"Another one using an apology as leverage," Jack Kadere muttered, shaking his head in mild disappointment.
"Why don't people get it? If you've got no leverage, that's when you apologize—to buy time, to soften the blow. But if you do have leverage… then you don't need to say sorry at all."
With that, Jack turned his back on the trembling woman and walked casually toward Laurel Lance, who remained unconscious, slumped forward in her restraints.
"What a beautiful face," Jack mused, crouching slightly. Laurel's head tilted to the side, her blonde hair falling loose around her shoulders. With a lazy smirk, Jack extended a finger toward her cheek. A faint current danced at the tip—sizzle, sizzle—gently brushing her skin with sparks of electricity.
Laurel's body twitched in reaction, a small involuntary tremor.
"What are you doing?!" Dinah Lance snapped, panic flaring in her voice.
Jack didn't even look back. "You think I don't know she's your daughter?" he said coolly, standing to face her. His eyes narrowed. "Originally, she wasn't in any danger. I was just giving her a chance to make her own decision. Maybe indulging my curiosity a little. But now…"
He let the sentence hang in the charged air.
"I'm sorry!" Dinah blurted out, her voice urgent.
Jack tilted his head, considering. "Not enough."
The older woman hesitated, then slowly rose to her feet. Silent and deliberate, she began to walk toward him.
Jack watched her with mild amusement.
Step by step, she approached.
Then—thud—she dropped to her knees.
"I'm sorry," she said again, this time lower, more measured. "I approached you the wrong way. If my actions angered you, then punish me—but please, spare my daughter. She's all I have left."
Jack studied her in silence. His expression remained unreadable, but something shifted behind his eyes.
"A bold and sincere approach," he said after a beat. "You're clearly not stupid—and your love for your daughter runs deep. Normally, that'd be enough for me to let this go…"
He smiled coldly. "…But I don't feel like it."
Jack's eyes glinted. "You claimed I was a threat to human safety. You sure you've got the right guy? My name's Jack Kadere, not Bane."
He let the name hang heavy in the air.
"It wasn't for justice or some noble cause. But it was me who killed Bane. It was me who saved Gotham."
His gaze sharpened. "And I'm the threat to society?"
Deanna Lance's voice was firm as she stared at Jack Kadere. "We've profiled you. You're self-centered, emotionally detached, with signs of antisocial personality disorder. While you can sometimes be charming or easy to get along with, that all depends on your mood. Most of your choices seem driven by base instincts, which makes you volatile and unpredictable. Worse still, your capacity for destruction is... off the charts."
Jack Kadere smirked. "Sounds like the usual villain résumé."
He stepped casually around the room, electricity still crackling faintly around him.
"But you know what? That logic doesn't hold water. Who isn't self-centered? Let's not pretend you're any different. If Laurel weren't your daughter, would you be kneeling in front of me right now, offering apologies like they were candy?"
He raised a brow at her, watching her squirm ever so slightly.
"You act friendly when it suits you. When it doesn't—you bark orders, ignore people, or worse. You eat when you're hungry. You fall in love, shop, lie, dream, fight… all because of instinct. Just like me."
He gave a lazy shrug.
"And now, based solely on a personality assessment, you've labeled me a threat. A villain. You overlook the fact that I stopped Bane and saved Gotham—while your agencies stood around watching the city fall apart."
Jack's eyes flashed.
"Let me guess: if I play nice, you'll 'supervise' me. Best case—I get stuck under house arrest or worse, become another government pawn. Worst case, I disappear in a black site. But if I push back even once, suddenly I'm public enemy number one."
Jack's voice dropped a notch, quieter but sharper. "This isn't about morals. It never was. Good and evil are fairy tales for kids. Adults don't care about what's right. They only care about outcomes."
Deanna was silent for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "You're right."
Jack grinned. "I like honest people."
He turned toward Laurel, still hanging limply from the wall. "So, Miss Lance. You've been awake for a while now, yeah? You heard all that. What do you think I should do?"
Deanna's eyes widened. "Laurel?!"
Laurel raised her head slowly. Her eyes were conflicted, confused, and filled with the weight of what she had just heard. The past few days had been an emotional tornado. She'd tried to convince herself that Jack was dangerous, that her mother was doing the right thing.
But tonight, everything changed.
Her mother had confessed to being part of ARGUS—the U.S. government's secret metahuman task force—and revealed they were targeting Jack to extract information about whoever was behind the sinking of the Queen's Gambit.
That's why Laurel had come tonight.
But nothing had gone as expected. She'd been knocked unconscious the moment she arrived, only to wake up to this.
Neither her mother's noble mask nor Jack's sinister reputation held up anymore. It wasn't black and white—it never had been.
Jack watched her silence with mild amusement. "Not sure what to say? No worries. I'll make the choice."
His smile sharpened.
"Someone's gotta die."
Laurel and Deanna stiffened.
Was he about to make them choose?
"Me!" "Me!"
Both shouted at the same time, their voices cracking.
Jack chuckled. "Easy, ladies. That's touching and all, but how about letting me finish?"
He took a breath and stepped back.
"The person who dies… will either be the director of ARGUS—your little secret agency—or the one behind the 'Queen's Gambit' fiasco. You pick."