Killz led Devon towards an elevator at the end of a corridor. Strange symbols and ritually arranged candles lined the passageway walls. The markings resembled arcane seals keeping dangerous forces contained.

Uneasy about venturing deeper into this nightmarish realm but committed to his undercover quest, Devon asked, “So chief, how can you and the handlers control those crazed beasts in the Arena? They seem ready to mash up anything nearby when freed from the cells.”

“Ha! Good observation, bredren.” Killz tapped his temple meaningfully as they walked. “The Solution is what I call ‘Red Neon’ - specially designed devices enabling behavioural influence over Loki-7-enhanced subjects.”

Seeing Devon’s confused look, he explained further. “Red Neon takes the form of state-of-the-art digitized wristwatches we provide trusted clients and security contractors. Built-in hypodermic injectors let you remotely dose mutated captives. Once the nanite serum enters the bloodstream, subjects become open to external direction beamed from your Red Neon watch using encrypted frequencies.”

Killz smiled proudly. “We perfecting the technology steadily through field testing. And sales of the restricting serum bring plenty paper too! Already several overseas contractors running augmented penal colonies and enhanced interrogation sites be licensing Red Neon for security.”

He chuckled while absently straightening his collar. “The futuristic solution creates near absolute obedience using minimal force. And if the subject still resists command after injecting? No problem! Just up the neurotransmitters till them literal zombies chained to the operator's will.”

Devon swallowed uneasily as they reached the elevator. So Red Neon technology and serums provided the Arena handlers control over unwilling combatants. The implications were horrid yet ingenious for inflicting leverage.

Stepping into the crystalline lift taking them to higher levels, Devon's thoughts transfixed on Red Neon's capabilities. No doubt much research and trials were still required before reliability reached consumer markets. Yet the innovations also posed terrible risks of weaponizing Coco Powers if misused by underworld figures and warmongers.

Lord Skull himself likely hungered seizing the influential inventions for producing new breeds of Lithium monsters. Perhaps he imprisoned Cain not just for security, but now utilized the troubled hero's Coco gift spawning fresh Loki-7 pill variants? The drug lord understood power more than ethics after all...

Ding!

The ascending elevator opened suddenly, interrupting Devon’s reflections. He followed Killz into a lavish lounge featuring polished black marble floors with fiery braziers mounted between curving obsidian pillars. Groups of sharply dressed men and provocatively garbed women occupied sectional leather seats before a wide viewing window of the Arena below. Vibrant liquor bottles and trays of extravagances like oysters, chocolate and cigars covered sleek tables. Clearly an exclusive space for entertaining high-tier clients and collaborators.

While Killz went to glad-hand associates, Devon discreetly surveyed the gathered criminal elite. Some faces proved familiar - a few police officials, a disgraced banker, and a previous dancehall artist caught violating controversial public ordinances. Most remained strangers though likely wielding influence across Jamaica through generations of underworld connections.

His enhanced scans particularly noted several persons wearing advanced watches with pulsing crimson displays that must be Red Neon models. A few handlers down in the Arena pits operated similar devices, no doubt monitoring subject vitals remotely.

One muscular bald figure caught Devon’s attention for less technology but rather sheer intimidating presence. His hulking frame reminded him of extra-terrestrial bodybuilders, steam rising faintly from jade scales covering knotted flesh. Blazing orange eyes followed Arena violence eagerly above heavy underbite.

Noting Devon's interest Killz remarked, "That be Volcanica - rising brute fixing to become Mama Dutty's new top contender in the Pits. He was a lowly bauxite worker till a dose of neon dust made flesh nigh indestructible. Now the behemoth craves battling fiercely like addicted gamecock!"

He pointed towards several crude brands marking Volcanica’s bare chest and shoulders - ownership sigils binding his Arena contract to Mama Dutty no doubt. The assignments meant guaranteed bookings earning commissions for the witch and steady infusions of precious Coco Essence artefacts to increase the subject’s might. A brutal investment paying dividends for callous owners.

Devon overheard Volcanica growling at another vandal whose mantis-like forearms constantly twitched with anticipation. "Me soon mash up any worthless shrimp them throw my way next bout. No pest can stand against me ultimate powah!" To emphasize this claim, his massive fists crunched a solid steel cup into warped scrap.

Nearby guests edged away nervously, though the hooded witch merely smiled. Clearly profitability and flashy demonstrations held priority over patron opinions or safety here. "Quite the permanent guests Mama Dutty gather here..." Devon remarked warily. "They seem ready to explode without warning."

Killz waved dismissively. "Ah, most just caught up inna the Pit spectacle. As long as drinks flow and big wins stack, the crowd stay entertained!" He smiled comfortingly. "Mama Dutty has things plenty under control... through certain techniques. Usually."

Their gazes turned below towards the current arena bout. A bulky reptilian creature somehow spewed viscous fluids from its arms to ensnare a blocky anvil-fisted opponent rushing forward. The corrosive vomit swiftly melted iron skin in a gruesome fashion.

Many spectators cheered, spilling drinks with excitement. A few attendees instead appeared sickened by the graphic sight. Murmured side bets pin-ponged throughout the executive lounge predicting the next moves and match outcome. For followers of the neon underworld, violence was both sport and power struggles.

Not wishing to spectate further debasement of Coco gifts, Devon shifted topics. "Yuh have any new tasks for me upstairs, chief? These brawls look entertaining and all, but field operations keep bread buttered." He smiled politely. "I’m happy to help upstairs affairs run smoothly so you can enjoy downtime this level with..."

Devon made meaningful glances towards cultivated women eyeing Killz from nearby lounge chairs with obvious invitations. Their calculating gazes reminded him of coiled asps, however, a mix of gold digger exploitation and dangerous temptations.

Catching the sly suggestion of pleasures awaiting, Killz grinned broadly. "Yuh aim me straight again, bwoy! As host I must guarantee VIP patrons like Dash Boss here find... total satisfaction." He nodded respectfully towards the notorious music figure sporting dark shades, a gold watch and fingers heavy with gems. The celebrity was surrounded by six curvaceous dancers wearing spray-painted attire similar to his recording ensemble.

Killz returned his attention to Devon. “Right, up top duties! Hmm, for now just decompress briefly. We can review updated inventory lists and possible expansion sites later.” Noting lingering hesitation in his protégé’s expression, Killz suddenly realized underlying tensions. The fresh recruit perhaps felt intimidated being a modestly ranked errand runner rubbing shoulders now with notorious high roller clientele.

Placing both hands on Devon’s shoulders Killz said reassuringly, “Listen here, star. As my personal invitee, yuh safe in this vipers’ nest. Anybody vex, them deal with me!” He smiled encouragingly. “So grab drinks, pick any chair. If bored, the working gals make sure yuh enjoy properly!”

He winked roguishly. “Just keep ears open for crucial glimpses under pretty masks in passing, zeen? How Babylon movements progressing, which rudebwoys stepping on each other foot to claim hot streets..." Killz chuckled knowingly. "News and whispers travelling this suite often foreshadow major power moves across Jamaica. Then we reposition strength accordingly!”

Nodding obediently to satisfy his sponsor’s instructions, Devon selected a vacant high-back settee away from congregated groups. Collapsing onto the buttery leather furniture he released tension building since Arena's descent hours ago. This sheltered vantage allowed discreet observation across the executive lounge as liquors continued flowing freely.

Forced to play along as rookie lackey meant steering dual identities - the overly eager pup hungry to rise distribution ranks without fully abandoning heroic principles. Hence balancing selective verses was key to retaining access to this den of snakes.

As Devon contemplated the necessary next steps while feeling isolated amidst gathered crooks and tycoons, his sensitive hearing unexpectedly overheard a nearby conversation of interest. Two notorious weapons smugglers and an elected official argued deals exchanging authority permissions for extra firearms circulation. Complex dynamics indeed sustained corrupt systems!

Gathering insightful data this way proved safer than direct prying, Devon realized. So long as ‘Killz' latest project rookie’ maintained passably low profile, substantial intelligence leaked easily within these chambers breaching security and ethics.

Spycraft lessons with Tanya were paying off when navigating interwoven criminal networks! Now to carefully filter scattered puzzle pieces into concise reports assessing...

A sudden movement at the lounge entrance caught Devon's eye - Mama Dutty had arrived again silently scouting her distinguished patrons scattered about the VIP floor. This time a broad-shouldered associate lingered just behind the witch overseeing her protection. His domino mask resemblance to playing card figures hinted at an enforcer identity.

While Mama Dutty paused, receiving delighted praise from a few Arena spectators, her bodyguard’s features held Devon’s attention curiously. Why did that physique and dreadlock style seem familiar somehow? Odd symbol marked the rudeboy’s bare chest as well...

Abruptly Mama Dutty glanced up scanning the executive lounge slowly with hooded eyes. Devon lowered his face pretending to be fascinated with a wall sculpture to avoid meeting the witch's gaze directly. But not before realization struck him.

That brief face exposure was enough confirming the tall escort was no enforcer at all! Rather the supervillain famed in news headlines as ‘Dread Rust’ - a Magnetokinesis Coco Power master able to manipulate metal through unique chest tattoo made from vibranium ink. Allegedly his ranged abilities recently increased allowing limited flight too.

Rumours claimed Dread Rust competed against heroes freelance then resurfaced selling services to the highest underworld bidders. Whatever brought the sinister figure aligning with Mama Dutty meant dangerous developments indeed!

Feeling quite rattled by the encounter, Devon realized Mama Dutty's connections spanned wider than assumptions. Unpredictable threats lurked around many corners it seemed. Maintaining cover remained imperative before the gathering sharks.

"Feeling a bit shaky? Don't worry. Stick by me and you'll be alright," Killz said, taking a seat beside Devon on the couch. His smile seemed friendly yet cunning. Devon wondered briefly if his sponsor sensed deeper knowledge or witnessed the supervillain bodyguard near. Either prospect risked jeopardizing ongoing schemes.

For now, Devon simply nodded, joining Killz speculating Arena matchups and gossiping over a round of drinks. Inner thoughts, however, strategized the best methods of contacting allies about Dread Rust and other menacing presences consolidating through The underground abyss. Knowledge brought power reversing the wicked tide.