Chapter Text
Nanda Parbat was Damian’s home. It always would be. No matter what these foolish adopted siblings (if you could even call them that) reiterated time and time again. Even Father always told him that the manor was his home.
But, home is the place you go to when injured, after a long mission, or after completing a contract.
As an assassin, a manor in Bristol was not that place for Damian Wayne. Not in the gloom of Gotham City. No, that place for him was the sunshine of Nanda Parbat, the heat of the monastery. The fresh air of Pakistan opposed to the smog of this cursed city.
But he could not return to Nanda Parbat. Not since its demise.
Was he wrong in leaving in the middle of the night?
No, of course not. Especially when Drake had made it so abundantly clear that he was not wanted after Father died.
Perhaps he was not wanted at all.
Damian al Ghul, the heir to the Demon Head, could live on his own. He could take care of himself, especially with his skill set.
All he needed to do was acquire a few contracts, thus creating a revenue, and fabricate a false identity. Simple enough for a 10-year-old.
When he turns 16, he will get himself emancipated under this identity, and work on his cover even more.
Simple enough.
The only drawback is Todd. He knows all of Damian’s false identities. As his caretaker (read: hoverer), he accompanied Damian on many contracts and assignments, and thus kept up with false identities.
The computer in Damian’s bag thumped against his back as he walked, along with the bare necessities that he had taken.
The dark web wasn’t for just anyone.
Especially for an aspiring hitman.
The next morning, Damian set to work in an abandoned League of Assassins safe house with his computer plugged into the wall.
As he navigated the dark web, posting advertisements as a murder-for-hire, he decided to set the price fairly low, as (in the view of others) he was “inexperienced”. What would they know?
Damian, in the three years he was sent on missions, never once failed a contract. And he wouldn’t start now.
Not since, just thirty minutes later, he received his first assignment.
Eight Years Later
Bruce Wayne, The Dark Knight, Billionaire Playboy extraordinaire, Greatest Detective in the world, never gave up on the search for his son. But as the clock ticked in his study, he couldn’t help but want to give in. Admit defeat.
Plenty of children went missing, never to be found. Likely shipped out of the city, out of the country, even.
But not his son. Damian was too vigilant, too aware. Or, had been.
Ugh, how had it already been eight years?
Meanwhile, as Bruce Wayne, he had a gala to organize. This one memorialized the eighth year that his son had been missing. Pleading with the public to continue the long-forgotten search.
——————
Asim Rahiim, founder and CEO of BioWave Solutions at 18 years old, sat at his computer in his lead-lined home, reading an email from Wayne Enterprises.
An invitation to Gotham for a memorial.
For Bruce Wayne’s son’s memorial.
His memorial.
Eight years seemed to be a bit of an exaggeration, but Damian supposed he needed to make a public appearance soon enough.
The gala was in one month, leaving him plenty of time to prepare for his most recent contract.
The hit he’d taken was none other than the Dark Knight himself. His father, Bruce Wayne.
What better cover than to do it while he’s in Gotham.
It seems the Ghost would be making another appearance.
As a result of leaving his father’s home, Damian took contract after contract, building a wealth that rivaled his father’s.
Soon enough, when he was thirteen, he attended online college, eventually earning his master’s in biochemical engineering. He then started his company- BioWave Solutions-, which publicly specializes in a variety of sustainability and biological waste treatment, also healthcare and antidotes for Gotham’s Fear Toxin, Joker Venom, Ivy’s various pollens, and regular poisons.
But ultimately, while his company seemed to have a great exterior, Damian utilized these for his own purposes. Untraceable poisons, and even the more common ones that they made antidotes with.
He never let the hitman persona drop, and continued to build a rapport on the dark web.
Effectively getting nicknamed “Ghost” by Interpol.
Attaining revenge on Slade Wilson for destroying Nanda Parbat. Killed him in the most slow, brutal way he ever had.
Whether it was poison, or his katana, Damian had never once failed a contract. And he always left a trademark; a red oleander.
It’s surprising that Batman hadn’t tracked him down at this point.
This was going to be exhausting.
Damian had moved to an apartment in Gotham, just a short walk from BioWave, but far enough that he could lose a tail if needed.
Especially since his apartment was in the center of Crime Alley, in Todd’s territory.
No criminal was stupid to follow someone into Todd’s territory.
Especially someone with a Red Hood symbol sewed onto his back.
But as Damian walked to his company, coincidentally right across from WE, he couldn’t help but plot how to begin his contract.