While the stars raged and cosmic storms threatened a distant quadrant, the Justice League faced a planetary crisis that demanded every ounce of their attention. It was in this distraction—this precise chaos—that Jacob executed one of his boldest moves yet.
A sleek steel carrier—cloaked, untraceable, and crafted through shell companies tied to Jacob's expanding empire—descended silently onto the outskirts of Wayne Manor. Inside, Jacob led his elite 10% Tactical Assault Unit. Precision was paramount.
Using a targeted dispersal of anesthetic gas, Alfred Pennyworth was swiftly rendered unconscious, laid gently to rest in the manor's study. On the mahogany desk, Jacob left a simple envelope with a note inside:
> "To Bruce. Thank you for the free intel. It's been enlightening watching you try to watch me."
Below the signature—a black glyph of an owl split by a dagger.
They descended into the Batcave.
Jacob's cybernetic lead, a former DARPA prodigy, jacked into the Batcomputer. Encryption protocols failed one after another under their assault. All files—every villain profile, every Justice League contingency, every WayneTech blueprint—downloaded into Jacob's secure quantum drive. Meanwhile, a Trojan horse program mimicked deletion logs and corrupt data—a perfect cover for the real heist.
In orbit, Batman saw the alert.
"Intrusion detected. Batcave breached."
His fingers slammed onto the failsafe code.
> SELF-DESTRUCT INITIATED.
But Jacob expected this. His team had hard-coded overrides built from studying old WayneTech failover schematics. They triggered a subroutine milliseconds before the failsafe completed.
The Batcave exploded, but not before Jacob walked out of it—calm, unburned, mission complete.
---
Back on Earth, Bruce stood over the smoldering ruins of the cave, jaw clenched, heart heavy. There was no trail, no prints, no digital fingerprints. Only the letter on the desk.
He was angry.
No, he was furious.
---
Two days later, Jacob arrived at a hidden Light outpost. His proposal: contract Slade Wilson—Deathstroke—for six months.
Ra's al Ghul protested quietly. Vandal Savage remained silent. But Lex Luthor, intrigued, merely nodded.
"He's yours for six months."
---
At the private Gotham jetport, two sleek black jets awaited departure. One bore the LexCorp insignia. The other was unmarked.
Lex Luthor, flanked by Mercy Graves, walked toward his plane. Jacob approached, flanked by Slade and three of his elite.
Lex smirked. "You don't waste time, do you?"
Jacob's gaze was steady. "Time is the only thing you can't reclaim, Luthor."
Lex tilted his head. "What's your plan?"
Jacob returned the smirk. "You'll see in a few days."