Adam understood Bronze Tiger's backstory better than the man himself. On paper, he was one of humanity's greatest martial artists—an elite fighter with skills that put him toe-to-toe with superhumans. But like many DC characters, even the most formidable ones were never without cracks in their armor. Superman had kryptonite and magic. Batman had no powers at all. And Bronze Tiger? His weakness wasn't physical—it was psychological.
In fact, across DC's long, messy history, no character had been brainwashed and manipulated more than Bronze Tiger. His career read like a cautionary tale about trust, trauma, and misplaced loyalty.
His downfall began early. Not long after his debut, he joined a shady-sounding group called the Global Defense Strategy Organization. He invited his younger brother to join too—only to be brainwashed into becoming a mindless enforcer. It was Richard Dragon, his brother, who eventually broke through the conditioning and pulled him back from the brink.
Later, Bronze Tiger joined a knock-off version of the CBI—a supposed state-run intelligence agency. His assignment was infiltrate the League of Assassins. The oldest and deadliest villain collective in the DC universe. Led by Ra's al Ghul, a six-century-old megalomaniac who could erase nations with a word. Bronze Tiger—fresh off his recovery, barely stable—was thrown back into the fire.
It didn't end well. Predictably, the League captured and brainwashed him again, making him their enforcer.
Ironically, during this time, he accomplished things that would shape the future of the DC world. He helped train Lady Shiva's daughter—Cassandra Cain—a future martial arts prodigy destined to outfight nearly every living opponent. He even indirectly contributed to the death of Batwoman.
All of this proved one thing: Bronze Tiger's willpower simply didn't match his physical strength. Compared to someone like Shiva—who would ally with sworn enemies in pursuit of martial perfection—or Batman, whose sheer force of will could resist telepathic attacks, Bronze Tiger fell short. Even when he joined the Suicide Squad, he was too soft. He'd risk himself to save teammates marked as expendable—only to be betrayed by the very people he saved. That's how entire squads ended up dead.
Now, judging by the circumstances, Adam guessed Bronze Tiger had finally escaped the League. He'd fled, tried to live in obscurity… only to be captured and enslaved by the mountain tribes like some blood sport animal. A fallen tiger, tormented and caged.
But Adam knew something no one else here could possibly know—the password to shut him down.
It wasn't just a word. It was a secret embedded deep in the League's conditioning—one that required the true names of both the founder, Ra's al Ghul, and of Bronze Tiger himself. The League protected those names with obsessive secrecy. Only Talia, Ra's own daughter, knew his real one. And Bronze Tiger's original identity had long since been buried under aliases, even within the League.
So when Adam spoke that string of syllables—the verbal equivalent of cracking a lock—it hit Bronze Tiger like a neural grenade.
"You… You… What are you…" Bronze Tiger gasped, knees buckling beneath him. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Adam, panic leaking through the haze of bloodlust. "Are you with the League? Did Ra's send you? Or Talia?"
Adam didn't flinch. He simply met the man's glare and said evenly, "Relax. I'm not your enemy. I'm here to help you."
But Bronze Tiger snarled and spat blood at his feet, "Help? Don't insult me. Everyone from the League wears a human face and a monster's heart. Anyone who knows that code—you're not here to save me. You're here to use me."
His body trembled with fury. Then, with a sharp cry, he bit down on his own tongue. Blood filled his mouth as he used the pain to jolt himself out of the residual programming. With eyes blazing, he lunged.
"Let's see if you can 'command' me now!"
The pit shook with the force of his charge. He moved like a beast, limbs blurring with lethal precision. He had the raw power to crush a brown bear, and now that rage was aimed at Adam.
But Adam stood his ground.
He casually raised one arm, flicking his wrist. A tiny canister hidden in his cuff expelled a thin stream of vapor, almost invisible.
Bronze Tiger didn't recognize the danger, until the gas hit his face.
He flinched, recoiling instinctively, then began swinging his arms in wide arcs like a spinning windmill, trying to clear the air. He looked ready to punch the air itself into submission.
"What… what is this?" he shouted, staggering back. "What the hell did you hit me with?!"
Adam gave a lopsided grin and said, "Just a little bootleg nerve agent. Something to help you relax."
He paused, feigning curiosity, "Oh… by the way—was that a spider on your shoulder just now?"
Bronze Tiger froze. The color drained from his face. The man who'd slaughtered beasts barehanded now trembled like a leaf. Sweat poured from his forehead. His lips went pale. Fear overtook him, irrational and immediate.
"You… you… how do you…" he stammered, pointing a trembling finger at Adam.
Eyes rolled back, body limp, he collapsed into the dirt, unconscious.
Adam raised an eyebrow and looked at his sleeve with approval.
"Thanks, Nygma," he muttered.
Before leaving Gotham, Edward Nygma had worried about Adam's safety and slipped him this gadget. It was a replica of the Scarecrow's fear-toxin wrist launcher. Nygma had even brewed a custom batch of gas. Ironically, his imitation might've worked better than the original.
"Let's hope he's not brain-damaged," Adam murmured, nudging the fallen warrior with his boot.
In truth, this wasn't the first time Bronze Tiger had succumbed to fear gas. Back in the Suicide Squad days, he once faced off against the Scarecrow himself. Despite his towering skill, he collapsed into hallucinations—terrified by a hallucinated swarm of insects—and let the villain escape.
Now, Adam had simply flipped that history to his advantage.
The mountain tribe stood frozen in disbelief. They'd seen Bronze Tiger crush apex predators with his bare hands. And yet, the strange black-haired outsider hadn't even thrown a punch—he'd whispered a few words, released some smoke… and down went the monster.
As their confusion turned to awe, the way they looked at Adam changed.
No longer just a foreigner.
Now… something else entirely.