Watching Barbara think so earnestly, demanding answers with such intensity, Jack Kadere burst out laughing. He pulled Harley Quinn close and planted a loud kiss on her pale cheek. Harley went momentarily slack, melting against him, while Barbara stared in complete bewilderment.
Was there something wrong with asking for the answer?
"What are you laughing at? Just tell me!"
"Ask the Riddler sometime—though he's so far up his own ass he probably couldn't figure it out either. Or you'll understand once you get a boyfriend." Jack's good mood had returned. He extended his hand again. "Second question: Out of 365 days in a year, which day do men fear most?"
Barbara studied him. His questions never seemed as innocent as they sounded, but this one appeared straightforward enough. Which day do men fear most? She'd never dated. The two men she knew best were her father and Batman—hardly typical examples.
Valentine's Day? Men had to buy gifts, but most of them seemed to enjoy it well enough.
Payday? That didn't fit either. Income varied too widely. He wouldn't pose something that arbitrary.
After turning it over in her mind, Barbara gave up in frustration. She'd always considered herself intelligent, but he kept stumping her.
"Last question, similar theme: Out of 365 days, which day do women fear most?"
Women?
She didn't know about men, but she certainly knew about women. Which day did women fear most? Obviously the day their period arrived. Barbara opened her mouth to answer, then stopped. Saying that out loud felt too personal.
Jack's expectant smile hadn't wavered.
She gritted her teeth. "The day their period comes."
"Wrong."
"You missed all three. If you were a driver, you'd be ferrying kids to heaven." He shook his head with exaggerated regret.
"Ask another one. I'll get it."
"Pretty faces are everywhere. Interesting minds are rare. Yours isn't interesting—more questions won't change that." He turned to Harley. "I picked up a camera last time, didn't I?"
Harley understood immediately and got up.
"What are you doing?" Barbara felt a cold knot form in her stomach. She remembered his earlier comment about nude photos.
Harley found the camera and returned. Jack positioned her to film, then beckoned Barbara closer. She hesitated but approached.
His foot shot out and connected with her leg.
Barbara grunted and dropped to her knees. She looked up, ready to snarl at him, but he reached down and peeled away her mask, exposing her features.
"Do you know any Mandarin?" His eyes narrowed with amusement.
Barbara tried to rise. Jack didn't stop her.
"Stand up and I send you to Bane."
She froze mid-motion, fury burning behind her eyes.
"Do you know any Mandarin?" he repeated, ignoring her glare.
"A little," she said through clenched teeth.
"Good. I'll sing a line, you repeat it. Learn the whole thing and I'll help you kill Bane." His smile was radiant. He cleared his throat. "Finally, you found a way to decide the winner..."
Barbara frowned. The bastard could actually sing.
He fed her line after line, and she repeated each one. Her Mandarin was limited, but the lyrics seemed harmless enough. Was he simply making her perform?
"Just like this, conquered by you... all retreats cut off..."
"My heart is firm... my decision is muddled..."
"Just like this, conquered by you... drinking the poison you hid..."
Understanding hit her like ice water. Just like this, conquered by you. He was doing this on purpose.
"Sing," Jack said, bright as sunshine.
Barbara sang. He corrected her pronunciation, made her repeat phrases, until she could manage the song on her own.
"Make sure you get a good angle," he told Harley. "This is the debut performance of the police commissioner's daughter, Batman's protégé, Batgirl Barbara Gordon." He smoothed his clothes and adjusted his posture with theatrical care, then nodded at Barbara to begin.
Kneeling and singing "Conquer."
Under his expression—I love that you hate me and can't do a damn thing about it—Barbara knelt on the floor and, burning with humiliation, sang the entire song.
The moment she finished, she snatched her mask back and pulled it on. "You'd better keep your word about Bane. Otherwise I will never let this go."
Jack took the camera from Harley and scrolled through the footage. Barbara in her Batgirl suit, kneeling, her face exposed—shame and defiance warring in her expression, forced into submission. A cappella, but her voice was clear and her diction precise.
"Shame there's no backing track," he murmured, then closed the camera. "When are you moving on Bane?"
"I'll contact you when I'm ready." Barbara stood, stepped over the sofa, and headed for the door.
Another minute in this room and she'd lose control entirely.
She shoved the door open, instinctively reaching for a smoke bomb before remembering what Jack had said earlier. She snorted, aimed her grappling gun at the rooftop, and launched herself into the night.