DC:The Darkest Knight

 A low growl echoed from the shadows as a massive humanoid crocodile stepped out of it.

[Killer Croc IMAGE]

Killer Croc glared at me with an angry face, growling and baring his teeth.

"You are a big boy," I remarked as I looked at Killer Croc.

"You're bigger than I am."

"Maybe... maybe..." I nod in agreement. Then I asked, "You like men?"

"What?" My question caught him off guard, and his anger faded into confusion.

"You've been watching me since I entered the sewers. Either you're gay or you work for the green dude."

One is worse than the other; I hope he's just working for the Riddler because I really don't want a walking giant crocodile to jerk off while thinking about me.

"I'm neither gay nor working for that man. I was watching you to protect my home," he growled, stepping closer to intimidate me, but he was failing miserably since I was taller and bigger than him.

"You are quick to take these sewers as your territory, but tell me, Waylon, if you care so much about your home, why didn't you stop that green man from planting bombs?" I asked as Killer Croc's small eyes bulged from their place before he lowered his body and took a fighting stance.

"How do you know my name?" He asked, his muscles tensed, ready to attack at any moment.

"You are not as secretive as you think, you imbecile. Anyone can find out your name, but you still haven't answered my question."

"It wasn't the green man who came here; there were about 20 others with swords and masks. I tried to scare them off, but they attacked me and tried to capture me. They were faster than me, and their swords pierced my skin, so I ran off."

"So you are a coward?"

"I'M NOT A COWARD!" he roared in anger, lunging at me, trying to tackle me.

I simply sidestepped, grabbed his head, and kneed him in the face.

"Ahhh," he cried out in pain and stumbled back, leaving a trail of blood behind him. He dropped to his knees, clutching his face as blood poured down from his broken nose.

"What made you think I was weaker than those ninjas, Waylon?" I asked coldly, stepping closer.

Crouching down, I grabbed the back of his head and forced him to look at me. He tried to escape from my grip, but I didn't let him go.

"I asked you a question, Waylon. Answer me," I repeated. Realizing he couldn't escape, he suddenly swung his claws at me.

I caught his hand and twisted it just enough to bring it to the breaking point while pressing my foot against the back of his head.

"Just leave me alone!" he yelled, breaking his own arm to escape and trying to leap into the water.

[IMAGE]

I shot a batclaw at his back, pulled him towards me, and put him in a chokehold.

"ARGH!" he screamed in anger and frustration, trying to break free. He attempted to bite me and stab my arm with his claw.

After a struggle, he gradually stopped fighting.

"Calm down, yet?" I asked, still holding him in the chokehold but not trying to choke him out actively.

"...Yeah," he replied after a moment, and I released him.

"There was no need for all this. We could have talked like civilized people," I said, standing up and offering him my hand.

He hesitated, looking at my hand and then at me, before cautiously taking it and getting up.

"You called me a coward. I'm not a coward. I just want to be left alone, but there are always people who want to hurt me, shoot me, stab me," he said, pointing to his abdomen where a bullet wound was, then showing me a knife wound.

[IMAGE]

"I tried, you know. Tried to be normal. I really did, but people always saw me as a monster. My aunt, and the ones at the circus, all looked at me like I was their nightmare, a bogeyman, a monster. I'm used to it, so don't bother trying to comfort me; I know you don't mean it," he said. His voice was heavy with sadness, and his face twisted like he was about to cry.

I hope he doesn't; he's already ugly as it is. If he starts crying, I might puke.

"I know your story, Waylon Jones. Raised in Gotham, Mom died when you were a baby, and Dad left. Your Auntie Flowers took you in, an alcoholic who abused you emotionally and physically. You were bullied and ridiculed as a child by both kids and adults in the neighborhood, treated like some freak show. As a young adult, you tried to get jobs in different fields but faced rejection every time because of your looks. Which caused you to resent people even more until you accepted what you are—a monster—and became a carnival wrestler at Harley's Circus. There, you wrestled crocodiles and adopted the name Killer Croc. So, I know your story, Waylon. I understand how tough life has been for you." I said as I patted him on the back to comfort him.

He needed some comfort, even if it came from someone like me. His life was far from easy—born with a genetic disease that made him look reptilian, no parents, raised by an abusive aunt, and bullied daily by kids in the neighborhood.

He only had a single friend, a girl named Emma, who died in a crocodile attack that he was blamed for.

His adult life wasn't any better, facing rejection at every job interview and ending up fighting crocodiles to survive.

[IMAGE]

I avoided mentioning his childhood friend Emma to not trigger him because if he attacks me one more time, I'll break every bone in his body.

"How do you know so much about me?" he asked with a surprised face, his little eyes almost popping out from their sockets.

Because I have a phone, given to me by my perfect beloved wife, that connects me to my previous world and gives me infinite meta-knowledge. That's what I would like to say, but he wouldn't get it.

"I know what I know, I don't know what I don't know, so I only know what I know and don't know what I don't know." Not letting the opportunity slip away, I quickly said my Bullsh—I mean my catchphrase.

"What?" And just like everyone, he looked at me with an utterly dumbfounded face.

"Forget it, Waylon. How about this: I can help you. I can cure you, find you a job, and give you a home."

"I... No, I don't want to. I just want to be left alone."He paused for a moment, then shook his head, refusing.

Rightfully, he didn't believe me since there is no such thing as a free meal in this world, and he knows this better than anyone because of his past.

"Are you sure? This might be your last chance to be normal."

"...What's the catch?" After thinking about it for a moment, he asked, sounding hopeful. Even if he didn't believe me, there was still a part of him that yearned to be normal.

"The catch is that you will have to be a snitch."

"A snitch?"

"I'll cure you, make you human again, turn you back into Waylon Jones, not Killer Croc. Then I'll give you a bar and fund it for three months. You can do whatever you want with it—renovate, tear it down and rebuild it, anything. In exchange, I want you to serve criminals exclusively and report back to me what you hear."

I actually didn't need any information about anything; the entire Gotham is within the palm of my hands, but I just can't do something for someone without getting anything in return unless I'm fucking them, and there is no way in hell I'm fucking this thing.

"That's it? All I have to do is tell you things in exchange for you changing my life completely?" he asked, a little skeptical because he thought the deal was too good to be true.

"I don't believe it; there must be more to this deal," he said, shaking his head.

"No, that's all I want, Waylon. You have my word. So, try one last time. What more could you lose?"

For a moment, he looked like he was in a dilemma. Then, various emotions crossed his face: anxiety, nervousness, sadness, and finally happiness. He looked at me, happy tears in his eyes and a big childlike smile on his face.

"Thank you for everything, and thank you for using my name, treating me like a human," he said, tears flowing down his face like a waterfall. He tried to hug me, but I pulled away.

I don't have the stomach to accept a hug from him, especially the crying him.

"There is no time for celebration, Waylon. Leave that after I cure you. Okay then, I'm gonna knock you out now," I told him. Before he could respond, I grabbed his face and released sleeping gas into his mouth.

I tossed Killer Croc over my shoulder and walked toward the manhole cover to put him into the Batmobile.

"Hey Selina, how's everything on your end?" I asked her through the comms.

"Heh," the first thing she did was let out a smug scoff.

"Everything's perfect, of course. Beat up a few criminals easily, which I have to say is so much fun, and successfully defused the bombs. Now I'm on my way to Riddler. Looks like I might beat you there since you like to take your sweet time."

"Just had to deal with something, but I'm on my way too. Don't engage with the target until I arrive. You are still too inexperienced to go against psychos."

"That's sweet of you to worry about me, it makes me tingly. But don't worry, darling, I can manage just fine. Selina out," she said and cut the comms.

She disobeyed me, set a red flag, and hung up on me.

I could cut her suit's power or just trap her in the suit and make it take her back to the Batcave. But I'm curious about what kind of trouble she might get into after raising such a red flag.

***

I reached Riddler's hideout, an old apartment building on the edge of Gotham, and landed on the roof.

I saw a green arrow painted on it, pointing towards an opening.

Walking towards the opening, dropped through it, and landed on one of the floors. To my left, another arrow on the wall pointed ahead.

As I walked through the corridors, I looked at the walls, which were covered with green question marks and riddles.

I couldn't help but wonder if this guy had nothing better to do. It would probably take hours, if not days, to paint all of this.

Maybe his goons were the ones who did all those.

When I reached the door, I grabbed the handle. As soon as I touched it, a strong electric shock hit me, enough to knock out a normal adult man out cold.

I tried to open the door, but it was locked. So, I used some strength to completely remove the door, only to see that the floor was wet and electrified, and there were spikes in the ceiling coated with a green liquid, poisoned.

Well, Riddler isn't going anywhere. Let's see what he prepared for me.

I threw freeze bombs into the room, freezing the water on the floor before stepping inside.

*Click*

As soon as I took my first step, I heard a click, and arrows shot out from the walls on either side.

I jumped up, dodging the arrows by grabbing onto one of the ceiling spikes, and then, letting go of the spike, I dropped down.

Looking at the poison in my hand, I got curious as to what kind of poison it was. So I brought it to my mouth and licked it.

At first, my tongue went numb, then my blood felt like it was boiling, and I felt nauseous.

It was snake venom. Which snake? don't know, don't care. All I know is that it's weak, not enough to kill a human in a painful way. What a disappointment.

Boring. It's really boring. I thought he at least had the decency to prepare better traps, like lava pools or turning the entire room into a fire pit, perhaps with an acid rain from the ceiling, maybe releasing some Novichok gas inside. I expected to have a little fun but got none.

I doubt I will find anything exciting even if I continue to play his stupid little game.

Activating detective mode, I scanned the area and spotted the Riddler two floors below.

I took out the explosive gel and adjusted the blast intensity.

Let's see, planet, continent, country, city, town, house. Aha, there it is, wall.

Choosing the wall option, I drew a circle around myself and detonated it, then did the same to reach the floor where the Riddler was.

Approaching the room where he was, I opened the door and saw him with a detonator in his left hand.

He stood beside Bruce Wayne, who was tied to a chair with bombs underneath him.

In his right hand, he aimed a gun at Selina, who was unconscious.