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.
