Seeing that the gap in the prison bars had been narrowed again, Catwoman stared at Jack Kadere like he had lost his mind.
"Are you insane?"
"Do you have a cure for that?" Jack replied with a half-smile, tone mock-earnest.
"You don't belong in Blackgate. You belong in Arkham," Catwoman snapped, utterly convinced now—this guy was unhinged. Then again, this was Gotham. Sanity was practically a myth here.
"I'll visit if they've got room," Jack said calmly, as if he were discussing weekend plans instead of mental institutions.
Catwoman gave up trying to reason with him. This man wasn't just crazy—he was the kind of crazy that would die of boredom if he didn't provoke someone every five minutes. Without another word, she walked up to the bars, turned sideways, and began to slide through the gap. One leg, then the other, twisting her torso—
And stopped.
She was stuck. More specifically, her chest was stuck.
She should've fit through easily. The gap had been wide enough. But someone had decided to "adjust" the bars again after widening them.
She glared back at Jack and immediately caught the expression on his face. His eyes were fixed on her, clearly enjoying the view.
Catwoman instantly realized what he'd done.
You perv! No wonder he had been examining her from head to toe earlier. No wonder he bent the bars back tighter. This was deliberate!
With a mixture of fury and effort, she grit her teeth and shoved herself through the bars. A sharp grunt escaped her lips as she popped free and landed ungracefully. She resisted the urge to rub the sore spot and turned to glare daggers at Jack.
"Bravo," Jack said, clapping slowly. "You've proven, without a doubt, that it's all natural."
Catwoman's face turned scarlet with rage. Who asked for proof?! She almost considered crawling back through the bars just to beat the hell out of him.
But that moment passed quickly.
Down the hall, the prison guards had noticed the escape. Shouts rang out as they rushed to respond. Catwoman didn't hesitate—she sprinted away from Jack and straight toward the guards, slipping past them as they fumbled with their keys.
The corridor door swung open just as she reached it.
A squad of guards poured in, batons raised, swarming toward her. Normally, Catwoman would've made short work of them, but with her shoulder still sore from earlier, she wasn't at full capacity. Her dodges lacked sharpness, and her movements weren't as crisp. She couldn't break past them cleanly.
Then—
BOOM!
A sudden explosion rocked the building. The lights flickered as smoke and shouting erupted from somewhere outside. Chaos surged through the corridors.
Before the guards could react, a group of armed men stormed in from the yard—wild-eyed, grinning, and clearly not part of the prison staff. They moved with purpose, knocking down anyone in uniform. Guns in hand, they grabbed keys and started flinging open cell doors.
"You're free!" one of them bellowed. "Gotham belongs to you now!"
"Take revenge on the rich! On the crooked elite! Tear it all down!"
It didn't take long for chaos to erupt.
This was Gotham, after all. Every cell in Blackgate held a career criminal, a sadist, or a psychopath. The moment they got their hands on weapons, it turned into a riot—violent, bloody, and absolute.
Amid the mayhem, Jack Kadere's cell door swung open. A tattooed man with a mohawk grinned at him and tossed a pistol into the room.
"Welcome to the new order."
Jack caught it easily, inspecting the weapon like someone seeing a new toy for the first time.
"Much appreciated," he said with a cheerful nod. He wasn't particularly good with guns yet. But with his powers? That could change. All he had to do was find someone who was good with them—and get shot at.
Definitely Arkham material.
Jack calmly stepped into the corridor, barely fazed by the stampede of prisoners surging around him. His enhanced agility and reflexes allowed him to weave through the chaos like water through cracks. He even flashed a smile at Catwoman as he passed her—completely unbothered by the fighting, screaming, or collapsing infrastructure.
Catwoman scowled at him, still struggling to push through the tide of inmates. Even with her agility, she couldn't keep up with Jack—especially now that he'd stacked his abilities several times over.
By the time she reached the prison gates, Jack had already vanished into the city.
And what a city it was.
"Gotham City," Jack muttered as he stepped onto the cracked sidewalk, "truly a place of refined simplicity."
Gunshots echoed from every direction. Rioters stormed into luxury stores and high-rise condos. The wealthy were dragged from their homes, beaten in the streets, or forced to flee. Some fired back. In Gotham, even your grandmother probably owned a Glock.
This wasn't just a riot—it was open class warfare.
They said when Darkseid invaded Earth, the only city that didn't flinch was Gotham. Whether it was Parademons or gods themselves, the people here opened fire first and asked questions never.
Jack admired that about this place.
Above, the sky hung low and gray, like a sheet of iron. Towering Gothic architecture loomed in every direction—all dramatic gargoyles and brooding stone faces, a mask of elegance hiding centuries of rot.
He adjusted his collar and took a deep breath. "The wind smells like revolution."
As if on cue, a brick shattered a nearby window.
Jack walked calmly toward a nearby apartment building. While the world around him descended into bedlam, he strolled up to the door and—like a gentleman—rang the doorbell.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
Silence.
The door didn't open.
Jack sighed.
"Well, manners only get you so far."
He raised his leg and kicked hard.
Bang!
The door burst open with a splintering crack. Jack stepped over the broken threshold, raised the pistol, and called out casually, "Alright, folks inside—this is a robbery. Don't make me do something dramatic."
Crack!
A gunshot rang out from the shadows inside.