Clever

Killer Croc crushed the rat in his mouth, shattered bones mixed with blood dripping from his fangs, sending red ripples across the water.

He opened his jaws, exhaling a bloody, foul breath.

Killer Croc, Waylon Jones, stood over seven feet tall with a body of dark cyan scales tough enough to deflect rifle fire. His gleaming claws and fangs made him look less like a man and more like an upright crocodile—fierce, but not exactly sharp.

But even as his mind surrendered to raw instinct and primal urges, he still clearly remembered the name of the one who had hurt him.

"Bane!"

That name echoed through his skull like an endless scream.

He moved through the shadows of Gotham City's sewers, navigating a universe of stench, filth, and fumes, hunting for the scent of his enemy.

His arm still ached. Last time, he hadn't lasted a single move before Bane broke it.

Killer Croc knew he'd been used as a tool for Bane to prove his strength to Batman—a profound humiliation, and an unmatched motivator.

Rage burned in the beast's heart. In nature, crocodiles were notoriously vengeful creatures.

But... before revenge, he needed to find something to eat.

At that thought, the savage predator lost all his menace.

He let out a dejected snort.

Ugh, his stomach was empty, and rats didn't fill him up at all...

No matter. If he rested a bit, the hunger would pass.

The big crocodile hunkered down miserably in a pile of trash. Though he was warm-blooded, he still had some reptile traits—like sitting perfectly still for hours.

But just then, his sharp nose caught a whiff of something delicious. The scent was so tempting that he uncurled his hunched body like a hedgehog stretching out.

So good! Way too good! What was that smell? Roast whole pig!

No wait—the sewer he was hiding under should be the slums. Why would the slums have... but it really smelled amazing!

Killer Croc's brain churned lazily for a moment, then shut down entirely.

With a snap like a broken string, his cold, vertical pupils twisted into a strange shape.

"Fooood!"

With a clatter, the drooling Killer Croc shoved open a manhole cover and crawled out. He was in an abandoned open-air parking lot, piled high with wrecked cars and construction debris, completely empty of people.

It was deep night in Gotham. The thin fog had cleared, the moon was bright, and the stars were sparse. A cool evening breeze tangled with the aroma, leaving kisses in every corner of the air.

Under the silver moonlight, Killer Croc saw it—right in the center of the lot, a golden, glistening roast pig.

"...?"

Killer Croc's nictitating membrane flickered. Reason came back online, and a thoughtful gleam entered his reptilian eyes.

A trap. The bait was way too obvious. The pig was probably poisoned too.

No unusual smell in the air. Oh... deodorizer?

Who would go to all this trouble to... to... uh...

...Right, who though?

No idea.

At that point, Killer Croc's analysis hit a wall.

Tch, his head itched.

How was he supposed to follow that train of thought?

Forget it. Whatever.

But...

Whoever set this up, Killer Croc had zero intention of backing off.

His mind was crystal clear, but he put on a dumb face, wobbling, drooling, step by step toward the roast pig.

He already had a plan.

Whoever was behind this had to confirm Killer Croc ate the poisoned bait before making their next move.

So he'd flip the script—take the bait down into the sewer pipes.

If the guy came down to check if he was poisoned, the roles of prey and hunter would instantly reverse. If he didn't come, Killer Croc could watch from the shadows and strike first.

Either way, he'd keep the upper hand firmly in his grasp.

Killer Croc silently gave his own IQ a thumbs-up.

Coming up with a scheme like that on the spot—I'm way too smart!

Then he grabbed the roast pig.

The next second.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzt!

Hundreds of thousands of volts surged through his body in an instant, frying him crispy on the outside and tender on the inside. He collapsed, convulsing on the ground, his dark cyan scales blackened by the shock.

Clang!

The four searchlights buried in the trash heap suddenly blazed to life, flooding the entire abandoned parking lot with daylight.

"No way, that's it?"

Killer Croc heard the people behind the scenes muttering in surprise from the corner:

"No way, no way, did someone really fall for such a simple trap?"

In an instant, Killer Croc felt all the blood in his body surge from his feet straight to his head!

Reason decreased by 100%!

His brain clocked out on the spot. Killer Croc let out a distorted roar, trembling and hopping like a Parkinson's patient.

But the lingering effects of the electric current still clung to him, making his movements look less like an attack and more like an epileptic dance.

Still, given his weight of over 1,500 pounds, the motions were plenty dangerous.

Ventriloquist practically crawled away from where he'd been standing, while the Bat-Baby in his hand—fitted with a wireless comm module Chen Tao had installed—kept broadcasting taunts.

"That's it? That's it? That's it?"

At this moment, Chen Tao genuinely felt the joy of trolling people online in his past life.

Especially since Ventriloquist was scrambling on the ground at the scene, while Chen Tao sat kilometers away in an ordinary van parked by the roadside, sipping coffee, watching through satellites and the camera embedded in the doll—safe and comfortable.

Knock, knock, knock!

A thug was tapping on the window outside:

"Hey, buddy, you know whose turf this is? You gotta pay up here..."

Chen Tao rolled down the window, revealing pointed ears and Batman's half-face mask: "You serious?"

The thug hoping to shake him down looked like he'd just seen Batman. He let out a squeaky scream and bolted.

Damn, seeing a live Batman at night was terrifying.

On the other side, Killer Croc had completely lost it.

"Roooaaaar!"

He hadn't taken two steps before his foot caught tight, stepping into a pre-laid trap.

Dozens of lassoes sprang up from the dirt, wrapping around his body at dizzying speed, trussing him up like a dumpling.

Falling face-first into another trap, Killer Croc was even angrier.

But he was hungry, numb, and heartbroken, unable to break free, only able to crawl miserably on the ground.

"That's it? It worked that easily?"

Deathshot emerged from hiding, eyeing the man dressed in yellow and blue like some Super Hero with disdain.

"Enough, stop yapping, Captain Boomerang. You should be grateful our employer volunteered to draw the enemy's attention, letting a guy like you coast this far."

He said sarcastically:

"I think this job would've suited you better."

"I just made two million dollars in one go! That easy!"

But clearly, the overly excited Captain Boomerang hadn't heard a word Deathshot said.

"Heheh! I've got two million bucks, heheh!"

He was babbling with excitement.

"I'm not taking any more follow-up missions. Once this job's done, I'm washing my hands of it and going home to get married."

He said almost reverently:

"This is the best day of my life!"

"..."

Deathshot was speechless. He ignored the idiot serving as background noise and said to Cheshire Cat beside him: "Send word to Slipknot and Tattooed Man. Tell them to come over."

Cheshire Cat nodded. Getting paid without lifting a finger put her in a good mood too.

"Cough, though it went unusually smoothly, since the target is captured..." Deathshot turned to Ventriloquist, who was panting heavily nearby, and said:

"Dear employer, I'm curious—you've always refused to let us kill Killer Croc, saying you wanted him to work for you—"

He pointed at the enraged Killer Croc: "Now, still planning to do that?"

"Of course,"

Arnold cowered, barely able to speak, but the Bat-Baby doll in his hand cut in: "I have a pla—"

"Un—for—giv—able!"

Before he could finish, Killer Croc interrupted, face-down, writhing and letting out a deafening roar.

Deathshot calmly lowered his hand from covering his ears:

"Alright, but honestly, I think you've already made an enemy of this beast. Calming him down is basically impossible, let alone getting him to work for you!"