Take a wild guess."
Jack Kadere tilted his head and smiled, his tone light, his eyes sharp.
The woman standing before him—the one masquerading as Miranda Tate, Gotham's darling philanthropist—was good. Scarily good. Her reaction was flawless: a flicker of alarm in her eyes, followed by a strained sigh of relief when she realized she'd been recognized. Then came the practiced surprise, the subtle disbelief at why he of all people would be here. Her transitions were seamless—fear, relief, confusion, concern. Each emotion layered like a seasoned actress. No wonder even Bruce Wayne fell for it.
Only a master manipulator could look that convincing under pressure.
"I'm Miranda Tate," she said, maintaining her cover. "A friend to Commissioner Gordon and Batgirl. I assume you've met her? She went to find you to help stop Bane."
"I did meet her," Jack replied, chuckling softly. "She's already left."
He stepped closer, casually reaching up to retrieve the dagger embedded near her shoulder.
"So… did you agree to help her?" she asked, voice tinged with forced worry.
The blade scraped gently along her skin as Jack withdrew it. Though her expression screamed fear, she didn't flinch. Her body trembled faintly, but she held her ground. The dagger slid down her arm, cool against her skin. Then, with deliberate slowness, Jack reached over and tugged at the strap on her right shoulder.
The thin fabric slipped down.
"Take a guess," he said again, smirking.
Before she could react, Jack jerked the dress down further, exposing her body in all it's naked glory. She instinctively moved to cover herself—then stopped, frozen by the glinting knife in his hand.
"What... what are you doing?" she asked in a quiet, trembling voice.
Jack didn't respond. Instead, he stepped back, reached into his backpack, and pulled out a compact camera.
Click. Click. Click.
The shutter snapped several times as he took her nude photos, capturing the calculated vulnerability on her face.
She lowered her head, radiating shame and fury—but behind the act, her eyes sparked with rage. She would make him pay for this.
Jack stowed the camera, clearly satisfied. "I want the Batmobile," he said.
She lifted her head, voice tight. "Are you blackmailing me? That's Batman's equipment. I don't have access to it."
"Please," Jack scoffed. "Whether you're Miranda Tate or Talia al Ghul, don't insult me. You can get it. Here's the deal: deliver the Batmobile, and I'll hand Barbara Gordon over to Bane. Fair trade, don't you think?"
Her breath caught.
He knows.
How? No one in Gotham should've known her true identity. And yet he spoke it with such confidence, as if it were common knowledge.
Jack snapped his fingers. "Hey now, don't take too long to process it."
Talia remained silent, studying him. She had heard about this man—Jack Kadere. Both Gordon and Barbara believed he might be Gotham's last hope, an unpredictable wild card with dangerous skills and zero moral compass. If anything, she'd expected him to be either an asset or a threat. But now? Now he was both.
"You didn't agree to help Batgirl?" she asked, testing the waters—and in doing so, acknowledging who she really was.
Jack grinned. "Oh, I did. I told her I'd help take down Bane."
She laughed—sharp and wild, with no attempt to hide the scorn behind it. The sound gradually twisted into bitter sarcasm.
"They truly believed they could count on you to save Gotham," she said, shaking her head. "And in the end, a Batmobile was all it took to buy your betrayal. How poetic. To find despair in the very hope they clung to... it suits them. And it suits Gotham."
She adjusted her posture slightly, no longer pretending.
"They're planning to act tomorrow," she continued. "A young officer, John Blake, will lead an effort to rescue the police trapped underground. Gordon will rally a strike on City Hall. If you play along, Barbara Gordon will go with you to face Bane. I'll be there as well—under the pretense of helping disarm the reactor."
She glanced at Jack, her expression calm but cold.
"In two hours, I'll have the Batmobile delivered. It'll be parked two blocks from here. You can retrieve it yourself. But in return, delete the photos."
Jack shook his head. "That's not happening. The Batmobile's replaceable. Those photos? Now those are priceless. Batman may not care about losing a car—but let's see how he handles this."
Talia stared at him, silent for a long moment. Then she smiled faintly. "Fine. Keep them, if they amuse you."
You won't live long enough to use them anyway.
"I wonder what Bruce will think when he sees them," Jack added with a lazy wave, heading toward the door. "I'm actually looking forward to it."
"And I'm looking forward to the moment before you die."
As Jack left, her tone dropped to a dangerous whisper. She retrieved what remained of her dress, now too torn to wear. With a grimace, she grabbed a discarded coat and slipped out to dispatch the Batmobile.
Two hours later, Jack found it parked exactly where she'd said.
Jet-black. Armored. Armed. Fully functional.
It could drive. It could fly. It even had autonomous mode.
He poked around the controls with the curiosity of a child unwrapping a new toy, running diagnostics, testing systems.
When night finally fell, Jack stashed the vehicle in an underground