Start as a Spiritual Planter: I Have a Game Panel

Ram took a deep breath, focusing on Kain's mannerisms, his typical confrontational style when dealing with Marcos.

He pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the command center.

The room was a mess of flickering holoscreens, discarded ration packs, and overflowing ashtrays.

Wires snaked across the floor like metallic vines.

In the center of it all, in front of a large holographic display, was Marcos.

He was a wiry man, smaller than Kain, with sharp, intelligent eyes that always seemed to be calculating something.

His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore a perpetually sour expression, which deepened when he looked up and saw Ram.

For a split second, genuine shock flickered across Marcos's face, quickly masked by his usual sneer.

He straightened up, his hand instinctively drifting towards the sidearm at his hip before he seemed to catch himself.

"Well, well, well," Marcos said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What the fuck man, you're still alive. I thought those Half-Drows had turned you into one of their pretty little decorations by now."

Ram leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, adopting a pose of casual arrogance that he knew would irritate Marcos to no end.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Marcos," Ram retorted, his voice a perfect echo of Kain's gravelly tone.

"Turns out I'm harder to kill than you hoped. Unlike some people who just sit behind a desk pushing buttons, I actually know how to handle myself out there."

Marcos's eyes narrowed.

The air crackled with the familiar tension of their rivalry.

It was no secret they both vied for Shane's favor, each believing they were the more capable lieutenant.

"Funny, I don't remember you volunteering for desk duty."

"Someone has to manage things while others are slacking. Shane's out, by the way. Dealing with important matters. Unlike your little unscheduled vacation."

"Yeah, Razor mentioned," Ram said, pushing himself off the doorframe and taking a few heavy steps into the room. He made a show of looking around, his lip curling. "The place still smells the same."

"We've been busy strengthening our new base these days, something you know nothing about since you were… preoccupied," Marcos shot back, his gaze flicking over Ram's disheveled appearance.

"Where the hell have you been, anyway? And what's this information about? Don't tell me you expect Shane to just welcome you back with open arms after you vanished without a trace."

Ram let out a short, humorless laugh, just like Kain would have. "Oh, I've got a story that'll make Shane's ears perk up. And it's a hell of a lot more interesting than your daily reports, I guarantee you that."

"Information about those Drow freaks and that little gang of theirs." He paused, letting the statement hang in the air. "Unless, of course, you'd rather I just kept it to myself? Maybe Shane only needs one right-hand man after all."

Ram watched Marcos's reaction carefully.

He needed to play this just right – confident enough to be believable as Kain, but not so aggressive as to trigger a full-blown confrontation before he could get what he needed.

He had to remember Kain's usual bluster often masked a shrewd cunning, especially when dealing with his rival.

Marcos scoffed, turning back to his tactical display with an air of strained patience.

"If your 'information' is so valuable, then spit it out. Or are you going to stand there pretending like you actually accomplished something other than getting your ass caught?"

Ram ignored the jab, his eyes sweeping across the room with feigned casualness.

This was his chance. While he had received reports from his Shadow half-drow scouts, being inside, feeling the operation up close, was entirely different.

He strolled over to a large, grimy table where several physical maps were laid out, overlaid with transparent screens displaying logistical data.

One map highlighted the Zero Point Arena and the surrounding sectors, with arrows and markers indicating patrol routes and potential chokepoints.

Another showed the known territories of rival gangs, with recent notations of skirmishes and a few areas ominously blacked out.

Kain wouldn't pore over these like a strategist, but he'd certainly glance at them to see if anything immediately impacted his usual stomping grounds or offered an opportunity for a quick score.

"So, this is the grand strategy, huh?" Ram said, gesturing vaguely at the maps with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Looks like you've just added more pretty lights to the same old mess. Any actual progress, or are we still just reacting to whatever crumbs the other gangs drop?"

He leaned closer to one of the screens, pretending to examine it, while his eyes darted across lists of resource allocations.

He noted an increased requisition for heavy ammunition, specifically armor-piercing rounds, and a surprising number of orders for EMP grenades.

'Interesting. Planning for heavily armored targets or drone swarms?'

'Or perhaps expecting trouble from the Shadow Society?' The Harvest Festival was marked on several timelines, for a period of ten days, with the last three days as the main event.

On the list there were resource diversions and manpower assignments for the next ten days clustering around the arena and its surrounding areas. It was clearly a major focus.

His gaze flicked to a communications console, where encrypted messages scrolled by.

Most were routine gang chatter, but a few flagged messages, detailed rendezvous points and cargo routes.

He couldn't decipher the specifics without risking arousing suspicion by fiddling with the console, but the sheer volume of encrypted traffic suggested Shane was coordinating something complex.

Marcos, predictably irritated by Kain's dismissive attitude, stepped away from his own console.

"Unlike you, Kain, some of us have been working. We've solidified our hold on three new blocks in the Warrens and upgraded our network security after the last Drow incursion."

"You know, the one you so conveniently missed?" He crossed his arms. "And what exactly were you doing? Sightseeing with the enemy?"

Ram let out a rough chuckle, turning away from the maps.

"Sightseeing? Hardly. More like an… extended interrogation about the missing mask." He tapped the side of his head.

"It's all up here. The kind of stuff Shane actually pays attention to, not just squiggly lines on a map."

He was deliberately vague, trying to pique interest without giving away anything concrete.

He needed to appear like Kain, who would naturally hold back information to maximize its value and to spite Marcos.

"And I suppose you're going to make us beg for it?" Marcos sneered, though a flicker of genuine interest showed in his eyes.

He knew Shane valued actionable intelligence above almost anything else.

"Not beg," Ram said, giving a predatory grin that was pure Kain.

"But I expect to be properly debriefed by the boss himself, as for you you are not qualified yet..." He needed to ensure he got that face-to-face.

"Speaking of which, when is the big boss man expected back from the Arena? My news won't stay fresh forever, and I've got a score to settle with those Drow bastards for their hospitality."

Ram needed to understand the timeline for Shane's return.

That would dictate how long he had to gather more information and how long he had to maintain this charade under Marcos's watchful eye.

Checking the command center had already yielded some clues, but the real prize would be Shane's private office or his personal data files, if he could find a way to access them.

Marcos's jaw tightened at the remark, but he seemed to recognize the futility of arguing with Kain when he was in this mood.

"Boss will be back when he's back," he snapped.

"He's busy. But fine, if you think your news is so earth-shattering, don't let me stop you from waiting. Just stay out of my way. I have actual work to do." He turned back to his console pointedly, dismissing Ram.

That was the opening Ram needed.

"Good. You do that," Ram grunted. "I think I'll go stretch my legs. See if the boys have managed to keep their boots clean without me around to kick their asses into shape."

"Wouldn't want them getting soft while I was away dealing with actual threats." Without waiting for a reply, Ram turned and strode out of the command center, the heavy door hissing shut behind him.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Keeping up the Kain facade under Marcos's scrutinizing gaze was draining.

He decided to take a walk through the main corridors of the station, the parts of the converted subway system that now served as the Blood Hawks' living and working spaces.

Kain would naturally want to reassert his presence, check on his old haunts, and maybe bully a few underlings for old times' sake.

For Ram, it was a perfect opportunity to observe.

First, he headed towards the area Kain's closest crew members usually occupied, a section of a disused platform converted into a makeshift barracks and lounge.

Several thugs were sitting on rickety bunks, others were engaged in a card game under a flickering emergency light.

As he entered, conversations died down. Heads turned. Eyes widened.

"No way... Captain?" one of them, a burly man with a crude spiderweb tattoo on his neck, stammered out, dropping his cards.

"Still breathing, Grom," Ram growled, channeling Kain's rough familiarity.

He walked over and casually swiped a bottle of something potent-smelling from the table. "Thought you lot would have drunk the place dry by now."

He took a swig. The liquid burned, but he forced himself to show no reaction other than a satisfied grunt.