Six months had passed since Jacob became the protégé of Edward Nygma, the Riddler. Each day had sharpened his mind, strengthened his instincts, and honed his ability to plan and deceive. Jacob had changed—not into a monster, but into a thinker, a strategist. He had adopted Riddler's meticulous nature, the way he viewed the world through patterns and puzzles, and fused it with his own principles.
Then, without warning, Jacob's world turned black.
He woke up lying on a cold metallic floor, his head aching slightly. His mind immediately assessed the situation—the dry throat, the disorientation, the dull pressure at the base of his skull. He was sedated, and something was implanted inside him. He didn't panic. Instead, he pieced it together quickly.
"A bomb," he said aloud, calmly.
The green screens around him flickered to life, forming the digital face of the Riddler.
Riddler appeared in person from a side panel door, clapping slowly. "You never disappoint, Jacob. You felt it, didn't you?"
Jacob sat up, his movements steady. "I knew it was coming. You taught me too well."
"Exactly why you are my protégé," Riddler grinned. "You always anticipated the end of the game... even before the board was laid."
Jacob stood, his posture unwavering. "So, what's the final test?"
"For six months, you executed every plan flawlessly. You helped refine my riddles, restructure the layers of misdirection, and humiliate half of Gotham's elite. Now, the last game begins."
Riddler stepped forward and placed a finger to his temple.
"This is your test: Outsmart the Bat," he said with chilling clarity. "Misdirect him. Misdirect the GCPD. Make him chase shadows while you secure your own prize."
Jacob's eyes narrowed. "And the bomb?"
"If you get caught by Batman—or if he unmasks you—the bomb explodes. If you fail to finish the job... same result."
There was silence for a moment. Then, Riddler added, "This isn't just about evading Batman. This is about profiting while you dance past him. You need money, Jacob. You need to thrive. My protégé cannot be poor. That would be—"
"—ridiculous," Jacob finished, smirking slightly.
Riddler chuckled. "Exactly. You are free to choose your methods. Steal, manipulate, kill—even kill me, if it helps you complete the mission. That's the level we play on now."
Jacob stared at Riddler. His heart beat faster, not out of fear, but anticipation. This was not only about survival. This was the challenge he had been shaped for.
"I understand," Jacob said at last. "And I'll do what I must."
Riddler smiled darkly. "That's my protégé."
As Riddler left the room, the lights flickered again, this time forming a countdown.
The game had begun.
And Jacob had never been more alive.