Born to the wretched in the shadow of The Citadel, she was raised in the dirt and dust to be tough and discerning. As a child she aspired to emulate The Immortan’s Warboys as she watched them thunder out on raids. Following her mother’s plan, at 8 years old, still small enough to pass as a war pup, her mother hugged her fiercely and hoisted her aboard the Citadel elevator.

The child’s ferocity and enthusiasm made her an ideal war pup and promised great glory if she were to advance to be a real Warboy. As she grew, it became clear to the Imperators and Warboys that they had been duped. They had a Wargirl. There had been only a few cases of female war spawn: invariably legendary, usually tragic. The organic deemed her unfit to reproduce due to both physical composition and temperment; rumor has it that before he could even check her teeth, she snarled and lunged for his grizzled throat. No, the life of a Warboy would suit her just fine.

A loyal and fanatic follower of the the Cult of the V8, she imagined that perhaps if she cried war with enough conviction, the gates to Valhalla would open up and the God of Combustion would carry her to glory. The other Warboys either accepted her fervent vocality or avoided her entirely. And so, by her raging screams and unhinged tenacity, they named her Throttle.