There was no time to think. The moment Barbara disappeared, Adam instinctively chased after her. He knew that even with the training she'd received from Batman, her black-belt karate skills were next to useless in a place like this.
If something happened to her here, the timeline he relied on would be thrown into even more chaos. That was his greatest fear—losing the one advantage he had.
"Don't run! Come back!" Adam shouted as he plunged into the slum after her.
Behind him, an officer yelled in frustration, "You, come back! You didn't even take a signal gun! If you run into trouble, how are you supposed to tell us where you are?"
But his warning was lost in the noise of the surrounding crowd and never reached Adam's ears.
Adam pushed forward, but he quickly ran into a problem. Weighed down by a bulletproof vest and an arsenal of weapons, he wasn't as fast as he needed to be. After chasing through a few alleys, he completely lost sight of Barbara.
Worse, he was now lost himself. The narrow paths twisted and turned, blocked by shabby huts and piles of junk. The entire area was a dense, confusing spiderweb, and Adam felt like a trapped insect, completely disoriented.
'If I turn back now...' he thought, cursing himself. 'It's probably too late anyway. Even if I found my way out, those cops would laugh me out of the station.'
He let out a sigh. 'Damn it, what was I thinking, trying to be a hero? But I'm already here. I just need to find Barbara and get out.'
With a new resolve, Adam began to move forward cautiously, his eyes scanning every shadow for any sign of her or a path leading out.
The slum was the lowest level of Gotham, a place where the city's forgotten people gathered. They lived in makeshift tents and shacks without proper electricity or running water. Wires were illegally pulled from power lines, and a single public faucet served hundreds. The stench of garbage and human waste was overpowering, as if the entire neighborhood was an island floating on a sea of filth.
Adam looked up and realized almost everyone he saw was Black. The walls were covered in colorful, chaotic graffiti, but he knew it wasn't just art. Here, in this part of Gotham, it was a code. Many of the symbols were African totems, a secret language that told those in the know where to buy drugs or guns. To an outsider like him, it was just another sign that he didn't belong.
Overhead, dozens of pairs of sneakers were tied together and slung over the tangled wires. Adam knew the grim truth behind this local custom. In ancient times, tribes would hang the heads of their enemies as a warning. In this concrete jungle, they hung the shoes of the people they killed. Looking at the sheer number of shoes hanging above him sent a shiver down his spine.
He had stumbled into the worse district, the most dangerous and hostile part of the slums. The air was thick with the smell of cheap alcohol and urine. Men gathered in the shadows of dilapidated buildings, and their eyes locked onto him—a stranger in their territory. They watched him with open suspicion. One man deliberately lifted the corner of his shirt, revealing the handle of a pistol tucked into his waistband, a clear and silent warning.
Worse still, all the street signs had been torn down, leaving him with no way to navigate.
Seeing the men slowly starting to close in around him, Adam knew he had to move. He spotted a gap and slipped into a narrow alley, trying to act casual as he searched for an escape.
He hadn't taken two steps when a figure jumped out from the shadows, making him flinch. It was a woman, though her gaunt features and hollow eyes made it hard to tell.
"Hey, sir," she rasped, her voice rough. "Looking for a good time? Twenty dollars, you can have whatever you want. Please... I haven't eaten in two days..."
She stepped closer, pulling open her filthy coat in a desperate attempt to look seductive. Adam broke out in a cold sweat. It was broad daylight. The woman's gums were black and rotted—the classic sign of a heavy addict. Her body was so thin it looked like she was starving to death.
Adam didn't dare say a word. He just turned and ran.
The woman's voice followed him, growing more frantic. "Fifteen dollars, then! Or ten! Please, don't run! I don't even need the money, just buy me a fix... Please, show some kindness..."
He ran until her voice faded, his heart pounding in his chest. He stopped to catch his breath, shaken by the encounter. The desperation of the addicts here was terrifying; they would do anything for their next high.
Just as he thought he was safe, a lazy voice spoke from the shadows behind him.
"Yo, look what we have here. A lil' Vietnamese bitch, lost in my territory? You looking to get your shoes hung on a wire, too?"