Flashback
It started with a kid, barely twenty. Adam wasn't a king yet. He was just a furious boy with dead eyes and a father buried in an unmarked grave. The government had taken their land. Enforcers had killed his old man for refusing to sign. The courts laughed. The police looked away.
Adam didn't protest. He didn't beg.
He watched.
He learned.
He stole a pistol from a sleeping cop.
Then he walked into the local enforcer's hangout—a bar called The Pit—and shot the man who gave the order right between the eyes in the middle of a crowded Friday night. He didn't run. He stood over the body, looked at the stunned, tough men, and said, "Anyone else want the job?"
No one moved.
He took the dead man's wallet, bought a round of drinks for the house with the blood money, and walked out.
That was the start.
