Adam's figure dropped from the rooftop in a swift, silent descent, landing effortlessly in the dark alley below. In the dim light, his appearance was striking.
He wore a fitted black outfit that hugged his form, perfect for moving unseen in the shadows.
A dark mask covered the lower half of his face, leaving only his intense, focused eyes and stark white hair visible—a haunting contrast against the black.
It was the same outfit he had worn during his escape from the Umbrella Collective's South District base.
It felt almost surreal to be back in this attire, which had marked his break from a life of confinement and control.
Now, dressed in it again, he was an instrument of his own will, and he intended to ensure River City's underworld knew it.
Adam took in his surroundings. The narrow lane, known locally as Heli Way, was cluttered with debris and cast in shadow.
Just up ahead, three men loitered, chatting idly, their rough voices bouncing off the alley walls. Each wore a uniform of patched leather and crude weaponry, likely members of one of the criminal syndicates that operated openly here.
The men caught sight of Adam, their conversations trailing off as they turned to face the dark figure standing silently before them.
"Hey, who are you, and what're you doin' here?" one of them demanded, his tone laced with suspicion.
Before any of them could react further, Adam was upon them. In one fluid motion, he closed the distance between himself and the second thug, his fist colliding sharply with the man's face.
The impact was immediate—his body crumpled and fell to the ground, unconscious.
The remaining two men stared, their eyes wide with shock.
Adam's movements were too fast for them to track, a flash of black against the gray of the alley walls. As they fumbled to pull weapons, Adam pivoted, delivering a powerful kick to the third thug's chest.
The man flew backward, crashing into the wall with a grunt, slumping down in an unconscious heap.
The first thug remained frozen, his mouth agape as he watched his comrades collapse. Before he could make sense of what had happened,
Adam's blow struck him too, sending him to the ground without so much as a chance to cry out.
Adam straightened, adjusting his mask. "I don't want to create too much of a scene. I just need something that'll prove to Arthur's family that they can trust me," he muttered.
With that, he dragged the men's limp bodies to the edge of the alley and tossed them into a garbage pit, ensuring they'd be out of sight before moving on.
After weaving through the narrow, twisted streets, Adam arrived at his destination: a building on the edge of the city's forgotten district.
It had seen better days; the windows were cracked, walls coated in graffiti, and most of its structure crumbling.
'Time to see what I'm dealing with,' Adam thought, activating his skill.
[Host skill active: God's Eye]
Through his enhanced vision, he saw the faint, ethereal outlines of figures inside the building.
His eyes narrowed as he counted them—there were more than he expected, and some radiated a higher-than-average magical aura.
These weren't just low-level thugs; they were seasoned enforcers, the kind only assigned to protect critical assets.
His plan was clear. He scaled the building's wall, using broken bricks and loose cables to hoist himself to the first-floor window.
Carefully, he slid inside, landing without a sound.
The room was in disarray. Bottles and cigarettes lay strewn across a battered sofa, copper coins scattered carelessly on the floor—a den of indulgence, with no sign of discipline.
Adam moved silently toward the door, where he saw the gang's leader, Bran, talking with three thugs just outside.
Moments later, Bran opened the door, stepping inside with his three guards. He froze, spotting Adam in the dim light.
"You got in," Bran sneered, recovering his composure. "But you're not leaving here alive."
Bran's voice was low, his confidence apparent. He didn't seem fazed, perhaps convinced his strength alone would ensure his victory.
With a subtle gesture, he signaled his men forward, drawing a knife from his belt as the three enforcers closed in around Adam.
The first thug lunged, his knife gleaming as he aimed straight for Adam's chest.
But Adam sidestepped smoothly, intercepting the weapon mid-motion, twisting it out of the thug's grip before driving it into his chest.
A strangled gasp escaped the man's lips before he slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Bran's remaining men hesitated, exchanging nervous glances. Bran, watching them falter, spat in annoyance. "He's just one person! Don't let him get to you—attack together!"
But before any of them could act, Adam vanished from their line of sight. He reappeared behind the second thug, blade in hand, and with a swift motion, he slit his throat, leaving him to collapse in a silent heap.
Bran's face paled, the arrogance slipping from his expression. The remaining thug took a step back, terror in his eyes as he glanced at the door.
Adam's voice cut through the silence like steel. "Did I give you permission to leave?"
The thug froze as Adam materialized behind him, his blade gleaming in the dim light. In one swift move, he sliced through the man's neck, leaving the thug lifeless on the floor.
With his path clear, Adam turned his gaze to Bran, who stumbled back, hands trembling as he clutched his knife. The confident leader of minutes ago was nowhere to be seen.
"Stay back! Don't you know who I work for? I'm protected by nobility! If you kill me, they'll hunt you down," Bran stammered, his voice thick with fear.
Adam's tone was calm, mocking. "So this is how the mighty Bran behaves when faced with real danger? You terrify others, but the moment someone stands against you, you fall apart."
Bran's knuckles went white around the hilt of his knife. His voice quivered as he asked, "Who sent you? Was it a gang from another district?"