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  (-S-)

  -Somewhere in Gotham – MI6 Safehouse-

  (General P.O.V)

  Damian's haed on the hilt of a bat knife, idly trag the bde as Barton paced the dimly lit room.

  The safehouse was a stark trast 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. fort was a distra.

  Barton finally stopped pag, fixing Damian with a hard gre. "You've been here for three months now. You've do work, but det doesn't cut it in this business."

  Damian leaned ba 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 o learraint. Discipline. You've got the skills, but you're arrogant and overfident. 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 ko 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 miil I say otherwise. Or did Alfred fet to tell you how this works? You screw up, and MI6 cuts you loose. That means no more prote, no more resources, no more es. 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 s was a dossier of a bck-market ons au, plete with grainy surveilnce photos of high-profile attendees.

  "Monaco," the MI6 agent said. "A ral zone for criminals, arms dealers, and ah enough moo py. There's an au happening tomorrow night, and one of the items is this."

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

  "It's a prototype serum," Barton tinued. "Developed by a rogue stist affiliated with a demon cult or something. The serum is for military enha. Rumors say it boosts physical aal performao near superhuman levels, but the side effects are… uable. MI6 wants it off the market before it falls into the wrong hands."

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

  Barton ighe remark. "Your job is simple. Infiltrate the au, retrieve the vial, a out. No distras, no improvisation. Stick to the pn, and you'll be fine."

  Damian stared at the s for a moment before pushing the tablet back. "sider it done."

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

  -0-

  The underground au was held in an opulent ballroom hiddeh one of Monaco's luxury os.

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

  Wealthy criminals, arms dealers, and disguised super agents miheir sharp eyes sing for both opportunity and danger.

  Damiaered unnoticed, dressed in a sleek bck security guard suit that cealed a variety of ons.

  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 a 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 seds.

  As the au began, Damian slipped into a shadowed er, his gaze fixed oage.

  The items being presented were a mix of ons, stolen artifacts, and experimental teology. None of it ied him—except the vial.

  Finally, it appeared. The aueer held up the small gss der, its faint glow catg the light.

  "Lot 24," the aueer announced. "An experimental serum not unlike Mirakuru, strohan venom with more bes than side effects, said to enhance physical and itive abilities to unpreted levels. Bidding starts at five million dolrs."

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

  A woman in a sleek bck dress, her red hair casg over her shoulders. Natasha Romanoff. The Bck Widow.

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

  She wasn't just another bidder—she redator, like him. O by the Red Room in serviother Russia. And she was here for the same reason.

  As the biddied, Damia a close eye on Natasha. Her every movement was calcuted, her demeanor calm but dangerous.

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

  "Seven million," another bidder tered.

  Damian's pn was clear. He couldn't outbid everyone in the room—he didn't have the resources for that. But he didn't o. All he needed ening.

  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, gng at each other nervously.

  The aueer's gavel struck the podium. "Sold, to the dy in bck."

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

  Damian slipped through the crowd, followi 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 ced with sarcasm.

  "I'm impressed at how fast you hahe petition."

  Natasha said in a musky voice as she turned, sharp eyes sing 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 . So why don't we skip the small talk ao 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."

  "her 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, tering with a strike that Damian barely dodged.

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

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

  "Yood," 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.

  Arms bred through the corridors, a pierg sound that drowned out the echo of footsteps and shouted ands.

  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.

  "ry, kid," she said, her voice calm despite the growing otion.

  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 tered 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 ibsp;

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

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

  "Drop the vial!" one of them barked.

  Natasha's eyes darted toward the newers, calg. Damian, however, didn't hesitate.

  Using the momentary distra, 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," Damiaed, his form disappearing.

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

  As he weaved through the chaotic au house, his mind reoccupied with Natasha and his escape.

  The guards were on high alert, and meraries were sweeping the building for him. He o 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 faiwinge of satisfa.

  But his relief was short-lived. The elevator suddenly jolted to a stop, and the doors opeo 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.

  "Rex, 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 sce project. It's dangerous. You're pying with fire, and you don't even know it."

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

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

  "Look," she said, her voice l. "I don't care who you're w 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 on.

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

  Damian didn't wait to see what she'd do . He bolted in the opposite dire, his focus on reag the extra 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 bde.

  Out e, Barton's voice crackled over Damian's .

  "Report," Barton said, his tone sharp.

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

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

  "Defiupid,'" Damian muttered under his breath, cutting the e 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 tents swirling hypnotically. A question arose. Why had Natasha let him leave with it despite g it was 10 million? All sorts of reasons came to his mind and were discarded.

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

  The arning 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 refle in the gss was distorted, his pierg 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 fai hiss escaped as the seal broke, a tiny wisp of blood red vapor curling into the air, sweeping through him aering 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, aumbled, 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 inte within the vial, as more vapor streamed into his nose, invading his body.

  Damian's senses sharpeo 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 faiallig of blood on his gloves.

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

  Images fshed in his mind—faces, pces, things he didn't reize.

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

  After what felt like ay, the surge subsided, leaving Damiahing heavily on the debsp;

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

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

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

  Barton wouldn't be happy. Oh well.

  By the time Damiauro the MI6 safehouse in Gotham a few days ter, 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, eaore tantalizing tha.

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

  "You're te," 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, notig 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. "sider it field testing."

  "Field testing?" Barton growled, smming the vial onto the table. "Do you have any idea what you've just dohat serum isn't some toy you py with—it's ued, 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 faches 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 thiough 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 pying 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 b 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 beh his skin, a stant reminder of the strange, unknown power c through him.

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

  But as he ched his fists, feeling the subtle heat radiating from them, ohought lingered in his mind.

  'I o get eveer until I'm unstoppable.'

  Meanwhile, back at the wreckage of the Monaco au, Natasha Romanoff surveyed the se from afar.

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