Adam stood in the dim, eerie light of the park, his dark attire blending with the shadows that cloaked the area.
His black coat was like an extension of the night itself, his face hidden behind a sleek, intimidating mask.
Only his eyes, cold and piercing, glinted through the darkness.
A faint, moonlit outline revealed his disheveled black hair, and his presence exuded a threatening aura that sent chills to anyone who dared confront him.
Across from him stood Brown, visibly agitated and clutching a heavy metal pipe.
Brown's gaze flickered toward Davis, who lay writhing on the ground in agony.
Minutes earlier, Adam had forced Davis to ingest a slow-acting poison, and now, Davis was enduring the final, torturous moments of his life.
Brown's face contorted in anger and confusion. Who was this masked stranger? And why was he targeting them? The park's poor lighting obscured much of Adam's appearance, leaving Brown with only a vague impression of his height and shape.
Brown's confusion only intensified. His boss had given orders without explanation, summoning them to this dark, secluded part of the city. Why here? And what was their actual purpose tonight? Brown tried to make out Adam's details but found only shadows.
He could see little beyond Adam's masked face and the faint outline of his black coat.
Adam shifted, wincing slightly as he rubbed his shoulder—a reminder of Brown's brutal hit earlier.
The pain was intense, radiating through his entire arm. 'If I'd been a second slower, he would've finished me right there,' Adam thought, clenching his teeth against the ache.
Across from him, Brown studied Adam with renewed wariness.
He had initially dismissed Adam as a mere nuisance, perhaps a low-level thug at best.
But after witnessing Adam's swift takedown of Davis, Brown now regarded him as a genuine threat.
He took a step closer, fully aware that the man before him possessed lethal skill and intent. In that instant, Brown realized—if he let his guard down even slightly, he wouldn't make it out alive.
Adam noticed Brown advancing cautiously. His boots pressed firmly into the soft, sandy ground beneath him.
This park had been abandoned for years, and now, the earth had become loose, almost muddy in some areas, with patches of sand scattered around—a remnant from when this place had been a playground for children.
He waited, calculating Brown's approach, his mind sharp despite the pain in his shoulder.
As soon as Brown was within striking range, Adam kicked at the sand, sending a swift cloud of it directly toward Brown's face.
The darkness masked the movement, and before Brown could react, the sand struck his eyes.
Brown stumbled back, cursing and clawing at his face, the sharp grains blinding him temporarily.
Seizing the opportunity, Adam heard Pratham's voice crackle in his earpiece, urging him forward. "Lord Adam, your opponent is wide open. Attack now."
The words spurred Adam into action. He lunged forward, closing the distance between them in a flash, his fist driving into Brown's stomach with pinpoint accuracy.
The punch landed hard, knocking the wind out of Brown. Blind and gasping, Brown staggered, instinctively reaching out to grab Adam in a last-ditch attempt to defend himself.
But the pain was too intense; the grit in his eyes and the blow to his stomach slowed his movements.
"Right side of the face!" Pratham's voice guided Adam's next strike.
Adam's fist swung in a powerful arc, connecting with Brown's jaw.
The impact sent Brown sprawling backward, landing heavily on the ground. Adam had been waiting for this moment, his masked face cold and unyielding as he knelt beside his fallen opponent.
From within his coat, Adam retrieved a small vial filled with a potent poison. Pinning Brown to the ground, Adam placed his knee firmly on the man's chest, immobilizing him, and held down his arm to prevent any movement.
With swift precision, he forced the vial's contents down Brown's throat, ensuring he had no choice but to swallow the deadly liquid.
Adam moved back quickly, watching as the poison took hold.
Brown's reaction was immediate and violent. His body convulsed, hands thrashing against the ground as he gasped for air, his veins bulging with the effects of the toxin.
He clawed at his throat, a strangled scream escaping his lips before foamy saliva began to trickle from his mouth.
Within moments, the thrashing ceased, and Brown lay silent, his chest rising no more.
Adam observed, gripping his injured shoulder, his expression hidden but his mind coldly analyzing the scene. He exhaled slowly. It's over.
After a pause, Adam approached Davis's lifeless body, confirming he was indeed dead. Then he turned to Brown's body, ensuring the same.
The park was once again silent, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. Adam took his time, finding a secluded spot to dig a shallow grave.
He dragged the bodies over, covering them with loose earth until no trace remained. By now, the night had deepened, the air cool and heavy. The clock read 8:30 PM, marking the end of his task.
Pratham's voice interrupted the quiet night. "Lord Adam, you have a call from your mother."
Adam straightened, wiping the dirt from his hands. "Connect it," he ordered, his tone firm.
The call connected, and Adam's mother's worried voice filled the silence. "Adam, son, you're so late tonight. Where are you? Are you alright?"
A faint softness entered Adam's eyes as he replied, "I'm fine, Mom. I'll explain everything when I get home. Just had some things to take care of at school. I'll be there soon."
"Alright, but please hurry home," she replied, her concern evident.
As the call ended, Pratham spoke again. "Lord Adam, I've erased every virtual trace of their presence here. No one will know they were ever in this park tonight."
Adam took a steadying breath, nodding to himself. "Good. Let's leave it at that."
With the task complete, Adam turned and made his way out of the park. Within a short while, he boarded the train back to the city, finally feeling the weight of his injuries and exhaustion settling in.
By the time he arrived home, the adrenaline had faded, leaving him sore and weary.
Once inside, he shed his coat and mask, disposing of them in a discreet, distant location as per Pratham's advice.
He walked into the house, still dressed in his slightly dirtied school uniform— a pink shirt and green pants now caked in grime from the night's encounter.
His mother, Rachel, was already waiting, her expression a mix of relief and concern as she took in his disheveled appearance.
"Adam, just leave your clothes in the bathroom. I'll wash them for you," she offered, already reaching for the laundry supplies.
He nodded, his voice tired but appreciative. "Thanks, Mom." Without another word, he headed to the kitchen, where his father was seated, engrossed in the television.
"You're back, son?" his father asked, glancing up briefly.
Adam nodded, barely meeting his gaze. "Yeah, Dad." He excused himself, heading to his room to change into clean clothes before sitting down to eat a quiet dinner with his family.