Black Mask sneered, eyes narrowing as he glared at Adam and he said, "Suit yourself, kid. But do one favor—tell your friends to be extra careful at night. And maybe carry a gun when they go out alone… because if they don't, things could get real ugly."
He turned sharply and walked away without another word.
Adam didn't stop him. He just stood there, breath slowly leaving his body, drained. That mont—just seconds earlier—had been life or death. And now, all at once, it felt like it had been a dream.
"Damn... how do those hero types in novels keep their cool in situations like this?" Adam muttered, fumbling around for the safety pin of the grenade he dropped earlier. His hands were trembling. Just opening a grenade casing now felt harder than wielding it in the mont.
"I need more power. I can't keep relying on playing chicken with death every ti things go south," he said out loud. His mind drifted to the $300,000 pirated disc deal his colleague ntioned earlier. "Maybe it really is worth the risk…"
—
The next night at Adam's bar, the team gathered for drinks, away from the public. Everyone was tense after hearing what happened. Adam made it clear: Black Mask wouldn't just target him—anyone close to him was fair ga.
Deadshot was the first to rage.
"That sliball Black Mask has no sha! His people screw up, and suddenly we're the ones to bla? I swear, just give the word and I'll blow his head off by next week. Let's see how tough he is then."
As always, Adam appreciated the offer, but he wasn't rushing into anything. "That's not the play," he said calmly. "You've finally got a sliver of a normal life now. You want to throw it away that fast?"
He looked around.
"Besides, everyone at Gotham PD knows you ca with to South Arica. If you so much as sneeze in Black Mask's direction, the cops will co for both of us. You're my ace, but I'll only play that card if I absolutely have to."
It was then that Bronze Tiger walked through the door, wordless, and tossed a few used pistols onto the table.
"Ran into so bottom-feeders outside," he said flatly. "They didn't know who they were ssing with."
Deadshot picked up one of the old guns and scoffed. "Vintage junk. No custom work, barely accurate. Amateurs. But the bounty's going up. Real killers might start showing up soon."
Adam nodded and said, "Right, which is why we need gear. I just sold that batch of pirated discs—for a clean $300,000. Norton, I want you to use so of that to stock up. Get us real firepower—better than that cheapskate Black Mask ever hands out."
Everyone cheered up at the ntion of that kind of money. But just as spirits were rising, Adam's phone rang.
He answered casually—and instantly, his mood changed.
"...What?!"
Without another word to anyone, Adam grabbed his coat and rushed to the precinct. The officer who'd helped arrange the disc shipnt t him at the door, frazzled.
"What happened?" Adam asked, voice tight. "The truck should've gone out this afternoon."
"It did! But less than three kiloters from the city, it got hit. Your cargo's gone," the officer snapped, clearly panicking. "That's $300,000 worth of goods vanished! And now the buyer's been calling non-stop. What the hell am I supposed to say to them?"
Adam's heart dropped. He'd poured his own money into setting that shipnt up. If he had to pay the penalty clause—three tis the value—he'd be finished.
But panic quickly turned into suspicion. He'd kept the transport details extrely tight—route, license plate, timing—only this officer knew the full plan. So how did soone intercept the shipnt unless...
His mind raced. Then, thinking quickly, he put on a calm face and said, "Don't worry. I've got a backup."
The officer blinked and asked, "You do?"
"There's another load. Bigger even—worth about $700,000. It's coming in from Bruce Haven. Should arrive in Gotham three days from now, around 2 p.m. The license plate is X-X-X-X."
Adam leaned forward, looking as sincere as possible. "We can calm the buyer down and plug the gap. But I need your help to buy three days. If you handle this, the money from that sale is yours—minus my cost, of course."
The officer hesitated, clearly tempted.
"You'd make double that week," Adam added smoothly. "Weaver's big prison-break job is happening the sa day, rember? Two payouts—one from Weaver, and one from this. It's win-win."
The cop finally nodded, eyes gleaming. "Okay. I'll stall the buyer."
Adam smiled and walked him out—but the second the officer turned his back, Adam's expression darkened.
"So much for loyalty," he muttered. "I really hope this works... otherwise, I'm wiped out."
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