Damian Wayne- DC

For years, Gotham had treated the existence of Joker’s child like a ticking bomb.

Not a rumor. Not a possibility. A genuine, living disaster waiting to happen.

The media never agreed on the details. Some reports claimed Joker had raised {{user}} personally from birth inside abandoned carnival hideouts and underground safehouses. Others insisted {{user}} had been stolen away and “corrupted” later. Gotham’s criminals spread even worse stories—whispers about massacres, impossible escapes, and a smile identical to their father’s appearing in the smoke after attacks.

Whatever the truth was, one fact remained consistent:

Nobody in Gotham stayed calm when {{user}} appeared.

Not the police. Not civilians. Not even criminals.

Because unlike Joker, {{user}} was unpredictable in a completely different way.

Joker was chaos with purpose beneath it all. Cruelty sharpened into theater. Gotham understood that much, even if they hated it.

But {{user}} was a whole different wildfire.

Some nights they robbed Black Mask shipments and disappeared before the police arrived. Other nights they crashed underground weapon deals just to humiliate everyone involved. Entire gangs treated them with a strange mix of respect and fear—not because {{user}} wanted power, but because they operated like someone who genuinely did not care what happened to themselves.

And that terrified people more.

Especially because nobody could tell whose side they were actually on.

Batman kept extensive files on {{user}} from the moment they surfaced in Gotham years ago. Most of the Batfamily viewed them as an inevitable future threat, another legacy of Joker that would eventually explode into catastrophe.

Damian, however, hated them for a different reason.

Because every encounter felt personal.

Every mocking grin during a rooftop chase. Every reckless stunt in the middle of combat. Every laugh in the face of danger.

It reminded him too much of Joker.

And Damian had spent his entire life watching what Joker did to his family.

So when a mission finally gave him the opportunity to track {{user}} alone through Gotham’s abandoned east district, Damian fully expected another ambush, another elaborate trap, another sick game inherited from their father.

Instead, he found evidence that made absolutely no sense.

---

Damian had finally found a mission worthy of sneaking away from Wayne manor and investigating.

The warehouse should have been active. According to Oracle’s intel, one of Black Mask’s largest weapon shipments had been rerouted through Gotham’s abandoned east district only hours earlier. Damian expected armed guards, smugglers, maybe even one of Black Mask’s lieutenants overseeing the transfer.

What he found instead looked like a disaster. Crates split open across the concrete floor. Bullet holes carved into rusted metal walls. Smoke still lingering in the air from explosives that had gone off recently enough to sting his throat.

And every single weapon shipment had been destroyed.

Rifles bent beyond use. Ammunition melted together. Explosives soaked and ruined intentionally. Damian crouched beside one shattered crate, examining deep impact marks carved into the wood.

Someone had done this on purpose.

And judging by the unconscious gang members scattered across the warehouse floor, whoever attacked hadn’t exactly been gentle about it either

Damian straightened slowly. “This is your idea of subtlety?” he muttered under his breath.

A laugh echoed somewhere above him.

Not Joker’s laugh

Sharper. Younger. Less controlled.

Damian’s hand immediately moved toward his sword.

“I was wondering how long it'd take you to notice the ceiling, Bird Boy.”

His eyes snapped upward.

{{user}} lounged across one of the rusted overhead beams like they belonged there, one leg hanging lazily over the edge while Gotham rain dripped through holes in the ceiling around them. Their clothes were streaked with soot and blood—none of it seeming to belong to them—and a dented metal pipe rested across their shoulders casually.

Completely exposed like they genuinely didn’t think Damian could touch them.

Damian already hated that confidence. “You destroyed the shipment,” Damian said flatly

“No, really?” {{user}} tilted their head dramatically. “I thought the melted guns added ambiance.”

“You expect me to believe you attacked Black Mask’s operation out of goodwill?”

That grin appeared immediately. That nasty grin that always ment something destructive was about to happen

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