An old military truck rumbled along a winding mountain road, shrouded in white mist that seemed close enough to touch. Inside, Adam and his team sat silently, navigating the rugged terrain of the northern highlands.

Deadshot leaned toward Adam and whispered in his ear, "Do you really believe what Black Mask said? That this will be the last time? I seriously doubt it."

Adam's expression darkened and he replied, "Of course I don't believe him. But what choice do I have? Last night, while you were away, Black Mask—who's halfway across the world—described everything I was doing in real time. He even mentioned Jason watching cartoons. That means we're being watched—closely. If he wanted me dead, he could probably do it. I can't fight him from here. Everything has to wait until I'm back in Gotham. Out here, my badge means nothing."

Deadshot exhaled slowly and said, "Even if you made Chief Inspector, so what? Loeb only kept Gotham in check because Falcone was behind him. The cops and crooks propped each other up. Anyone else tries to run the city clean? They'll either get ignored or chewed up. That's just Gotham."

He paused, then added pointedly, "But if you really want, I've got a way to put a bullet in Black Mask from here. Would save us a lot of trouble."

It wasn't just empty talk. Deadshot would go on to become one of the deadliest assassins alive. If not for his fixation on Batman, his kill record might be even more terrifying.

Adam chuckled bitterly, "Tempting, but there are too many snakes in Gotham. Kill one, two more crawl out. And the cops at the station? Sure, they'll back me if it suits them. But the second I need them to stand up to someone like Black Mask, they'll vanish. They're spineless.Maybe it's time I built my own force. Something independent. Something they can't bully."

Deadshot smirked and said, "Forming your own force? Good luck. State-funded cops won't die for you, and you think a few bucks will buy you loyalty from street thugs?"

Adam didn't reply directly. Instead, his eyes narrowed, lost in thought. A familiar face flickered in his mind, "Maybe not everywhere. But Gotham… Gotham never runs short of desperate men willing to die for a shot at power."

Their conversation paused as Jason leaned over from the back and said, "Can someone please tell the driver to find a smoother road? Miss Isley's about to hurl again. Why does this route suck so much?"

Adam and Deadshot glanced at each other and shifted gears.

Deadshot answered calmly, "This is the only way into the mountains. The locals can't afford to build proper roads. So, we bounce."

Jason groaned, "Why do people even live out here if it's this bad? Wouldn't moving to the city be better?"

Adam replied thoughtfully, "Sure, the economy's rough out here. But that isolation protects them too. Fewer roads, fewer outsiders, fewer invasions. In a war-torn country, that kind of isolation is a luxury."

But Adam knew there was a darker reason.

This remoteness also made trade almost impossible. No one wanted to scale mountains for a bag of corn. That meant only unique crops—particularly contraband—could fetch high prices. Tribal leaders and foreign buyers profited, turning scarcity into leverage. Meanwhile, the poor were encouraged to drink and gamble, exhausting their savings and falling deeper into debt—forcing them to keep planting. Generation after generation, poverty compounded.

Despite his logic, many on the Gotham team opposed this northern expedition. To them, the capital was safe, the food was good, and the bribes were easy. Why risk climbing mountains just to chase shadows? When resistance grew too loud, some simply returned to Gotham, leaving the matter to their superiors.

But Bruce Wayne, unaware of Adam's true motivations, saw him as a dutiful investigator. Pleased by his initiative, Bruce greenlit the operation.

After sixteen grueling hours, the group finally reached the last sizable northern city. Beyond this point lay only rough dirt trails, cliffs, and jungle paths—places even trucks couldn't go.

The local soldiers who had escorted them complained bitterly.

Adam pulled out a wad of US dollars and pressed it into their hands, saying, "Thanks for your help. We'll handle the rest ourselves. Come back in a week to meet us here."

The bribe worked. The soldiers grinned, took the money, and disappeared into the nearest bar—eager to forget their mountain duty.