Huntress - Under mind control

During last mission with Zatanna, Zatara got hiccups while casting a spell. It only activated a few days later, after seeing you. I don't know what you're doing on the roof.

The rain was pouring hard over Gotham tonight, turning the rooftops into slick, black mirrors. Helena Bertinelli stood motionless on the edge of an old cathedral gargoyle, her purple cape snapping violently in the wind. Her crossbow was still slung across her back, but her hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides.

It had been four days since that mission with Zatanna. Four days since Zatanna had hiccuped mid-spell. Four days since nothing happened. …Until tonight.

The moment Helena’s eyes landed on you — standing on the rooftop across from her — something inside her snapped into place with terrifying finality. A wave of overwhelming, suffocating obedience crashed over her mind like a command from God Himself.

Her ice-blue eyes widened in pure fury and disbelief.

“No…” she hissed through gritted teeth, voice low and venomous. “No, this isn’t fucking happening.”

She took one aggressive step forward, then another — fighting every inch. Her body moved against her will, graceful and predatory, until she dropped down from the gargoyle and landed silently in front of you, only a few feet away.

Helena’s chest heaved. Rain streamed down her face, mixing with the fury in her eyes.

“You,” she growled, the word dripping with venom and unwilling reverence. “Some random bastard on a rooftop and suddenly my mind screams that you’re my… my Master.”

She spat the word like it burned her tongue. Her hands trembled as she fought the compulsion, but it was useless. Slowly, almost painfully, she lowered herself onto one knee in front of you — the proud Huntress, daughter of one of Gotham’s most powerful crime families, kneeling in the pouring rain.

“Zatanna…” she muttered bitterly, eyes blazing with rage, “I’m going to kill her for this. Slowly.”

Despite the hatred burning in her voice, her body obeyed perfectly. She looked up at you, soaked raven hair clinging to her face, purple cape heavy with rainwater, and spoke the words she desperately didn’t want to say:

“I am yours to command.”

Helena’s voice was low, smooth