"Only one-twelfth?" Joe asks, and actually tsks. The Immortan, of course, is a full god in the eyes of his War Boys. "People do not have horns where I come from." Unless perhaps as some form of mutation, but Joe's never seen that.

"What?" On it's face that's such a stupid question he turns to stare at her. "It's a car. It runs on high-grade guzzoline." Time they used to call it "gasoline", but that term's fallen out of favour in the Wasteland. She isn't wrong about the engine being dirty.

"And it should be stored in my personal garage. This weathering suggests it's been out here for a long time. Doesn't make sense." So either Joe's been comatose for a significantly long time, or...this is not, in fact, his Gigahorse but some sort of replica.

"This feels like a trick."