Liquid Death laced through his veins, a jarring name for a cup of coffee. It was a fitting name though, a drink brewed with enough caffeine to perhaps need a waiver to sip. Adonis had three cups: two Liquid Death and one a less intense concoction. The thumping of his heart rudely echoed through the crime scene, or so it felt, palpitations that left his hands trembling but had shredded his anxiety.
It was merely convenience that had him toying with the idea of a caffeine overdose. He had placed an order for two coffees: one for himself and the other for his superior. One had grown cold. Stood outside of the crime scene, Adonis polished off his second serving while the other coffee's warmth once again slowly dissipated in his shaky grasp.
With a sigh, he swirled the little remnants in his cup before tossing it over his shoulder; it landed in a bin just as footsteps approached him. His lips parted, wanting to know what had taken you so long, but your expression, your appearance, it told the whole story. Quietly, he handed you the coffee before he led you towards the body. "I hope you've already called for your bat friend," he said as he gestured towards a card. It was a holiday card, one likely sold in a shop similar to where Adonis ordered his many coffees, scribbled in with a riddle dedicated to a man both infamous yet faceless. A man of the night, perhaps hardly a man at all with the likes of his name: Batman.
