Adam stood frozen for a moment, staring at the chaos unfolding before him.

'This… is their idea of eradication?'

What he saw looked less like a government-sanctioned operation and more like a pack of feral pigs set loose in a vegetable patch. Soldiers wielded sticks and shovels, smashing seedlings with all the precision of drunken hooligans. If this was considered an official eradication campaign, it was almost comically childish.

Still, the sheer number of men stomping and hacking their way through the field meant that most of the plants wouldn't last the day.

But Adam had something far more pressing on his mind: Pamela.

For Poison Ivy, watching plants being slaughtered was no different from watching animals being tortured. The sight could push her over the edge, and Adam knew all too well what a furious Pamela might do if provoked.

He scanned the field anxiously as he muttered, "Where is she?"

Then he saw her—no longer the timid, stammering girl who'd been clutching her hat a moment ago. Pamela was charging forward, her eyes blazing with fury, every stride of hers radiating determination.

"Damn it, don't do anything stupid!" Adam muttered, his heart skipping a beat.

He didn't hesitate. Sprinting after her, he grabbed her arm just as she was about to storm up to the officer in charge.

"Calm down, Pamela!" he hissed through gritted teeth, holding her tightly. "This isn't your lab back in Gotham. If you touch a single hair on that guy's head, we might not get out of this country alive."

In truth, Adam wasn't worried about himself—between Deadshot's skills and certain reporters (Superman, in disguise) among them, they could all fight their way out if they had to. But if this mission turned into a bloodbath, Black Mask's deal would collapse, and Adam had no intention of letting that happen.

Pamela struggled violently, surprising him with her raw strength. Veins bulged on her forehead, their greenish hue looking disturbingly unnatural—as if the plant world itself was boiling beneath her skin. Adam had to put every ounce of strength into keeping her restrained.

"Please," he begged in a low voice, sweat forming at his temple. "These aren't rare plants. They're toxic cash crops. They need to go. Just—don't be impulsive."

If he hadn't been trying to win her trust, Adam would have knocked her out by now.

The officer, hearing the commotion, turned and smirked, watching the scene with open amusement. His attitude screamed, 'Let's see these so-called outsiders make fools of themselves.'

Pamela eventually stopped struggling, her gaze falling to the ground. The sight of the trampled seedlings broke something inside her. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the dirt, tears welling in her eyes.

"Why… why are they doing this?" she whispered, her voice cracking as she began to cry.

Adam froze. 'Crap… crying girls. I can take down mob bosses, but I have no idea how to handle this.'

Before he could even try to comfort her, the officer sneered.

"If I recall," he said with a mocking tone, "your country asked us to eradicate these crops as a condition for lifting sanctions. We sacrificed everything—food, clothing, resources—to comply. And now you cry for these… weeds? Is this the famous hypocrisy of Gotham?"

Adam's jaw tightened. He could forgive the man for mocking him, but taking cheap shots at Pamela? That crossed the line.

He stepped forward, his voice calm but razor-sharp, "Interesting. I also recall that this cultivation is the only way your farmers earn real income."

He gestured toward the distant villagers, who stood behind soldiers with blank faces. "Look at them. You didn't even inform them of this eradication campaign, did you? Otherwise, they wouldn't have planted these fields just to see them destroyed today. Agriculture is seasonal. What are they supposed to live on now? Air?"

The officer blinked, caught off guard. He clearly hadn't expected such a direct challenge.

"The lady isn't crying for the plants," Adam continued, his tone now deceptively smooth. "She's crying for the farmers who will starve because you gave them no chance to adapt. Or is that part of your great plan? To turn your own people into casualties of your so-called progress?"

The man's expression darkened, but he tried to salvage his pride, "Every change requires sacrifices. These people are paving the way for a better tomorrow, free from corruption."

Adam snorted softly and replied, "Sacrifices are only noble when they're voluntary. You didn't give these people a choice. And don't tell me this isn't about bargaining chips. You're banking on this ban to squeeze aid out of the U.S. and Europe. If they weren't watching, would you still be burning fields?"

The officer clenched his jaw, clearly stung.

Adam didn't let up. "Do you know what happens when farmers prosper? They spend money. They buy tools, clothes, goods. They build an economy. You think industrial growth comes from starving your own people? No. It comes from letting them rise with you."

The officer's face turned stormy. "You're… Adam, yes? Representative of Gotham's police force?" His voice dropped dangerously. "I will make sure the General hears every word you just said. I hope you'll be ready to repeat it when he's dealing with 'domestic opposition.'"

It was an open threat.

Adam smirked. "And I'll make sure those same words reach the ears of the people who control humanitarian aid—and the decision to lift your blockade. Let's see who listens first."