Gotham was changing. Not subtly. Not gradually. It was immediate. Brutal. Efficient.
Within the span of mere weeks, entire tiers of mid-level criminal empires vanished from the city's underbelly like dust swept from a marble floor. Safehouses were emptied, laundering routes erased, weapons caches neutralized—without the sound of a single police siren. Criminals that once defied the League, that eluded even Batman's finest detective work, were either dead, missing, or had mysteriously surrendered to the Justice League en masse.
Hallways of the Hall of Justice were suddenly filled with a wave of lowlifes, crooks, smugglers, and career criminals—lined up in cuffs, heads down in shame and fear, murmuring only one name: "Jacob."
What struck the League deeper than confusion was disbelief. How had one man, even with an unknown army, achieved what they hadn't managed in years of global enforcement?
"What are we not seeing?" growled Green Lantern, his ring flaring as he hovered above the League's roundtable.
Martian Manhunter's gaze was steady but unsettled. "This wasn't fear. This was control. Psychological warfare at its finest. Jacob didn't just destroy their operations. He destroyed their will."
Wonder Woman stood, arms crossed, storm brewing in her voice. "He's operating beyond jurisdiction. Beyond law. He does not answer to justice—only to himself."
Superman leaned forward, brows furrowed. "And yet... they surrendered to us. That should disturb you more than it comforts you."
The table went silent.
"They'd rather rot in our prisons than vanish without a trace." Cyborg broke the tension, projecting a map of Gotham. Red zones blinked out one by one. "He's cleaning Gotham like a system purge. And it's spreading. Starling City. Blüdhaven. Even pockets in Metropolis."
Across the world, whispers of Jacob's network were growing into organized waves. Unlike the chaos of villainous gangs, his operations were cold, methodical, and patient.
Behind the scenes, even governments were shaking.
In dark halls of power, corrupt officials who had long benefited from chaos began to sweat. Jacob was too effective. Too uncontrollable. Too... free. They couldn't bribe him. Couldn't pin him. Couldn't predict him.
Thus, a new strategy emerged: weaponize him.
Somewhere in a secure black site in Belarus, Amanda Waller, the formidable director of A.R.G.U.S. and architect of Task Force X, reviewed a dossier marked with red slashes and encrypted overlays. Her steely eyes scanned the data, her expression unreadable.
"This... Jacob," she said, her voice cold and calculating. "He could be the perfect ghost operative. Controlled, conditioned, and if not obedient... expendable."
A subordinate beside her shifted nervously. "We've used implants before. Bombs. Neural inhibitors. He fits the parameters. A controlled asset."
"No," Waller said, narrowing her eyes. "He is not just another asset. He is... calculated."
But they did not know the truth. Jacob had once been implanted. A bomb, by Enigma himself. And he had turned that trap on Enigma's own man. The story was buried, known only to a select few in Gotham. But Jacob never let the lesson go.
He had already adapted.
He'd learned how the world used control—and how to subvert it before it reached him.
Back in Gotham, Jacob stood before a surveillance panel deep beneath one of his shell companies. Multiple screens displayed surrender reports from across the Eastern Seaboard. His voice was calm as he addressed his closest operatives.
"Now they're afraid," he said, fingers steepled. "Not because of what I've done. But because they realize I've barely started."
"What about the League?" one of his lieutenants asked. "They're watching every move."
Jacob gave a small smile. "Let them. It keeps them predictable."
Meanwhile, Selina Kyle sat alone in the shadows of her safehouse. Watching a replay of the gala. Of Jacob. Of the boy she once mentored for ten days, now grown into something formidable. Unstoppable.
"Damn it, Jacob..." she whispered, voice heavy with admiration and fear.