Angst Damian Wayne One Shots

The Puppeteer's String

Damian first noticed it in fragments, small moments where his actions felt slightly... off, like a subtle tug on his mind steering him in directions he couldn't explain. The feeling gnawed at him, filling his thoughts with questions he had no answers for. It started as small lapses in memory, strange impulses that vanished as quickly as they came. But soon, these moments grew longer, and his suspicions became too strong to ignore.The realization hit him during a mission, a fleeting sense that his body was moving without his full consent, reacting to orders Bruce gave him over the comms as though on reflex. Each word from Bruce resonated in his mind like a trigger, spurring Damian into precise actions that felt automatic. His fists clenched tighter as he followed orders, his moves unnaturally efficient and devoid of the usual sharp edge he prided himself on. He'd always been trained, honed to perfection, but this felt different—his mind detached from his body, operating almost as if by remote.

The unease grew with every mission. Damian found himself questioning each choice, each calculated strike and effortless dodge, wondering if it was truly his decision or something orchestrated beyond his control. It was a subtle but constant presence, like a shadow lurking at the edge of his consciousness. The feeling left him restless, like his instincts were hijacked, bending to a hidden force that molded his movements and thoughts with unnatural precision. Every time Bruce's voice crackled in his earpiece, the sensation returned, overwhelming his thoughts with an inexplicable urge to obey, like his mind was hardwired to respond to his father's commands.

Damian's frustration bubbled over during a high-stakes mission one night. His body went into autopilot, flawlessly executing maneuvers that should have required his full concentration. Even as he dodged, struck, and moved with perfect precision, his mind was screaming, desperately trying to pull back, to regain control over his own limbs. He completed the mission with mechanical perfection, but his mind felt hollow, detached, and numb. He realized with a jolt of horror that he hadn't truly been present—he had simply followed orders, like an obedient puppet.

After the mission, Damian couldn't shake the nagging suspicion, so he delved into the Batcomputer's archives, combing through lines of code, security files, anything that could explain what was happening to him. Hours passed, Damian's fingers trembled as he scrolled through the lines of code, his vision blurring with the weight of each revelation. His mind racing as he hacked deeper into systems he'd thought were inaccessible. And that's when he found it—a line of embedded code within his personal files, marked as "Behavioral Contingency Program." The code was insidious in its simplicity—small, almost imperceptible nudges, rewiring his responses like threads woven through the fabric of his mind. The program altered everything, from his impulse to challenge orders to the sense of pride he once felt in defying expectations. Every rebellious thought he'd ever had was carefully redirected, repressed, neutralized before it even fully formed. It was a silent invasion, wearing the mask of his own decisions.

Damian's heart pounded as he opened the program. The code was subtle, sophisticated, buried under layers of security protocols, but there it was—a subliminal feedback loop, embedded in his training regimen and even the meditative techniques he'd used for years. The program was designed to reinforce obedience, to subtly shift his decision-making processes so they aligned seamlessly with Bruce's commands. It controlled emotional responses, dampened impulses, and suppressed certain thoughts to maintain loyalty and "stability." The true horror of it sunk in like ice.

His thoughts spiraled as he realized just how far-reaching the effects were. The training exercises he'd prided himself on mastering, the meditative techniques Bruce had introduced as a way to find clarity and inner strength—all of it had been tainted, corrupted to serve a purpose that was never his own. His free will, the very thing he believed defined him, had been systematically reshaped into something foreign, a twisted loyalty wired to Bruce's design.