Killer Croc's Feast

Killer Croc's teeth crunched through the rat's bones, blood and splintered fragments dripping from his fangs and rippling through the murky water. 

He exhaled, a bloody mist escaping his maw.

Waylon Jones, standing over seven feet tall, was a mass of dark green scales that could deflect bullets. His claws and teeth gleamed menacingly, making him resemble an upright crocodile more than a man. He looked ferocious, his intelligence seemingly diminished. 

Yet, even with his mind consumed by primal instincts, he vividly recalled the name of the one who had wounded him. 

"Bane!" 

The name echoed in his thoughts like a relentless roar. 

He stalked the labyrinthine Gotham sewers, seeking his enemy's scent amidst the stench of refuse, sewage, and exhaust fumes. 

His arm still throbbed. In their last encounter, Bane had broken it in a single, brutal move. 

Killer Croc knew he had been reduced to a pawn in Bane's game to prove his dominance over Batman. It was a humiliating realization, yet it fueled a burning desire for revenge. 

The beast within him raged. Crocodiles, after all, were creatures known for their vindictive nature. 

But... before vengeance, he had to find something to eat. 

The thought made his ferocity dwindle. 

He let out a low growl. 

Damn, I'm starving, and rats just don't cut it.

It's fine, I'll just rest for a bit, then the hunger will pass. 

The massive crocodile slumped down amidst the refuse, self-pitying. Despite being warm blooded, he retained certain reptilian traits, like the tendency to remain motionless for hours. 

But suddenly, his keen sense of smell detected an enticing aroma. It was so tantalizing that he uncurled his body, which had been tucked in like a hedgehog's. 

What a delicious smell! It smells so damn good! What is that? Roasted pig? 

No, this sewer is beneath the slums. Why would there be a... But it smells so incredible! 

Killer Croc's sluggish mind struggled to process this before giving up.

As his thoughts ceased, his cold, vertical pupils dilated into an unusual shape.

"Food!" 

Drool dripping from his jaws, Killer Croc heaved the manhole cover aside and crawled out from underground. He found himself in an abandoned parking lot, littered with rusted car wrecks and construction debris. The area was deserted. 

It was late in Gotham, the fog had cleared, and the moon shone brightly in a star-speckled sky. A cool breeze carried the mouthwatering scent, leaving tantalizing traces in the air. 

Bathed in moonlight, Killer Croc spotted it: a roasted pig, perfectly centered in the open space. 

Killer Croc's nictitating membrane flickered, his rationality returning, a glimmer of human thought replacing the animalistic gleam in his eyes. 

It's a trap. The bait is too obvious. Is the pig poisoned? He sniffed the air, detecting nothing unusual. Wait... is that a masking scent? 

Who would go through all this trouble... Uh... 

Who indeed? I don't know. 

Killer Croc's mental gears ground to a halt. 

Hiss, my head itches. 

How should he think this through? 

Forget it, never mind. But... 

Whoever set this up, Killer Croc had no intention of backing down. 

Despite his clarity of thought, he lumbered towards the roasted pig like a drooling, ravenous beast. 

He had made his decision. 

No matter who was behind this, he had to ensure Killer Croc ate the poisoned bait before they could proceed to the next step. 

And he would play by his own rules, dragging the bait into the sewers.

If they followed him to check the effects of the poison, the roles of predator and prey would be instantly reversed. If they didn't, he could observe from the shadows and strike when the opportunity presented itself. 

Either way, he retained control. 

Killer Croc mentally gave himself a thumbs-up. 

I'm pretty damn clever to come up with such a plan so quickly! 

He reached for the pig. 

And then... 

ZAP! 

Hundreds of thousands of volts surged through his body, searing his flesh inside and out. He collapsed, twitching uncontrollably, his dark scales blackened by the electric shock. 

Click! 

Four floodlights hidden in the debris burst to life, illuminating the abandoned parking lot with blinding intensity. 

"No way, that's it?" 

Killer Croc heard a surprised voice from the darkness. "I can't believe someone actually fell for such a simple trap!" 

In that instant, all the blood in Killer Croc's body seemed to rush from his feet to his head. 

His sanity plummeted to zero. 

Killer Croc's brain short-circuited, and he leaped to his feet with a distorted howl, his movements resembling those of a Parkinson's patient. 

The residual electricity coursing through his body made his attempts at attack more akin to an erratic dance than a coordinated assault. 

But considering his sheer mass, even these spasmodic movements were lethal. 

The Ventriloquist barely scrambled out of the way in time. From within the Bat-Baby puppet, Adam's voice continued its relentless taunting via the built-in wireless module. 

"That's it? That's all you got?"

.......

Adam reveled in the feeling of online trolling brought to life. It was especially satisfying knowing that while the Ventriloquist was rolling around in the dirt, he was sipping coffee in a nondescript van parked a few miles away, observing the scene through satellite feeds and puppet-mounted cameras, safe and sound. 

Tap, tap, tap! 

A gangster was knocking on the car window. "Yo, you know whose turf this is? You gotta pay up here..." 

Adam rolled down the window, revealing his pointed ears and the lower half of his Batman mask. "Are you serious?" 

The would-be extortionist, his eyes wide with terror, let out a high-pitched sissy scream and turned around and ran away. 

Damn, encountering Batman in the middle of the night was enough to scare anyone witless. 

.......

Back at the parking lot, Killer Croc was in full meltdown mode.

"RRAAAAAAGH!" 

He hadn't taken two steps before his feet became entangled in a pre-laid trap. 

Dozens of lassoes sprang from the muddy ground, wrapping around his limbs with lightning speed, binding him like a Thanksgiving turkey. 

Killer Croc was ensnared once more, his rage reaching a fever pitch. 

But he was hungry, numb, and miserable, unable to break free. He could only writhe pathetically on the ground. 

"We got him? Just like that?" 

Deadshot emerged from his hiding spot, eyeing the yellow-and-blue-clad figure with a disdainful smirk. 

"Enough chatter, Captain Javelin," Deadshot snapped, cutting off the enthusiastic mercenary. "You should be thanking our employer for drawing the enemy out, making your job a cakewalk." 

He added with a hint of sarcasm, "I think the previous assignment was more your speed." 

"I just made two million dollars in one fell swoop with this job! Easy money!" Javelin exclaimed, oblivious to Deadshot's jab. 

"Woohoo! Two million dollars, baby!" He was practically giddy with excitement.

"I'm done with this line of work. After this mission, I'm retiring and heading home to get married." 

He said with an almost religious fervor, "This is the best day of my life!" 

"..." 

Deadshot rolled his eyes, ignoring the ecstatic mercenary. He turned to Catwoman. "Signal Slipknot and Tattooed Man to get over here." 

Catwoman nodded, pleased to have earned her payout without breaking a sweat. 

"Well, despite the unexpected ease of this capture, now that we have our target..." Deadshot turned to the still-winded Ventriloquist. "My dear employer, I'm curious. You always insisted we keep Killer Croc alive, claiming you wanted him to work for you—" 

He gestured towards the thrashing Killer Croc. "Do you still intend to proceed with this plan?" 

"Of course," a voice piped up from the Bat-Baby puppet. Arnold Wesker, the Ventriloquist, cowered behind it, too terrified to speak. "I have a way." 

"Unforgivable!" Killer Croc roared, his voice a guttural bellow that shook the ground. He twisted his head towards his captors, his eyes burning with rage. 

Deadshot lowered his hands from his ears, a wry smile on his face. "Sure, but I think you've made an enemy of this beast. Calming him down is going to be near impossible, let alone making him work for you."