Adam couldn't believe it. He didn't know whether he was lucky or unlucky. From what they did to cover their tracks and hide their operations, they also unknowingly hid Adam from the Hospital.

Since the Hospital was on their way to the Nightraptor Guild's encampment the last time he saw them, then that would mean their next stop was the IBAA, or to find Jerry.

But the only thing they would find at the end of that was whoever these mobsters put in his place.

Genius, Adam. Just genius. This world has some love left for you, after all.

He would laugh at the irony, but he doesn't really know how to. He could escape now, the only thing he needed was a chance—and that thought caused him to unconsciously scoff.

"Something funny?" Susan raised an eyebrow. "You—"

She was about to crush Adam's other foot, but the man she'd been talking to earlier approached and whispered something in her ear. She squinted at first, then nodded as a smile crept onto her face.

"Well, well. Looks like our playtime has to be postponed." She looked at Adam, brushing dust from her hands as her fist returned to flesh.

"You should really, really, rest up, little boy," she said while licking her teeth. "Next time I come back, we're gonna have a real heart-to-heart. And you're gonna lose some limbs. And after I'm done with your limbs…"

She glanced between Adam's thighs, which made Adam close his legs tight. She cackled at this, her laughter echoing throughout the corridor as she walked away.

Adam watched her leave, then waited several more seconds before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

He then waited for a few more seconds, seeing if Susan would suddenly come back. And when he couldn't hear a single step seeping from the corner, and the only sound he could hear was the two goons inside the cell with him… he opened his eyes.

If he had any chance to escape, it was now. He looked at the two mobsters and then held his breath.

And then, he gritted his teeth and pulled his arm against the chains.

"Tss…" He showed his teeth as the metal bit into his wrists and thenar eminence, but he continued applying pressure anyway.

The goons stopped talking when they saw what Adam was doing and stared at him in disbelief.

"Take a load of this guy," one chuckled while pointing at him. "Hey, kid. You're not gonna break that."

"What the fuck are you doing?" The other also laughed. "Maybe he needs another—"

But their amusement was quickly replaced by something else as they continued watching. The smiles on their faces inverted as they saw Adam's flesh begin to tear.

"W-what the fuck?!"

Blood welled up around the metal, then started flowing freely as he continued pulling.

The skin split further, revealing white bone beneath. Adam's tendons snapped like guitar strings; there wasn't really any sound, but the two goons could still hear something wet in their ears.

He then tugged violently, and his wrists became mangled messes of hanging flesh and exposed bone, blood pooling beneath his chair.

And then, finally, with another tug, Adam managed to pull his hands out; his flesh swaying like ground skin.

"What the fuck!" The mobsters stumbled backward. "Jesus Christ?! What's wrong with you?!"

"This kid crazy! Do something, puto!"

"What do you mean do something?! You do something! Why me?!"

Adam ignored their screams, moving to his legs next. He yanked his feet through the chains, the bones cracking and splintering.

His feet were easier to free, and nearly separated from his ankles entirely, held together by strips of skin and muscle.

Of course, the mobsters were completely stunned. It happened right in front of them, but they still couldn't believe it actually happened.

"Ho…" With his limbs now free but mangled, Adam rose from the chair. His feet could barely support him, but he moved forward anyway, leaving bloody footprints on the stone floor.

Well, if they could be called "footprints". It was just a set of… splosh.

"S-shit!" One mobster snapped out of his stupor and rushed for the cell entrance. "B-Bos—"

But Adam, despite his destroyed feet, lunged forward with surprising speed. His blood-slicked fist connected with the man's chin, sending him crashing to the rusted bars and then the ground, completely knocked out.

Before the second goon could even process what happened to his fellow degenerate, Adam spun on his mangled heel. The back of his fist caught the man's chin with a wet crack, and the mobster's eyes rolled back as he crumpled against the rusted bars.

And just like that, the two lay sprawled across the cell floor.

Adam stared down at them, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Blood continued to drip from his wrists, pooling around his destroyed feet. He sighed at this, shaking his head at the exhaustion.

He limped back to the chair, his healing ankles grinding with each step. He sat down again, grabbing his boots from beside the feet of the chair since they were left behind when he freed himself.

He waited for a few seconds for his feet to fully heal, and then winced as he wore the boots because of the squelching noise they made from the blood and flesh inside.

He glanced at the two unconscious goons while lacing up. Their faces were slack, peaceful even. One snored softly through his broken jaw.

Adam approached the two, patting their pockets and finding a pair of switchblades tucked into their waistbands. He, of course, took the entire waistband.

And then, without another glance at the men who'd beaten him ninety-five times, Adam stepped over their bodies and moved toward the corridor. He pressed himself against the damp stone wall, listening for any steps.

But there was no one.

Adam followed the trail on the floor—his own, most likely, from when they'd dragged him here. The corridor stretched long and narrow, torch flames casting dancing shadows on the moss-covered walls.

"There we go…" Stairs emerged from the gloom ahead, leading upward into darkness.

He nodded to himself, moving even more carefully now.

But as he neared the staircase, Adam… suddenly stopped. He took several steps backward, then slowly turned his head to the side.

In one of the cells, shapes moved in the shadows. He thought he was just imagining it at first, but no.

Four women sat chained to the walls and floor. Two of them looked young—no older than fifteen. Their clothes were—well, none of them had clothes. Their faces, hollow with fear and hunger.

They stared at him through the bars, their eyes begging for something.

Adam met their gaze for a long moment, and then he looked at the thick chains restraining all of them.

Then, without even thinking about it, he turned around. He didn't even look back at the stairs.

He walked back the way he came. Back to his own cell, and then he carried the two unconscious goons and hid them in another cell.

And then, he returned to his cell again…

…and slowly sat back down on the chair.

His eyes… now completely empty.

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