The next day he had more news from Luna; but he didn't hear it from Vyo. The door lock clacked a bit early, before feeding time, and he spun around from the wall where he was making some graffiti. He wanted to speak out quickly and apologize for his harshness of the day before, but the rifle butt that slammed into his jaw cut him short. He pushed himself up slowly from the floor, rubbing what would become a large bruise on the left side of his face.
"You will speak only when spoken to, dog."
He was in no mood or condition to answer just then but nodded at the rifle-wielding fanatic that stood above him. The door was pushed open again, an older man walked in wearing an orange robe and a red scarf. He had a scraggly gray beard with pieces of food stuck in its sparse wisps. Halverson knew him instantly, not in any personal way, rather; he recognized that here was a man who profited from the chaos around him. Here was a dangerous man.