Killer Croc crushed the rat in his mouth, shattered bones and blood dripping from his sharp fangs, sending red ripples through the water.
He opened his mouth, exhaling a foul, bloody breath.
Waylon Jones, known as Killer Croc, stood over 7 feet tall with dark green scales tough enough to withstand rifle shots. His gleaming claws and fangs made him more akin to a massive, upright crocodile than a human—a creature that looked both fierce and not particularly bright.
Even with his mind dominated by primal instincts, one name echoed clearly in his memory, the name of the man who had hurt him.
"Bane!"
That name was a constant scream inside his head.
Moving through Gotham's sewers, through the stench, filth, and fumes, Croc searched for any sign of his nemesis.
His arm still ached. The last time he'd faced Bane, his arm had been broken in a single strike.
Croc knew he had been used as a tool by Bane to prove his strength to Batman: a grave humiliation, but also a driving force.
The beast's anger burned fiercely, and in the wild, crocodiles are known for their intense desire for revenge.
But... before he could seek revenge, he needed something to eat.
At that thought, the ferocity in the monstrous creature waned.
He snorted pitifully.
Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and rats just weren't filling…
No big deal, I'll rest for a while. The hunger will pass.
The enormous crocodile sulked and crouched among a pile of garbage. Despite being warm-blooded, he still had some reptilian habits, like sitting completely still for hours.
Just then, his sharp sense of smell caught a whiff of something delicious. The scent was so enticing that his body unfolded like a hedgehog stretching out its spines.
What a smell! Amazing! What is it? Roast pork?
Wait, I'm under the slums, right? Why would there be... But it smells too good!
Killer Croc's brain sluggishly processed the information before shutting down completely.
As his mental string snapped, his cold reptilian eyes widened in hunger.
"Delicious... food!"
With a thud, drooling, Killer Croc pushed open a sewer grate and climbed out into the open air. It was an abandoned parking lot, filled with the remnants of scrapped cars and construction debris. The area was deserted.
It was late night in Gotham, the fog had lifted, and the sky was clear, with the moon and stars shining bright. The cool night breeze and the scent of the roast mingled in the air, leaving their traces everywhere.
Under the pale moonlight, Killer Croc saw a golden roasted pig set up in the middle of the lot.
"...?"
Croc's third eyelid flicked, and reason briefly returned to his mind. His beastly eyes flashed with a glimmer of human-like thought.
This is a trap. The bait is too obvious. The pig must be poisoned, right?
There's no unusual smell in the air. Oh... a deodorizer?
Who would go through such trouble to... to...
...Yeah, who?
I don't know.
His thoughts stuck at this point.
Ugh, my head itches.
What was I supposed to think next?
Whatever, it doesn't matter. But...
Whoever set this up, Killer Croc had no intention of backing down.
Croc was perfectly clear about one thing: No matter who was behind this, they needed to confirm that he would eat the poisoned bait before taking the next step.
But he wasn't going to play by the rules. He would take the bait into the sewers.
If the mastermind followed him down to check if he was poisoned, the roles of hunter and prey would be reversed. If they didn't follow, he could silently observe and launch his own attack.
Either way, the advantage would be his.
Killer Croc couldn't help but mentally pat himself on the back.
Coming up with such a clever plan in a short time—I'm so smart!
Then he grabbed the roast pig.
In the next second—
Zzzzzt!
Hundreds of thousands of volts surged through his body, frying him crisp on the outside and tender on the inside. He collapsed to the ground, convulsing violently, his dark green scales scorched black.
Bang!
Four searchlights hidden in the garbage heap flicked on, flooding the abandoned parking lot with blinding light.
"No way, that's it?"
Croc heard voices of disbelief coming from the shadows:
"There's no way he actually fell for such an obvious trap, right?"
For a moment, Croc felt his blood rush from his feet straight to his head!
Rationality dropped to 0%.
His brain checked out completely, and Croc let out a distorted roar, shaking uncontrollably like a Parkinson's patient as he tried to leap up.
But the lingering electric current in his body made his movements more like a bizarre dance than an attack.
Given that he weighed over 1,500 pounds, even his clumsy movements were still quite lethal.
Ventriloquist scrambled away from the spot where he had just been standing, while the Baby Batman puppet in his hand, with Nathan's voice module installed, kept repeating:
"That's it? That's it? That's it?"
At that moment, Nathan felt a strange sense of joy, reminiscent of trolling people online in his previous life.
Especially since Ventriloquist was on the scene, crawling on the ground, while Nathan comfortably sat in a plain van parked miles away, sipping coffee and watching the action unfold via satellite and cameras installed in the puppet. Safe and sound.
Knock, knock, knock!
A thug knocked on the van window:
"Hey, man, do you know whose turf you're on? You gotta pay up if—"
Nathan rolled down the window, revealing his pointed ears and the half-covered mask of Batman. "You serious?"
The thug froze, let out a shrill scream, and bolted.
Damn it, running into Batman in the middle of the night could scare anyone half to death.
Back at the parking lot, Killer Croc had completely lost it.
"RAAAHHHHH!"
He barely managed to take two steps before feeling something tighten around his feet. He had stepped into another trap.
Dozens of ropes snapped up from the dirt, climbing his body in the blink of an eye, tying him up like a giant cocoon.
Falling for yet another trap, Killer Croc was even angrier.
But now, he was hungry, numb, and sad, unable to break free. All he could do was crawl on the ground in frustration.
"That's it? We really got him that easily?"
Deadshot emerged from the shadows, looking at a man dressed in yellow and blue, like some kind of wannabe superhero.
"Enough already, Captain Boomerang. You should be thankful our client volunteered to act as bait; otherwise, you wouldn't have survived this far."
He added sarcastically:
"I think this job suited you perfectly."
"I can't believe I just earned two million dollars! That easy!"
But clearly, the overly excited Captain Boomerang wasn't paying attention to what Deadshot was saying.
"Ha-ha! Two million dollars! Ha-ha!"
He was too excited to form coherent sentences.
"I'm done after this. No more jobs. When this mission's over, I'm retiring, heading back home to get married."
He said it with a sense of reverence:
"This is the best day of my life!"
"…"
Deadshot was speechless. Ignoring the idiot, he turned to Cheshire beside him and said, "Tell Slipknot and Tattoed Man to come over."
Cheshire nodded, feeling rather pleased. She hadn't even needed to fight and was still getting paid.
"Ahem, everything's going smoothly, but now that the target's been captured…" Deadshot turned to the panting Ventriloquist, who was struggling nearby, and asked:
"Dear client, I'm curious—you've been so insistent that we don't kill Killer Croc, saying you want him to work for you—"
He pointed to the raging Croc: "Do you still plan on that?"
"Of course,"
Ventriloquist couldn't speak, too scared, but the Baby Batman puppet answered for him: "I have a pla—"
"UN-FOR-GIV-ABLE!"
Before he could finish, Croc, face down in the dirt, let out an ear-splitting roar.
Deadshot calmly lowered his hand from his ear.
"Well, it seems to me you've made an enemy of this beast now—there's no chance you'll be able to calm him down, let alone get him to work for you!"