After handling the Bronze Tiger with surprising ease, Adam climbed to the edge of the pit and casually waved at Deadshot, who had been stationed nearby for backup. Seeing the gesture, Deadshot finally lowered his rifle, slinging it over his back with relief.

Grinning, he hopped into the pit with unnecessary enthusiasm and gave Adam a hearty thumbs-up., "Goddamn miracle, man. I thought for sure you'd be in pieces. Even I couldn't crack this guy's defense the last time I tried. But you?" He whistled. "Took him down like a bedtime story. That was nuts."

Adam, still catching his breath, gave a lopsided smile and threw an arm around Deadshot's shoulders. His tone, however, carried a distinct edge of sarcasm, "Appreciate the enthusiasm. Really. But I wasn't waving at you to dive in like a dumbass. I wanted you to pull me out of the pit."

He gestured to the sheer walls around them and said, "Do I look like someone who can just hop three meters straight up?"

Deadshot blinked. For a moment, he processed Adam's words—then burst into laughter, realizing his mistake. It was easy to forget Adam wasn't exactly Bruce Wayne when it came to vertical agility.

Once Adam was finally hauled out, he tasked Deadshot with dragging the unconscious Bronze Tiger back to camp and watching over him. For now, Deadshot was the only one with the skill—and history—with enough credibility to keep the Tiger in check.

In fact, in the timeline Adam knew from DC's future, Deadshot and the Bronze Tiger would later serve on the Suicide Squad together. They'd even team up for a mission targeting Deathstroke himself—the infamous mercenary who had inspired Marvel's Deadpool. Deathstroke wasn't just deadly; he was a one-man Justice League slayer.

Ironically, it was Deadshot who ended the stalemate—shooting Deathstroke from the shadows just as the battle reached its peak. Bronze Tiger had never forgiven him for interfering in what he considered a pure martial contest. Their relationship had been tense ever since.

Back in the present, just as Adam was preparing to have a serious word with the local tribal chief, No. 1 came barreling toward him like an overexcited child.

"We hit the jackpot! Adam, your plan worked!" he shouted at full volume, attracting far too much attention for Adam's liking.

Adam grabbed him by the collar and yanked him into a half-embrace that looked friendly—but his whisper was ice-cold.

"Lower your damn voice. Are you trying to alert the entire jungle?"

But No. 1 was too hyped to care and said, "Bro, listen! The villagers gave us everything. Not just the current stock—years' worth of hoarded supply. It's all ours!"

Adam's smile vanished. He tightened his grip and pulled No. 1 into a quieter corner of the village, his tone shifting into sharp, focused concern.

"Wait. All of it? You're saying none of the other buyers got anything?"

"Exactly! Not a drop. It's insane. My haul this time is bigger than every trip combined. The Black Mask is gonna worship me when I get back to Gotham!"

Adam narrowed his eyes. Something felt off. These villagers were users. Chronic, long-term ones. They shouldn't have the strength or coordination to haul everything down the mountain just for a trade. Unless something had pushed them.

"Did the other buyers say anything? Complaints, threats?"

"A couple grumbled. One asked if I could spare a share, but most just packed their stuff and stormed off cursing. Why? What's the big deal?"

Adam's mind worked quickly and said, "The big deal is this: we're the ones with the product now. That makes us the new target. You remember what you said earlier? That if we couldn't secure our haul, we'd consider robbing the competition?"

No. 1 blinked. "Yeah, sure. That was when we had nothing. Now we've got everything."

"Exactly." Adam crossed his arms. "Which makes us them. The ones worth robbing. Don't think for a second they haven't had the same thought. If they unite—well, we've just become public enemy number one."

No. 1's smile faltered. He finally grasped the threat.

"So… what do we do?"

That had become No. 1's go-to phrase every time things got tense. Adam didn't answer right away. Instead, he patted No. 1 on the shoulder and spoke with careful intent.

"We fracture the alliance before it forms. People unite over scarcity. But what if we dangle bait? Offer just enoughproduct to keep them scrambling—not to us, but to each other."

No. 1 frowned. "You want to sell it to them?"

"Not sell. Auction. At triple the market rate." Adam's eyes gleamed. "We create false scarcity. Make them fight each other for it. Turn their unity into infighting. While they're distracted, we walk away richer—and safer."

No. 1 stared at him, dumbfounded. He hadn't thought that far ahead. Hell, he hadn't even realized there was a 'that far ahead.'

No wonder the Old Congress back in Gotham had entrusted Adam with this entire South American op. The man didn't just plan for outcomes—he engineered them.

A thought struck him.

"Wait… the Black Mask. He'll want to know about this. About how we're selling off the surplus—"

Adam raised a brow, but his tone was calm, "Black Mask didn't expect us to secure more than 80% of the plan. This—" he gestured toward the overstock "—was never in his projections. You think he's going to cry over 300 grand in free-market revenue?"

He leaned in slightly, "Be real. If you get back to Gotham, and he asks you whether you'd rather keep the surplus cash—or let him pay you the same amount out of his pocket… what do you think he'll choose?"

No. 1 was quiet for a long moment. Then he exhaled slowly.

"Damn… You really don't miss."

Adam grinned and turned back toward camp, "I don't have to. I just make sure the other guy's too busy missing me."