Black Mask sneered, eyes narrowing as he glared at Adam and he said, "Suit yourself, kid. But do me 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 moment—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 moment.
"I need more power. I can't keep relying on playing chicken with death every time things go south," he said out loud. His mind drifted to the $300,000 pirated disc deal his colleague mentioned 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 game.
Deadshot was the first to rage.
"That slimeball Black Mask has no shame! His people screw up, and suddenly we're the ones to blame? I swear, just give me 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 came with me to South America. If you so much as sneeze in Black Mask's direction, the cops will come 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 some bottom-feeders outside," he said flatly. "They didn't know who they were messing 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 some of that to stock up. Get us real firepower—better than that cheapskate Black Mask ever hands out."
Everyone cheered up at the mention 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 shipment met 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 kilometers 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 me 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 shipment up. If he had to pay the penalty clause—three times the value—he'd be finished.
But panic quickly turned into suspicion. He'd kept the transport details extremely tight—route, license plate, timing—only this officer knew the full plan. So how did someone intercept the shipment 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 me 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 same day, remember? 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."