Page 83 of Fated in A Time of War
The door opens again.
This one’s different. Quicker. Sloppier.
Boots stomp instead of glide. Breath wheezes with every step. And then he’s there—Funzil. I remember the name from Krall’s muttered warnings. Remember the face from bounty boards. Short, squat, grinning like he thinks the joke’s already in progress and I’m just waiting to laugh.
“Well, well, Red,” he says, dragging the words out. “Still alive. And lookin’ like a damn poster child for bad decisions.”
His armor’s piecemeal, cobbled together from mismatched sets, dented and spattered with engine grease. The smell hits me before the rest of him does—cheap stimulant tabs, old alcohol, and the kind of body odor that clings even after a burn scrub.
He stops two feet from the cage and gives a low whistle.
“Misha got you in one piece, huh? Shame. I was rootin’ for a few broken ribs. Something to humble that spine of yours.”
“I’m flattered,” I say, dry as sandpaper.
He laughs like it’s the best thing he’s heard all day. “There’s that mouth. Knew you were smart. Heard stories, you know. You’re the doc that patched up that fireteam on Gedros IV. Real hero type. Pity, what’s gonna happen to you.”
I lean against the wall and let the ache in my shoulders pull my posture into something relaxed. “Is that what you came here for? To insult me with third-hand war stories?”
Funzil grins, too wide. “Nah. Just checkin’ the cargo. Misha’s good, but she gets… attached. Don’t want her forgettin’ what side she’s on.”
I file that away—attached.
Then I play along. “And you’re the enforcer?”
He puffs his chest, which looks ridiculous on a man built like a fuel drum. “Damn right. Logistics, comms, and personnel morale.” He winks. “I’m real good at morale.”
I let a flicker of interest spark in my eyes. It’s easy enough. Men like Funzil are predictable.
“You strike me as the kind of guy who knows everything happening around here,” I say, casual, lacing the words with just enough admiration to bait him. “I bet nothing slips past you.”
He leans in, smug rolling off him like heat. “Sweetheart, Iamthe eyes and ears. Everything those idiots think they’re hiding, I already logged, tagged, and filed.”
“And what exactly is it you’re all so eager to find under that refugee camp?” I ask, blinking slow. “Seems like a lot of effort just to grab one field medic.”
Funzil chuckles, but it’s guarded now. He taps the side of his nose with a grease-smudged finger. “Can’t spill all the secrets. But let’s just say there’s somethin’ buried under all that rubble the Kru higher-ups want real bad. Old tech. Forgotten by most. But not by us.”
He leans closer, breath reeking. “They’ll dig till they find it. Or till the damn crust gives way. Don’t matter how many of you rats burn.”
So that’s it.
This isn’t about people. Or territory. It’s not even about leverage anymore.
It’s obsession. Treasure hunting at the edge of a dying world.
I keep my expression bored, but inside, my mind races. If they’re tearing the camp apart looking for something, it means they’ll stay put. It means Krall has time.
And time is all he needs.
Funzil stretches, scratches himself through his armor, and glances back toward the door.
“Anyway, I got rounds to make. Try not to bleed out or nothin’. Wouldn’t want to miss the fireworks.”
He blows a kiss, then waddles out.
The silence returns.
But now, I know more.
