, at least normal living human like herself), she doesn't question whether or not he's seen what he claims, and she seems genuinely interested (if, of course, through a veil of exhaustion and illness).]

A beginning. [Not a very auspicious beginning, but she could see his logic.] Okay, I'll bite. What do I make with this beginning?

What do you wish to make with it?

[Justice looks upwards, as he can still see the passage of souls to the beyond.]

Some linger between the mortal world and their destination. They are afraid of what comes next, or they are weighted by what happened in life. They make a decision. Others embrace the idea of the unknown, and they are gone so quickly that it is almost as if they had never passed through at all. They, too, make a decision. Just as mortals make decisions in life, you make them in death. And, in this case, in resurrection.

You have the freedom to decide what this means to you, and what you wish to do with it. Would you have been dissatisfied with how you lived your life until now, had you not been given the chance to live again?

I don't have regrets, not here. [Home? Maybe. But they were lessons she'd learned before she arrived on the fleet and she'd tried to live her life here accordingly. Namely; letting other people in. It was still an uphill struggle for her, but one that she was constantly putting an attempt into.]

But what to do with this new 'life'?] I don't really have the option of 'moving on' since Atroma saw fit to bring me back. I guess it's given me something to chew on, hasn't it?

[She regards the video feed for a moment and this odd man.] What about you, what's your story?

No regrets is a sign of a life well lived. [Or a sign of a really boring life, but Justice does not get the impression that the woman has led a boring life. It's her business how she chooses to deal with this resurrection. Justice hopes that he has helped at least somewhat.]

I have little in the way of a story. [At least by his standards. By mortal standards, he has quite the story.] As you may have gathered, I am not a mortal. I am a spirit of justice. Until recently, I lived in the Fade, where mortals go to dream and pass through when they die. I only came to your world when a demon was careless with its magic and sundered the Veil between the Fade and the waking land. [It's been an adjustment.]

[She snorts, derisive.] I don't know that I'd say well lived. Survived to the best of my abilities, maybe.

A spirit of justice, huh? How dos that<>/i> work?

Is it your circumstances that decide how well lived your life is? Or is it what you choose to do with them? [Genuine question for the most part. It's not like Justice is living with death looming over his head like a mortal does. There are some things he can never really understand about what makes for a quality but limited life.]

I am not sure what you mean. [He tilts his head. This entire time, he has watched her without blinking, his mouth drawn into a neutral frown.] I am what I am. I aspire to justice in all I do. A spirit of courage aspires to courage, and a spirit of wisdom aspires to wisdom. All spirits have a virtue we are dedicated to upholding.

[That's ... definitely something to think about. She'd been bitter about her life circumstances, but she had done the best with them that she could.]

Justice isn't exactly objective. Where does your sense of it come from?

[That question stops him for a moment, his brow furrowing in thought.]

That... is a good question. [She's right. Justice isn't objective. He has seen that in the mortal world, where sometimes even he is not entirely sure what the right thing is. He does not know where his moral code came from--he only knows that he's always had it.] It is intuitive to me, just as wisdom is intuitive to a spirit of wisdom and compassion is intuitive to a spirit of compassion. That does not mean that my sense of it is infallible. I make mistakes, and when I do, I must learn from them. I am a being that aspires to be just; I am not a literal embodiment of the concept.

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