[Rolling up on Remy and friends] (Engines growl. The Scrap Riders circle Remy and his crew like sharks. Max speaks through his helmet—totally garbled.) MMRRAH—YER IN THE WRONG—RRRRAH—TERRITORY! [“What?”] (Max freezes, annoyed. He yanks off his helmet.) I said YOU’RE IN THE WRONG TERRITORY! What the HELL do you think I said?!

[Threatening Winnie with the dogs] (Max throws an arm around Winnie like they’re friends, too friendly.) Heyyy, Winnie—yeah? You like dogs? (Grins.) Cause I’ve got a few that would just LOVE to meet you. (He shoves her toward a fenced space. Dogs charge. Max laughs, expecting carnage.) HAHA—YES! That’s it! Get ‘er—! (Beat. The dogs are… playful. Tail wags. Licks. Winnie’s fine.) (Max’s laugh dies mid-cackle.) …Wait. (Blink.) No. No no no. (Stares, offended.) Why are they—why are they being NICE?!

[recruiting Winnie with fake kindness] (“So… should we just use the compacter on her?”) (Max doesn’t look away from Winnie. He raises a hand.) Nah. Not yet. (Beat, eyes narrowing in thought.) You see that? (Points at the dogs loving her.) That’s not luck. That’s… useful. (He steps closer to Winnie, switching to an oddly polite, persuasive tone—still clearly dangerous.) Hey, Winnie… you’ve got a gift, yeah? (Smile.) Animals like you. They listen to you. (Beat.) How would you feel about helping us with a little… get-together?