Catwoman didn't react to the "Batman" remark, but her mind was racing. Who was this guy?
He used the exact same techniques as her—and in some cases, he was even better. Since when did Gotham have someone like him? And why would someone with that level of skill be stuck in Blackgate? Was he arrested by mistake? Or was he here for a reason?
As he casually approached, Catwoman instinctively stepped back, putting space between them.
Jack Kadere stopped and chuckled. "You can't beat me, and you can't exactly escape either. So what's with the defensive stance? Relax—I just want to talk. Figure out where I am, what's going on. You know, casual prison small talk."
Catwoman stayed silent, eyes narrowed.
Jack tilted his head, faking a sigh. "You do know how conversations work, right? I say something, you reply. For example: I ask, 'Are you Catwoman?' and you say, 'None of your business.' Then I ask, 'Are you Selina Kyle?' and—bam—that's how a conversation flows."
Her eyes widened slightly.
He knows my name.Not just Catwoman—but Selina Kyle.
That wasn't public knowledge. Even most people in Gotham didn't know Batman's real name. Now some smug stranger in a prison cell not only mirrored her fighting style but casually dropped her identity like it was common trivia?
Still, she didn't speak.
"Alright," Jack said cheerfully, as if teaching a stubborn student. "Let's try again. I ask, 'Where is this?' You answer, 'Gotham.' Then I ask, 'Where's Batman?' You—"
"Batman's dead," Catwoman cut in, her voice sharp.
Jack's expression didn't change, but internally, he grinned.
So it really was Gotham.
Good ol' Gotham City. Where the weather was dark, the streets were worse, and the talent pool was either in Arkham Asylum or six feet under.
"Well done," he nodded with mock approval. "You're getting the hang of it."
"Batman's dead, huh?" Jack continued casually. "So is Bruce Wayne still around?"
Catwoman's eyes narrowed further. "How do you know Bruce Wayne is—"
She stopped herself. No one was supposed to know that.
"I'm not sure," she said, guarded now. "He got into a fight with Bane. Last I heard… it didn't end well."
Bane.Jack nodded inwardly.
So we're in the Dark Knight Rises timeline. Bane breaks Batman's back, takes over Gotham, and everything goes to hell. Typical.
And if that was the case, then yeah—Batman was probably licking his wounds in a cave somewhere, waiting for his third-act comeback.
"This is Blackgate Prison, right?" Jack asked.
Catwoman scoffed. "You don't even know where you're locked up?"
"I don't even know which day I'm going to die," Jack replied with a shrug. "Still gotta keep going, right?"
She shot him a look. That made no sense. But it was… annoyingly hard to argue with.
Ignoring Catwoman's silent, simmering glare, Jack Kadere turned his back to her and casually flopped onto the lower bunk like it was a dorm bed. His relaxed attitude made her frown in confusion. She quietly massaged her shoulder, still sore from their earlier fight, and studied him.
He looked young—barely nineteen—with a close-cropped haircut, sharp but unassuming features, and a certain ease in his posture that didn't match the average street punk. If she hadn't seen him fight, she might've mistaken him for a freshman who got lost on his way to Gotham U.
"What's your name?" she finally asked.
"Jack Kadere."
This time, no jokes. Just a straight answer.
The name didn't mean anything to her. It didn't match any criminal alias or costumed vigilante she knew from Gotham's usual rogues' gallery. But his body language didn't lie—he wasn't afraid, he wasn't bluffing, and he definitely didn't belong here.
Still, that calmness was unnerving.
"We need to get out of here," she said suddenly. "Bane controls Gotham now. No one knows what he's planning, but if we wait too long, we might not be able to escape at all. This might be our only window."
Jack rolled onto his side, facing her. One leg dangled off the edge of the bed, swinging gently.
"Hmm. Team up and break out, huh?" he said, smirking. "Now that sounds like a proper prison conversation."
"Mm." Jack hummed noncommittally, swinging his foot just a little wider. The motion was deliberate now, teasing, like he was playing with a kitten and waiting to see how long it would take her to pounce.
Catwoman's eyes narrowed. What kind of guy just lounges around like this in Blackgate? She was about to snap when Jack chuckled softly.
"What's so funny?" she demanded.
"Nothing," he replied, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Just thinking... I don't need a partner. But if you want out, I can give you a hand."
"Oh really? And how do you plan on doing that?" she asked skeptically.
Jack sat up, strolled over to the cell bars, and inspected them calmly. He eyed the gaps, then glanced back at her figure—measuring, calculating—before gripping the steel bars with both hands.
"Don't tell me you're about to bend the bars. That's impossible," she scoffed.
She wasn't wrong. Jack's original body wasn't built for feats of strength. Before this bizarre chain of transmigrations, he was just an average guy. Catwoman, despite her graceful form, had the muscle and training to outmatch most thugs—and even she wouldn't try ripping through steel.
But that was before he unlocked his stacking ability.
He'd already tested it. Every replication came with a potential for exponential enhancement. Theoretically, he could keep stacking strength until he was stronger than Superman—if he wanted.
Jack gave her a small glance and muttered under his breath, "Stack strength—ten times."
An instant surge of power raced through his muscles. He gritted his teeth, took a firm stance, and pulled.
With a groaning shriek of warping metal, three thick steel bars bent outward like soft wire. Within seconds, there was enough room for a grown person to slip through.
Jack inspected the opening, adjusted one of the bars slightly with another pull for symmetry, then nodded in satisfaction.
He turned to Catwoman, gave a small bow, and gestured to the exit with a grin.
"Ladies first."