Killer Croc turned his eyes and looked at him, his voice buzzing, "Aren't you afraid of me?"
Bruce glanced at his gaping maw, but soon afterward, his gaze fell on the box he was carrying. The box was full of metal parts and seemed quite heavy. Bruce glanced to the side and went over, trying to lift a similar box, only to find that he couldn't move it at all.
"Don't touch it." Killer Croc suddenly spoke, "It will strain your back, and if it shatters, you'll have to pay for it."
Killer Croc's voice was slightly hoarse, and his accent was very strange, as if his vocal cords were different from those of ordinary people, but Bruce thought he was already doing great. After all, one couldn't expect more from a crocodile.
The two of them began to work in silence. Bruce irregularly asked about Killer Croc's situation and then found out that Croc was even more unfortunate than he was.
Killer Croc was not a local, but he came from the periphery of Gotham. He was originally a normal person, but he suffered from a reversion disease, which made him look more and more like a crocodile.
The small town he lived in could not tolerate such a person with an unusual appearance. They chased him out with guns and cannons.
With nowhere to go, Killer Croc had no choice but to try his luck in Gotham. Initially, he lived in the sewer, and what happened after that everyone should already know.
In order to deal with the Court of Owls, Shiller froze the entire sewer system of Gotham. Although the Court of Owls no longer existed, the act of freezing the sewer system had persisted.
Killer Croc was very sadly encased in a small room, starving for an entire month. It was only when the mob was renovating a cold storage that they dug him out.
But Gotham has one advantage: its residents are worldly-wise and hardly ever surprised. Their first impression of Killer Croc was not of his grotesque head, but of his muscular arms. So, he joined the ranks of Gotham's major development projects.
Because he was captured for labour reform before he managed to kill anyone, he didn't get the nickname "Killer Croc". Right now he was just a hardworking and strong Croc Man, working the jobs of three men for the pay of one. The mob was planning to award him the title of "Labour Model".
"You mean, it's full board here?" Bruce asked Killer Croc, who gave him a sidelong glance, shook his head and said, "Don't get your hopes up. They provide for me because I look fierce, and nobody would rent a house to me. If I left Gotham, there wouldn't be anyone to do all this work."
Bruce felt somewhat disappointed but didn't say much. In the following days, he found that this was indeed an ideal job for him. Killer Croc was so competent that Bruce didn't need to expend much effort moving heavy items. All he had to do was arrange the order in which the goods were shelved and label them.
The wage here was not low, and unlike a truck driver's job, which was uncertain, goods here were in great demand, and there was always work to do. Bruce's life in the slums was back on track again.
But there was never a dull day in Gotham. The city's weather forecast fell far short of predicting the frequently changing atmospheric conditions. In a day with an humidity as high as 87%, a warehouse near the harbour caught fire.
It was impossible to ascertain how exactly the fire started. When Bruce heard the news, he heard the gatekeeper say that apparently, a chemical was not stored properly, leading to a leak. Additionally, a warehouse labourer was smoking, and a spark fell on the chemicals, causing not only an explosion but also a major fire.
As soon as Bruce heard the word "chemicals", he knew that the warehouse where he worked might have been affected. Before leaving the day before, he had specifically checked if his labels were placed correctly. Those labels read, "Chemical agents for ACE Chemical Factory".
As Bruce rushed into the warehouse area, he saw that the fire was very fierce, but he knew he had to go in, because Killer Croc lived and ate inside the warehouse, and he certainly didn't have time to escape.
Bruce didn't know whether or not Killer Croc had the same habits as a crocodile, but regardless of whether he liked water, he certainly didn't like fire.
Bruce rushed in as quickly as possible. He knew the way to his workstation, where the flame was not the fiercest, but the smoke was very thick. Bruce remembered that a batch of wood had just arrived the previous morning and had not yet been dispatched, creating a perfect fuel for the fire.
The blazing fire reflected on Bruce's face. When the fire scorched in his blue eyes, it was like the glow of sunset under the blue sky. But this beautiful scene did not last for long. Bruce heard a "bang", and the beams of the warehouse fell down, indicating that the place would not hold for much longer.
Bruce covered his mouth and nose with his jacket and rushed in amidst the suffocating smoke. He thought he could save Killer Croc, but he overestimated his strength and underestimated the danger of the situation.
As soon as he rushed in, Bruce saw that Killer Croc was trapped underneath the wood. A lot of beams from the timber that arrived yesterday had collapsed. Killer Croc must have been squashed when he tried to run out without paying attention. The beam was pressing against his waist, making it impossible for him to exert any force.
Bruce wanted to lift the piece of wood, but the loss of muscle mass had weakened his strength. Considering the weight of the beam, even Batman in his prime might not have been able to lift it quickly, and Bruce was already feeling short of breath.
The only thing to do now was to pull Killer Croc out forcefully. Bruce semi-knelt next to him and said, "Hold on, it might hurt a bit, but it'll be over soon…"
He grabbed Killer Croc's strong arm and pulled him out forcefully. Killer Croc cried out violently in pain but couldn't move at all.
With a jacket over his mouth and nose, Bruce struggled upright.
A cacophony of noises filled his ears. He couldn't hear what was being said, but he smelled a potent chemical scent. He knew if this stuff burned, it would be toxic.
It seemed like everything had reached a dead end. Bruce thought, he finally got what he wanted. He had finally hit rock bottom in this terrifying abyss.
And what was at the bottom? Nothing but death.
No, no, no, Bruce thought, there was more than just death. There must be something else here.
Suddenly, the chaotic noise became clearer. Bruce heard it, it was laughter, very joyful laughter.
The laughter was so sincere. It sounded like the final wail of countless souls dying in the frosty night.
After his strength had been exhausted, his mind began to blur. In the shadow of the fire, Bruce slowly fell.
He lay on his back, the firelight lighting up his face, caressing his cheeks. Smoke choked his throat, and the flames burned into his eyes.
Just like all Gothamites, in the secular hellfire, crimes were consumed, flesh and blood turned into ash, and not a single tear was shed in the eighteen layers of Hell.
The fire caused the shelves to collapse, and the shelf closest to Bruce crashed down. Countless chemical substances, like raindrops, sprinkled on him.
In the blazing fire, Bruce was met with a night rain of Gotham, bitterly cold and chilling to the bone.
His lips curled up slightly because he saw the truth of this fire. He was facing the craziest thing in the world - reality.
Thousands of ordinary people live mundane lives day by day, with no grand wars or dazzling stories.
Exhaustion, hunger, insomnia, day by day. Drug addiction, gambling, prostitution, irreparable. Finding work, a house, a partner, always on the run. No money, no love, no hope, all alone.
At this moment, Batman finally understood why the Joker wanted to laugh.
Because the Joker saw a god standing above the clouds, claiming feverously to save all this, promising ten years.
Batman spent ten years turning himself into a joke.
It was indeed hilarious, so Bruce laughed too.