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Chapter 12: Give You a Like

"If Batman ever made a movie himself, it'd probably be a cinematic masterpiece," Jack Kadere remarked with a grin as he stood, grabbing the camera and tucking it back into his backpack.

Harley Quinn, who had just finished locking the door behind them, paused. She turned to glance at him, her voice quieter than usual. "…Are you leaving?"

"Gotham under Bane's rule is way too dull," Jack said matter-of-factly. "No Joker setting the city on fire, no Batman playing predator in the shadows. It's just low-level thugs posturing and civilians hiding indoors. All in all? A waste of good chaos."

He stretched and wandered across the room, talking more to himself than anyone else.

"Maybe I'll head to Metropolis. That overpowered alien—Superman—probably hasn't made his dramatic debut yet, still somewhere moping about truth and justice. Central City could be fun too, if Barry Allen's had his little lightning bath already. Or I could visit Star City and see what Green Arrow's doing with his Robin Hood complex." He grinned. "And hey, if I run into the Suicide Squad while they're fumbling through another black-ops mission, even better. Might be time for a little time-hopping too. Can't have life getting boring."

Harley watched him in silence. She didn't understand half of what he was saying—but she understood his tone. He was tired of Gotham. And maybe… tired of her too.

"Will you take me with you?" she asked suddenly, trying not to sound desperate.

Jack looked up, mildly amused. "Why would I take you?"

"I—I can be your body pillow," Harley said quickly, half-joking, half-hoping. "You can't sleep unless you're hugging me, remember?"

Jack tilted his head. "Yeah… I'm kind of bored with that. Thinking of trading up for a new model."

He turned away, casually rummaging through his gear, as if he hadn't just dropped a knife into her heart.

Harley's face fell.

By all accounts, she should have been happy. Gotham was stabilizing. Bane's reign of chaos was fading. Jack Kadere leaving should've meant freedom. Safety. A return to the life she'd once wanted. But all she could feel was that gnawing, familiar ache—like when her dad packed up and vanished without warning, leaving her and her mom behind with only questions and silence.

She had tried to study Jack. To profile him. But somewhere between the gunfights and quiet nights, her heart had stopped being analytical and started being attached.

Now he was walking away. And she couldn't stop it.

"Will you come back?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Jack paused at the door. "Maybe," he said. "If Gotham ever gets interesting again."

He slung his pack over his shoulder and stepped outside.

She called after him. "When will you be back?"

He didn't look back. "Not sure."

And just like that, he was gone.

WJack hadn't decided where he was heading next, but that didn't stop him from setting his sights on acquiring a new ride first. Something sleek. Something fast. Something iconic.

The Batmobile.

It could drive, it could fly, it looked like a tank sculpted by a designer with a love for war machines—and it was loaded with tech. More than enough to keep him entertained for a while.

Where was it? No clue. But someone had to know.

Jack had a plan: head to Gotham City Hall, find Bane, and offer a trade—Batgirl for the Batmobile. Simple, right? Yes, he'd told Barbara Gordon he'd help her take down Bane. But trading her to him? Totally separate matter. No contradiction. He'd just walk her straight into Bane's lair, strike a deal, and then—bam—kill Bane right after. Efficient. Stylish. Zero wasted energy.

Would Barbara be terrified? Probably. Would Bane be furious? Hopefully. Would Talia al Ghul—the true mastermind behind Gotham's fall—be devastated?

Not Jack's problem.

He stepped onto the streets of Gotham, making his way toward City Hall, when fate seemed to roll out the red carpet.

Speak of the devil.

A figure darted across the street ahead of him—agile, graceful, and fast. She slipped into a nearby alley like a ghost.

Jack recognized her immediately.

Her name in public? Miranda Tate. A well-known philanthropist, board member at Wayne Enterprises, and supposed ally of Bruce Wayne. Behind closed doors, she was something else entirely—Talia al Ghul, daughter of the legendary Ra's al Ghul and current architect of Gotham's downfall.

Bruce Wayne had trusted her. Fought beside her. Slept with her. And in return? She gutted him—figuratively and literally. She seized control of Wayne Enterprises, nearly drove him into bankruptcy, and when the time came, stabbed him—knife in, twist and all. Oh, and she had the audacity to bear him a child: Damian Wayne, the eventual fifth Robin.

Talia was ruthless. Brilliant. Beautiful. Dangerous. And a master manipulator.

Jack couldn't help but admire her. She was, in his words, "worth a like."

And what's better than a like?

A personal follow-up.

Without hesitation, Jack chased her into the alley.

It was a dead end.

He slowed, eyes scanning. A door stood ajar on the left—probably the back of a storefront. A sliver of light spilled through the crack. His lips curved into a smirk.

He stepped through the door. Click. It slammed shut behind him.

Pitch black.

No sound. No movement. Then—

Whshht!

A blade sliced through the air, aimed for his throat.

Jack didn't flinch.

Ability Copy. Instantly, he gained mastery over world-class combat techniques—hand-to-hand, knife fighting, precision archery, the works. Add to that a hyper-trained sensory awareness, and he could practically see in the dark by sound alone.

He tilted his head slightly. The blade missed him by an inch.

He reached out, caught the attacker's wrist, and disarmed the knife with a flick. Then, with expert precision, he hurled the blade into the dark.

Tenfold Strength.

It slammed into something solid with a heavy thud.

He reached beside him, flicked on a switch—click—and the room lit up.

It was an abandoned warehouse.

The dagger had embedded itself into the wall, inches above the shoulder of a woman in a dark blue dress. She was pressed against the bricks, stunned. A trickle of blood stained her sleeve. Her dress had slipped slightly, revealing the sharp curve of her collarbone.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Talia," he said smoothly. "Fancy meeting you here."

She blinked, her posture stiffening at the sound of his voice. "You're… the one they call Jack Kadere, right? The one Barbara went to find?"

Jack nodded, still grinning. "Guilty."

She stared at him, trying to mask her surprise. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, just thought I'd stop by and give you a thumbs-up. You've done quite the number on Gotham. Stole Bruce's company, stabbed him in the back—literally—and somehow still made him fall for you. That's talent. Real top-tier villain work."

Talia narrowed her eyes, still trying to assess him. "You're not with Bane. And you're not with the League."

Jack tilted his head.