Adam, answered Poison Ivy's hesitant questioning with a straight face and not a single hint of shame.

"There's nothing strange about it," he said smoothly. "I'm a police officer. Knowing things like this is part of the job."

Of course, he didn't bother mentioning that half of what he knew came from Gotham's infamous eavesdropping network—a fact that wouldn't exactly earn him any moral high ground.

"In fact," Adam continued, leaning slightly closer as if sharing a secret, "do you know why you were chosen for this inspection team? Someone at that first meeting reported your ideas as brilliant. That's why you're representing Gotham's entire biological community."

Pamela's eyes widened, the faint, hesitant glow of pride blooming in them like sunlight on new leaves. The recognition struck her deeply—so much so that she almost seemed to brighten before Adam's eyes. Yet, just as quickly, she ducked her head and retreated into the corner, clutching her hat nervously.

"Is… is that really true?" she murmured, almost afraid to believe it. "After I was selected, everyone at the institute seemed to hate me. Even Dr. Wood… he didn't even give me normal tasks anymore. He sent me to clean toilets. Even the men's toilets…"

Her voice was so small that Adam could barely catch the words.

A pang of sympathy stirred in him.

'No wonder she ends up falling into the wrong hands later. A girl this isolated—anyone could manipulate her.'

There had been plenty of rumors floating around Gotham since Pamela's sudden inclusion in the inspection team. Whispers that she had seduced Bruce Wayne himself to secure the position, pushing out the far more "respected" Dr. Jason Wood.

Adam almost laughed at the absurdity. If anyone saw Pamela as she was now—plain clothes, no makeup, a few reddish patches on her face—they'd never believe Gotham's golden billionaire playboy even looked at her. She wasn't the Poison Ivy who could make men kneel with a single glance; she was more like a shy honor student, too absorbed in books and plants to realize her own value.

"Don't waste your time on the nonsense people say," Adam told her with an easy smile. "Those guys don't have talent, so they blame others for their failures. You're not like them. You're just… a flower bud that hasn't bloomed yet. It may look small now, but one day your fragrance will be remembered by all of Gotham."

Pamela froze, stunned by his words. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. Her life had been libraries, labs, and whispered insults. Now, his voice slipped through her defenses like sunlight through leaves, warming her from the inside.

Adam was just about to press further, to solidify this unexpected connection, when a soldier's voice called out:

"We've arrived! Everyone, out of the vehicle!"

Reality came rushing back. Adam let out a quiet sigh.

'Right. I'm here to do a job, not flirt with botanists.'

The group stepped out of the vehicles. Several old military trucks rumbled behind them, their paint peeling and their engines sounding like they had been salvaged from the scrapyards of the American Empire.

The soldiers, though ragged in equipment, were heavily armed. Alongside their AK74s, they carried crude tools—shovels, hoes, and sticks—ready for what lay ahead.

Adam's gaze swept across the field before them. The land stretched wide and uneven, covered with rows of strange green seedlings. In the distance, the blackened scars of recent fires marred the hillsides. A few women, dull-eyed and barefoot, moved silently through the fields. When they heard the vehicles, they stopped and stared, expressionless.

"All southern plantations have already been eradicated," said the accompanying official with a proud smile. "The fields in this village were left for you, as a demonstration. General Lionel has deployed units from the regular army for this operation. Soon, the entire northern region will be cleared as well. After that, San Pedro Sula will be completely free."

Adam frowned slightly. Something about this smelled off. He thought of the Black Mask's men, who were supposed to collect their next shipment soon.

'If these fields are already gone, they're in for a nasty surprise.'

While Adam's thoughts circled in silence, Pamela's reaction was entirely different. Her eyes shot wide with horror as she pointed to the hillside.
"Slash-and-burn farming…" she whispered, her voice trembling. "They're still at that stage? My God… all those trees… what a waste! How can they do this?!"

The official stiffened and turned, his voice sharp.
"Miss, we don't want this either, but the U.S. blockade has left us with nothing—no tools, no modern methods. We survive however we can. This land is fertile. Vegetation grows back every year. The ashes from the burned trees even fertilize the soil. This is our reality."

Sensing the tension, Lois Lane, who had been quietly observing, stepped in with her signature calm professionalism.

"Let's not get sidetracked," she said smoothly. "General Lionel has talked often about banning cultivation. Could you show us your actual methods of eradication?"

The official's demeanor instantly brightened at her question, and he puffed out his chest like a proud peacock.
"It's very simple. A shovel, a sickle—even a sturdy stick will do. Our men will dig, hack, and trample until not a single root remains. These fields have existed for over a hundred years. Only our general had the courage to order their destruction. That's why he is called great."

Adam almost chuckled under his breath.

'Great,' huh? More like desperate for foreign aid and international pats on the back.

As if to prove his words, the official barked an order. The soldiers, who had been waiting like caged wolves, surged into the field. Sticks and boots rose and fell, trampling and smashing the seedlings into muddy pulp.