The first team rushed him. Six men in full tactical gear, moving in a tight formation. Standard protocol for a dangerous, unarmed target.
Adam didn’t move until they were three steps away. Then he smiled and raised his hand, palm open.
The lead man’s rifle didn’t fire. It unfolded. The metal components separated in mid-air like a toy taken apart by an invisible hand. Screws, the barrel, the trigger assembly, the magazine—all hung in the air for a split second before dropping uselessly to the ground.
The man stared at his empty hands.
Adam closed his fist.
The man’s body armor crumpled inward with a sickening metallic crunch, pinning his arms to his sides. He gagged, eyes bulging, and dropped.
The second man fired. Bullets tore through the space where Adam had been. Adam wasn’t there. He’d simply... sidestepped without moving his feet. It was like the space around him shifted. He appeared beside the shooter, placed a hand on the man’s helmet, and gave a gentle push.
The man didn’t fall. He shot straight up into the air, fifty feet, screaming before he slammed onto the roof of a parked armored vehicle with a wet thud.
Chaos erupted.
"What was that?!"
"He didn’t touch him!"
"He’s using tech! Jam him!"
Adam laughed, a light, genuine sound. He strolled forward as a second wave opened fire from behind barricades. Dozens of rounds converged on him.
They never reached him. About a foot away from his body, each bullet stopped dead in the air, hovering. They vibrated slightly, then turned to face the shooters.
Adam flicked his finger.
The bullets shot back, each one finding the weapon it was fired from. Rifles were torn from hands, barrels bent, scopes shattered. Men cried out, clutching broken fingers or stunned by the impact.
A sniper on a nearby building took the shot. A high-caliber round meant to pierce engine blocks.
Adam saw it coming. He didn’t dodge. He pointed at it.
The bullet stopped. Then it reversed course, tracing its path back through the air, through the sniper’s scope, and into the rifle’s chamber, which exploded in the sniper’s hands.
"He’s controlling metal!" someone screamed over the comms. "He’s a damn mutant!"
"Not metal," Adam said, though no one could hear him over the noise. He was already moving.
A tactical vehicle revved its engine and sped toward him, a battering ram on wheels.
Adam smiled wider. He raised both hands and made a tearing motion, like ripping a piece of paper.
The vehicle didn’t stop. It came apart. The hood ripped off, the tires flew in different directions, the engine block was pulled up through the bottom of the chassis. The frame collapsed around the driver and passenger, trapping them in a cage of twisted steel. It skidded to a halt, a heap of scrap.
Adam walked through the smoke. A squad tried to flank him, firing from three sides. He didn’t look at them. He snapped his fingers.
The concrete beneath their feet turned to dust. Not exploded. Dissolved. They sank into it up to their knees, trapped, struggling.
He passed them by.
"Gas! Use gas!"
Canisters arced through the air, spewing thick, choking smoke. Adam took a deep breath, smiled, and blew out.
The smoke didn’t disperse. It solidified. It wrapped around the canisters themselves, hardening into concrete-like shells that fell to the ground with heavy clunks.
"What the hell is he?!"
"He’s not human!"
Adam was enjoying himself. This was fun. A real challenge, unlike the concepts and cosmic beings he’d been dealing with. This was simple, loud, and messy.
An officer with a rocket launcher took aim from a second-story window. "Eat this, devil!"
The rocket fired with a whoosh.
Adam watched it come. He held up a single finger.
The rocket stopped an arm’s length from his face. He peered at the warhead, curious. Then he flicked it with his finger.
It shot straight back, not at the window, but at the wall beside it. It blew a hole in the building, and the shockwave knocked the officer through the opposite wall.
"He’s playing with us!" a voice roared in the command channel. "He’s treating this like a game!"
"Switch to non-metallic! Woods! Plastics!"
A team with composite bows and ceramic-tipped arrows moved into position on a balcony. They fired a volley.
Adam didn’t stop the arrows. He let them get close. Then he waved his hand, and the air in front of him thickened, becoming like syrup. The arrows slowed to a crawl, hanging in the air. He plucked one out, examined the tip, shrugged, and dropped it. He snapped his fingers, and the rest fell harmlessly to the ground.
"Nothing works!"
"Energy weapons! Now!"
A hum filled the air as a directed-energy weapon mounted on a truck powered up. A beam of concentrated heat, invisible to the eye but distorting the air, lanced toward Adam.
Adam saw the heat distortion coming. He didn’t move. He opened his mouth... and inhaled.
The beam of energy didn’t hit him. It was sucked into his open mouth, like he was drinking a straw. The weapon’s power meter plummeted to zero. Adam swallowed, patted his stomach, and let out a small, satisfied sigh. A wisp of smoke curled from his lips.
The weapon operators stared, jaws slack.
"Did he just... eat the laser?"
Adam belched. A small, controlled burst of the same energy shot back, hitting the weapon’s power source. It exploded in a shower of sparks.
Panic was turning into full-blown terror. Orders became screams.
"Fall back! Regroup!"
"We can’t! He’s in the middle!"
"Air support! We need air support now!"
A helicopter swooped in low, its minigun spinning up.
Adam looked up, squinting against the downdraft. He pointed at the helicopter’s main rotor.
The rotor didn’t break. It simply... stopped. One second it was a blur, the next it was frozen in place. The helicopter lurched, its engine screaming in protest as it lost all lift. It dropped like a stone, but just before it hit the ground, Adam made a gentle lifting gesture with his hand.
The helicopter settled onto the street as softly as a feather, its rotors now still. The crew inside sat frozen, too terrified to move.
Adam walked over, tapped on the cockpit glass. The pilot, white-faced, looked at him.
"You should go," Adam said pleasantly. "It’s about to get loud."
He turned his back on the helicopter.
The full might of the international force was now directed at him. They threw everything they had that wasn’t metallic—rubber bullets, sonic grenades, high-pressure water cannons, nets.
Adam dealt with each with a smile and a gesture.
The rubber bullets he caught in a net of solidified air and threw back like a handful of pebbles, knocking men off their feet.
The sonic grenades he silenced with a thought before they could detonate, leaving them as dead weights.
The water from the cannons he parted like Moses, creating a dry path straight to the cannon itself, which he then crumpled into a ball of useless metal.
A net, weighted and electrified, was launched over him. He looked up as it descended, reached out, and touched one of the lead weights. The entire net, wires and all, dissolved into a fine grey powder that dusted his shoulders. He brushed it off.
He was now in the center of the shattered perimeter. Bodies, trapped men, and destroyed equipment lay around him. The initial confidence of the forces was gone, replaced by a stunned, disbelieving horror.
Adam stopped, looked around at the devastation, and brushed a piece of lint from his red suit jacket. It was still pristine.
He raised his voice, calm and clear. "Anyone else? I’m on a schedule."
A young soldier, maybe nineteen, trembling behind an overturned car, raised his rifle with shaking hands. He was the only one still aiming.
Adam saw him. He walked over. The soldier tried to fire, but his finger was frozen on the trigger.
Adam stood in front of him. He reached out and gently lowered the barrel of the gun.
"You’re brave," Adam said. "Stupid, but brave. Go home. Tell your mom you faced the Red Devil and lived."
He patted the stunned soldier on the helmet, turned, and walked back toward the hotel entrance.
Absolute silence followed him. No one fired. No one moved. They just watched the man in the red suit, who hadn’t broken a sweat, stroll back into the building as if he’d just taken a casual walk.
Inside the ballroom, the crowd had watched everything through the shattered windows and on live feeds from news drones. The silence in there was even deeper, heavy with primal fear.
Adam walked back to the center, his smile still in place. He looked at the President and First Lady, who were clutching each other, their faces wet with tears.
"Now," Adam said, his voice cheerful. "Where were we?"
He cracked his knuckles.
"Oh right. You were going to start talking." His smile didn’t waver. "Or I was going to start breaking fingers."
He took a step toward them.
"Let’s begin."