The rooftop was cracked and sun-bleached, its edges corroded by wind and time. Two men sat on the concrete floor—one bruised and shirtless, clutching the remnants of dignity like torn fabric, the other hunched forward, a half-smoked Marlboro drooping from his lip as he stared up at the pale Gotham sky.
"You… You're really not gay?" Deadshot Norton asked weakly, wincing as he shifted his weight off a cracked rib.
Adam didn't answer right away. His temples were still pulsing from the frustration earlier—rage, confusion, and an overwhelming desire to throw Norton off the damn roof for being such a blockheaded idiot.
He snapped the cigarette from his mouth, crushed it in his palm, and glared. "No. I'm not."
Norton blinked. "You sure? I mean, the way you keep showing up... the food, the money—"
Adam exploded. "For the love of—do I look like I'm running a romantic charity?! You want proof? Fine. Let's head downtown right now. I'll pick up a woman, spin her like a damn Hot Wheel, and demonstrate."
Norton shrank a little. His shirt had been shredded in the earlier beatdown, making him look like a sorry participant in some back-alley lovers' quarrel. He crossed his arms and sulked. "You're acting like it's that unreasonable to be suspicious…"
Adam rubbed his forehead and sat back. "You're impossible."
There was a long pause as the wind gusted over the rooftop, carrying the distant noise of sirens and city breath.
Finally, Adam exhaled and said, "Alright, listen. I'll give it to you straight."
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"I didn't come to Gotham to hand out flyers or cook ducks. I came to build something. And that takes people—people I can trust. People who can fight. People with a conscience, even if it's a little cracked. That's where you come in."
Norton frowned. "Me? Why?"
"You're ex-Special Forces. You know how to move, how to shoot, how to think under fire. Guys like that don't grow on trees."
"But I was discharged," Norton said, voice tight. "Kicked out. You want my file? It's not pretty. Falsified orders. Unauthorized kills. Chain-of-command violations. I'm not exactly poster material."
Adam snorted. "Yeah? Well, welcome to Gotham—no one is clean here. Look at Flass. He barely passed Navy SEAL screening and still runs Special Ops under Commissioner Loeb. He's corrupt, bloated, and walking around with a badge. So don't talk to me about qualifications. You've got the skills, and that's what I need." ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ NovᴇlFir(e).nᴇt
Norton stared at him, processing. "But why not recruit someone else? There are mercs all over this city who'd line up if you paid them enough."
Adam's voice turned sharp. "Because I'm not building a mercenary gang. I'm building a team. Something bigger. Something with teeth and a spine. And because you, Floyd, whether you like it or not… you still care."
Norton's mouth twisted. "Not sure if that's true anymore."
"It is," Adam said. "Otherwise you wouldn't be killing yourself just to make rent and pay alimony. You wouldn't be fighting tooth and nail to stay in your daughter's life."
That hit harder than a punch.
Norton looked away, jaw tight.
After a moment, he said quietly, "You don't get it. I'm from Naihe Island. That place teaches you the hard way—cops are worse than criminals. When I was a kid, my parents got gunned down by crossfire. Random shooters. Strays. I don't even know who. Cops never found out. Never cared."
Adam didn't interrupt.
"I had to work just to stay in a roach-infested apartment. Paid off street cops like I paid off landlords. If I didn't, they'd drag me out or throw a baggie in my pocket and ruin me for life. You think I forgot that?" He looked up, eyes sharp now. "You think I can join that system? Wear that badge?"
"No," Adam said. "I think you can fix it."
Norton gave him a look.
Adam stood, brushing dirt from his hands, and looked out toward the sunset. "You're right. Gotham PD is cancer. Rots everything it touches. And if I had a choice, I'd burn it down, not build on top of it."
He glanced over his shoulder.
"But sometimes, to purge the poison, you need to get inside the wound."
Norton stayed seated, staring at the cracks between his boots.
"I'm not saying join the cops. I'm saying join me. Help me build something better. Not because they deserve it—but because your daughter does."
That one landed. Hard.
For a long time, Norton said nothing. He just sat there, wind tousling his hair, scars on full display beneath the fading gold of the Gotham sky.
Finally, his voice came low. "I applied to a security job last week. Got turned down. No college diploma. They didn't even look at my training."
Adam lit another cigarette. "They'll regret it."
"You really think someone like me can do better?"
"…You really ain't gay?"
Adam turned, gave him a long look.
Then he chucked his cigarette at Norton's head.
"Shut up," Adam muttered.