Damian Wayne: Dark Son

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(-S-)

-Somewhere in Gotham – MI6 Safehouse-

(General P.O.V)

Damian's hand rested on the hilt of a combat knife, idly tracing the blade as Barton paced the dimly lit room.

The safehouse was a stark contrast to the luxury of Wayne Manor—bare walls, creaky furniture, and a faint smell of mildew that only seemed to grow over the several weeks he'd been holed up in it.

It didn't really bother Damian. Comfort was a distraction.

Barton finally stopped pacing, fixing Damian with a hard glare. "You've been here for three months now. You've done decent work, but decent doesn't cut it in this business."

Damian leaned back in his chair, his expression bored. "Then give me something that does."

The older man chuckled dryly. "Like I said, you've got guts, kid, I'll give you that. But guts won't keep you alive out there. You need to learn restraint. Discipline. You've got the skills, but you're arrogant and overconfident. The Penguin job you did a week ago proved it. You called him out in front of his men. That was stupidly reckless. "

Damian smirked. "Reckless gets results."

Barton's expression darkened. "Reckless gets people killed."

"That's not my problem," Damian shot back, standing up and slipping the knife into its sheath. "You keep putting me on these babysitting missions, and you expect me to take it seriously? I'm wasting my time here."

"Your time," Barton said coldly, "is mine until I say otherwise. Or did Alfred forget to tell you how this works? You screw up, and MI6 cuts you loose. That means no more protection, no more resources, no more connections. You're on your own. You don't want that."

Damian's smirk faded slightly, though his expression remained defiant. "Fine. What's the job? And it better be something outside Gotham."

"You're in luck." Barton replied. He pulled out a tablet and slid it across the table.

On the screen was a dossier of a black-market weapons auction, complete with grainy surveillance photos of high-profile attendees.

"Monaco," the MI6 agent said. "A neutral zone for criminals, arms dealers, and anyone with enough money to play. There's an auction happening tomorrow night, and one of the items is this."

He tapped the screen, and an image of a glass vial appeared. The red liquid inside glowed faintly.

"It's a prototype serum," Barton continued. "Developed by a rogue scientist affiliated with a demon cult or something. The serum is for military enhancement. Rumors say it boosts physical and mental performance to near superhuman levels, but the side effects are… unpredictable. MI6 wants it off the market before it falls into the wrong hands."

"And by 'wrong hands,' you mean anyone but you and the British government." Damian said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Barton ignored the remark. "Your job is simple. Infiltrate the auction, retrieve the vial, and get out. No distractions, no improvisation. Stick to the plan, and you'll be fine."

Damian stared at the screen for a moment before pushing the tablet back. "Consider it done."

"Be careful kid. The place will be crawling with international spies. Every nation in the know wants a piece of it." Barton warned.

-0-

The underground auction was held in an opulent ballroom hidden beneath one of Monaco's luxury casinos.

Chandeliers hung overhead, their crystals casting fragmented light over the room.

Wealthy criminals, arms dealers, and disguised super agents mingled, their sharp eyes scanning for both opportunity and danger.

Damian entered unnoticed, dressed in a sleek black security guard suit that concealed a variety of weapons.

His white hair was slicked back, making him look older than his sixteen years.

He moved through the crowd with ease, his every step purposeful. Barton had been training him as an agent on how to blend in. You could say Gotham had been a training ground.

To him, the room was a chessboard, and the people in it were pieces.

He identified threats, potential obstacles, and escape routes all within the first thirty seconds.

As the auction began, Damian slipped into a shadowed corner, his gaze fixed on the stage.

The items being presented were a mix of weapons, stolen artifacts, and experimental technology. None of it interested him—except the vial.

Finally, it appeared. The auctioneer held up the small glass cylinder, its faint glow catching the light.

"Lot 24," the auctioneer announced. "An experimental serum not unlike Mirakuru, stronger than venom with more benefits than side effects, said to enhance physical and cognitive abilities to unprecedented levels. Bidding starts at five million dollars."

Damian's attention was momentarily drawn away as a figure entered the room.

A woman in a sleek black dress, her red hair cascading over her shoulders. Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow.

Damian recognized her immediately out of a list Barton had provided for people to watch out for.

She wasn't just another bidder—she was a predator, like him. One sent by the Red Room in service of Mother Russia. And she was here for the same reason.

As the bidding escalated, Damian kept a close eye on Natasha. Her every movement was calculated, her demeanor calm but dangerous.

"six million," she said smoothly, raising her paddle.

"Seven million," another bidder countered.

Damian's plan was clear. He couldn't outbid everyone in the room—he didn't have the resources for that. But he didn't need to. All he needed was an opening.

The bid climbed higher and higher until Natasha made her final move.

"Ten million," she said, her voice cutting through the room. The other bidders hesitated, glancing at each other nervously.

The auctioneer's gavel struck the podium. "Sold, to the lady in black."

Natasha smiled faintly, her expression unreadable as she made her way to the collection area.

Damian slipped through the crowd, following her at a distance while dealing with a few people, no doubt agents, also after the Vial.

He soon caught up to her in a narrow corridor outside the ballroom, ensuring that they were alone.

"Nice dress," Damian said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"I'm impressed at how fast you handled the competition."

Natasha said in a musky voice as she turned, sharp eyes scanning him. "But you're too young to be here, kid."

"And you're too obvious," Damian shot back, stepping closer. "You don't look like the type to bid ten million on something unless you really need it. So why don't we skip the small talk and get to the part where I take the vial off your hands?"

Natasha smirked, crossing her arms. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But guts won't help you win this fight."

"Neither will heels," Damian said, lunging at her.

Natasha sidestepped gracefully, her hand darting out to grab his wrist. Damian twisted free, spinning into a low kick aimed at her legs. She leapt back, countering with a strike that Damian barely dodged.

The corridor became a blur of motion as the two clashed, each testing the other's limits.

Natasha was faster, but Damian was relentless, his attacks precise and ruthless.

"You're good," Natasha said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "But you've still got a lot to learn."

"We'll see," Damian replied, his voice cold.

Suddenly the bombs he'd set up around the venue went off, shaking the building.

Alarms blared through the corridors, a piercing sound that drowned out the echo of footsteps and shouted commands.

Damian's sharp eyes locked on the vial as it fell off Natasha's thigh, having sliced the strap during their brief altercation.

The vial tumbled across the polished marble floor.

Without hesitation, Damian lunged for it, his movements faster than her.

Just as his fingers closed around the glowing vial, Natasha's boot came down beside his hand.

"Nice try, kid," she said, her voice calm despite the growing commotion.

Damian didn't waste time on a reply. He rolled to the side, slipping the vial into his pocket in one fluid motion.

Natasha was already on him, her fist aimed at his head, but Damian ducked and countered with a flower vase and a low kick.

She dodged the vase and blocked the kick with her shin, smirking faintly. "You've got serious skill. I'll give you that."

"I don't need your approval," Damian shot back, his tone icy.

The two clashed again, their movements precise and deadly, each testing the other's limits.

But their fight was cut short as a group of heavily armed mercenaries stormed into the corridor, rifles raised.

"Drop the vial!" one of them barked.

Natasha's eyes darted toward the newcomers, calculating. Damian, however, didn't hesitate.

Using the momentary distraction, he threw a smoke bomb from his pocket, filling the corridor with a thick, choking cloud.

"You're predictable," Natasha said from within the smoke.

"And you talk too much," Damian retorted, his form disappearing.

By the time the smoke cleared, Damian was gone, the vial safely in his possession.

As he weaved through the chaotic auction house, his mind was preoccupied with Natasha and his escape.

The guards were on high alert, and mercenaries were sweeping the building for him. He needed to get out before they boxed him in.

Slipping into a maintenance corridor, Damian used a stolen keycard to access the staff-only elevator.

As the doors closed, he felt the faintest twinge of satisfaction.

But his relief was short-lived. The elevator suddenly jolted to a stop, and the doors opened to reveal Natasha standing there, her arms crossed.

"Like I said, predictable" she said, stepping into the elevator. "You didn't think I would let you walk away with 10 million did you?"

Damian's hand moved toward his knife, but Natasha held up her hand.

"Relax, kid. I'm not here to fight—not this time. But you don't know what you've got in your pocket."

"Enlighten me," Damian said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Natasha's expression hardened. "That vial isn't just some science project. It's dangerous. You're playing with fire, and you don't even know it."

Damian smirked. "Fire doesn't scare me."

The elevator jolted again, and Natasha glanced at the ceiling, sensing the tension in the air.

"Look," she said, her voice lowering. "I don't care who you're working for, but if you don't know how to handle what's in that vial, it's going to kill you—or worse."

Before Damian could respond, the elevator doors opened, and the sound of gunfire echoed down the hall. Natasha sighed, drawing her weapon.

"Looks like we'll have to finish this later," she said, stepping out of the elevator.

Damian didn't wait to see what she'd do next. He bolted in the opposite direction, his focus on reaching the extraction point.

---

Soon he'd boarded a speedboat, drenched from the rain that had started falling over Monaco's glittering harbor.

The vial sat the deck, within arm's reach as he checked the horizon.

The sound of sirens echoed in the distance, but no immediate threats were visible.

The engine roared to life, and the boat sped away from the shore, cutting through the dark water like a blade.

Out of range, Barton's voice crackled over Damian's comm.

"Report," Barton said, his tone sharp.

"Got the package," Damian replied coolly, glancing at the glowing vial on the deck.

"Good. Head to the extraction point, and don't do anything stupid."

"Define 'stupid,'" Damian muttered under his breath, cutting the comm connection before Barton could respond.

As the adrenaline of the mission began to fade, Damian found his gaze drawn to the vial.

It glowed faintly in the dim light, its red contents swirling hypnotically. A question arose. Why had Natasha let him leave with it despite claiming it was 10 million? All sorts of reasons came to his mind and were discarded.

He wasn't aware of this, but Natasha had done it out of spite to her employer in the Red Room. She had used this opportunity to cut ties with them. This was always her plan. Damian had simply lucked out.

The Widow's warning about the serum echoed in his mind, but he dismissed it with a scoff.

'Dangerous?' Everything in his life had been dangerous. That's what made it worth doing.

Curiosity got the better of him.

He reached for the vial, holding it up to the light. His reflection in the glass was distorted, his piercing blue eyes meeting his own gaze.

"What's so special about you?" he murmured.

Damian's grip tightened as the boat hit a rough wave, and his thumb brushed against the vial's cap.

The faintest hiss escaped as the seal broke, a tiny wisp of blood red vapor curling into the air, sweeping through him and entering his nostrils.

He froze.

Then it hit him.

A surge of heat coursed through Damian's body, starting in his chest and radiating outward like wildfire.

His vision blurred for a moment, and he stumbled, gripping the edge of the boat for support. His pulse pounded in his ears, his breathing ragged.

"What… the hell…" Damian growled, his voice low and strained.

The serum's red color seemed to fade into orange within the vial, as more vapor streamed into his nose, invading his body.

Damian's senses sharpened to an almost unbearable degree—he could hear the distant hum of an engine several miles away, smell the salt in the air mixed with the faint metallic tang of blood on his gloves.

He fell to his knees, gripping his head as a torrent of unfamiliar sensations overwhelmed him.

Images flashed in his mind—faces, places, things he didn't recognize.

A strange, otherworldly energy coiled within him, as if something primal and dangerous was awakening.

After what felt like an eternity, the surge subsided, leaving Damian breathing heavily on the deck.

His hands trembled as he looked down at them, noticing the faintest shimmer of heat radiating off his skin.

He turned to picked up the vial only to find that the liquid inside had turned entirely colorless, devoid of the red.

'That vapor...looks like Widow was right. Whatever was in that vial, it wasn't just a serum.'

Barton wouldn't be happy. Oh well.

By the time Damian returned to the MI6 safehouse in Gotham a few days later, the effects of the red vapor had begun to stabilize.

In fact, he felt stronger, faster, and more focused than ever before.

His mind raced with possibilities, each one more tantalizing than the last.

Barton was waiting for him in the cramped living room, his expression a mix of relief and suspicion.

"You're late," Barton said, crossing his arms. "And you look like hell."

"I got the job done," Damian replied curtly, tossing the now-colorless serum onto the table.

Barton's eyes narrowed as he picked it up, noticing the broken seal and the different color.

"What did you do Damian?" He asked curtly.

Damian shrugged, leaning against the wall with a faint smirk. "Consider it field testing."

"Field testing?" Barton growled, slamming the vial onto the table. "Do you have any idea what you've just done? That serum isn't some toy you can play with—it's untested, unstable. You could've killed yourself!"

"But I didn't," Damian said, his voice calm and arrogant. "In fact, I think it worked better than anyone expected. As a bonus, it's not in anyone else's hands."

Barton stepped closer, his face inches from Damian's. "You're a liability, kid. If my bosses find out you tampered with the mission, they'll cut you loose— or worse."

"Let them try," Damian replied coldly.

The two stared each other down, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, Barton shook his head, muttering a curse about owing favors to old and dangerous butlers under his breath.

"You're playing a risky game, kid," he finally said. "And if you're not careful, it's going to destroy you and me in the process."

Damian smirked, pushing off the wall and walking toward the door.

"Then I guess I'll just have to make sure I win. For both our sakes." he said, not bothering to look back.

That night, Damian stood on the rooftop of the safehouse, staring out at the city below. The serum's effects still hummed beneath his skin, a constant reminder of the strange, unknown power coursing through him.

He didn't regret what he'd done. Regret was for people who cared about the consequences.

But as he clenched his fists, feeling the subtle heat radiating from them, one thought lingered in his mind.

'I need to get even better until I'm unstoppable.'

Meanwhile, back at the wreckage of the Monaco auction, Natasha Romanoff surveyed the scene from afar.

"That kid's going to burn the whole world down. I can't wait." she muttered with a grin, disappearing into the shadows to start her new life.