Here there be Blood [Open]

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The tangy, ironic, but yet sweet aroma of blood drifted deeply from the shadows of the dark, long abandoned warehouse. Was it abandoned? By the general public, yes, but not by the few homeless that strayed from there allies earlier in the day, forcing them to hide from the bitter cold deep within the concrete warehouse. The scent danced from the tremulous shadows and enveloped the dark, moonlit ally in an unsteady, eerie feel. Where was the scent coming from?

Everywhere. About three homeless men layed dead and mangled upon the ground just outside of the warehouse, there bodies crushed and mutilated beyond recognition. Soon, pinpointing the source of the blood was a large, malicious looking beast, seemingly humanoid but covered in a thick layer of swampy green scales. Delicious crimson splashes splattered seemingly random along his nearly impenatrable hide. The massive monster's mouth was open, as if it were searching for a certain scent and his dangerously sharp, once ivory teeth gleamed brilliantly in the small bit of moonlight that was showing just inside the entrance to the warehouse, where the mutated beast was standing, showing droplets of maroon that trimmed the outline of his gums.

Flickering in the harsh light, were wide eyes. Blazing amber with a deep, vibrant tint of red to them, they almost looked like fire, caught from its flame and put into a little round lantern. A slight chuckle burned in the beast's throat as Killer Croc placed his widely large, shoeless and claw armed feet against the rough concrete, and the beast headed deeper into the warehouse, the tips of his jaw curved upward in a wicked smile. He was a brutal looking creature, covered in long, jagged scars and armed with beastly, feral features. His eyes seemed to burn with the essance of dread itself, glittering with malice and a deep hatrid for all humanity. What was he looking for? He didn't rightly know himself. A place to set up shop was likely his goal, but each time in the past he had been thwarted by Batman. He was sure the small vigilantee would not find him here, so far out in the the shadowy outskirts. Content that Batman would not be disturbing him this time, he moved to set up his lair, pushing and moving large boxes like toys, although it would have taken about five regular men to move them theirselves.

While clearing the warehouse of unwanted supplies, he stumbled across two more homeless, one was a female, asleep in a large crate. He quite maliciously tore the screaming female out and flung her across the warehouse, where she hit the concrete wall with a satisfying clap! The second, like most of the homeless, was male, he barely bothered with him, as he was out of reach, but he did scare him half to death by snapping at his leg and jerking him down to the floor, where after a few painful sounding snaps, he found his feet and fled. Croc didn't even bother to give chase, which might have been his first mistake of the night, and that was leaving a little pesk to run for help, and it was a mistake Croc would soon likely regret.

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Patrol had been quiet so far this night—then again with Feds lingering about Gotham like some sort of plague, the crime on the streets had appeared to die down somewhat. It would be in these brief moments alone he had where complete contemplation and reverie flitted through his mind. Though he didn’t like what the Feds were doing, didn’t trust their intentions and definitely disagreed with their methods of practice when it came to their protocol of protection… they were making an impact on the streets of Gotham when it came to harnessing some of the city’s violent situations/reputation.

Were they actually helping the greater good? Was the Batman actually hurting to greater good? The lines of right and wrong were so blurred for him… but justice always rang true. The FBI did not act on justice, they acted on motives and personal intent… that was not justice; it was just another form of corruption. He had to justify his own cause for being the vigilante he was even when the streets were calming down in their dangerous ways—otherwise, Bruce would began to find all the flaws of the Bat.

The Batman was still needed… for the time being, at least. No sooner had this conclusion come to his mind as he perched atop a bridge pillar from high above the docs in the outskirts of Gotham, when he saw a flailing stingy looking homeless man screaming in terror, having stumbled from a beaten down warehouse behind him. Specialized lenses zoomed in on the homeless man—he was the first activity Batman had all night, after all, and upon focusing—his frequency amp was able to pick up on the mumbling madness that spewed from the transient’s mouth…

“Gator man! A MAN GATOR! Gonna’ EAT ME!!!”

Jaw set firm, the Bat immediately put two and two together—such claims from a homeless man might’ve been ignored had this been any other city than Gotham. Seeing as Gotham was filled with its share of very colorful and unique criminals, the homeless man had more merit in this regard—especially due to the fact that one of the Bat’s most powerful foes happened to be a man by the name of Waylon Jones. Waylon Jones was unmistakable in his appearance suffering from a highly acute and extremely rare form of atavism, making him appear reptilian in nature complete with discolored scales for skin, jagged teeth, claw-like nails, and reptilian eyes.

Waylon Jones, aka, Killer Croc.

Jones earned that nickname for good reason—despite his looks and harsh upbringing, he was also a notorious criminal with crimes ranging from grand theft, disturbance of the peace, assault and battery—the most extreme act earning him the “Killer Croc” name being homicide/murder in the first degree. Not only was he dangerous due to his illegal conduct and feral behavior, but his medical condition also appeared to affect him physically – making him stronger, faster, and equipped with senses more acute and powerful than the normal person.

In other words, Killer Croc was no easy thug to handle when it came to brute strength/physical fighting.
However, out smarting the reptilian man was however, a weakness the Bat could easily play into and use against Jones. Following the path in which the homeless man had run from, the Bat now took off from the towering pillar gliding down towards the dilapidated warehouse in sight. Within moments and through extreme precision and stealth, he arrived inside the warehouse undetected and unnoticed.

Croc would suddenly feel a small tap on his back and the moment Croc turned about to see just who it was to tap on his back for attention, he suddenly found himself face to face with the Bat’s gloved fist. The punch the Bat threw at Croc wasn’t just any strong armed strike, in his gloved hand he had a small device—one of his countless bat-gadgets—with the capability to emit out a pulse of strong burst electricity, much like a taser. This electrically charged punch now sailed right at Croc’s face, aiming for his jaw…

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Had the massive humanoid reptile been on his guard, he might have scented Batman, but with all his brute strength, he had gotten cocky and no longer cared if some dark human in a constume tried to attack him from behind anymore. After all, what harm could he or anyone else do? To Killer Croc, it seemed like nothing bad could happen, and he wasnt scared of a stealthy attack from anyone. If Batman were just to waltz in and punch Croc in the face, he would only be hurting himself, as his thick scales would likely protect him from barely feeling it at all. What Croc failed to think about was the fact that, being Batman, he wouldnt just waltz in and punch one of his strongest foes in the face, that would just get him smashed into the concrete ground head first, heck, myswell just walk in with a big, lit sign that practically asked for a beatdown. HELLO! Im Batman! Ready for my beating!

So, as it was, Croc was not on his guard and he did not scent Batman, nor hear him approaching, he simply continued on with reorganizing the warehouse until he had a bit more room to move around in. He didn't feel like moving the rest just yet, even though he was far from tired. So he simply began sorting though their contents. Obviously, there was nothing of use to a giant man beast such as himself, still he continued, oblvious to the vigilante lurking in the shadows.

Something, or someone, tapped on his thick, scaly back. It wasnt a light tap, but a rather rough one that meant someone wanted his attention. As stupid as it was, Croc turned around anyway, curious as to who would possibly come up and tap him on the back. By the time he had a decent idea of who it was, he was already to late to avoid Batman's punch. Croc roared in anger as his vision flashed and a jolt of pain rushed through his upper body, spreading out along his limbs until they were stiff and heavy. The large brute shook his head to clear his dizzy gaze, somewhat disoriented by the unexpected punch. It had hurt, and that suprised him, but now he was furious, and it was obvious that it hadnt even come close to stopping him. Unable to control his anger, he lashed out blindly toward where he figured Batman would be, his claws arching through the air toward his assailant with frightening strength, which was something Batman should fear far more then just those sharp claws.

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Brazen as his behavior was to send an electrified punch into Waylon Jones’ face as a form of “getting attention”, there was a method to the Bat’s forward approach—swiftly neutralize Croc for interrogation about his motives, then send to Arkham. If Croc was out of custody on “good behavior” the Bat had yet to hear about that merit.

As far as he was concerned?

Killer Croc was just as dangerous and wanted as ever with no means to turn a new leaf in sight anytime soon. So, fast and apprehensive brutal tactics taken on the condition-afflicted thug were Batman’s most preferred choice. The moment the clawed hands took a blindingly fast and powerful swipe at the darkly cowl-clad crusader, Batman leapt back in the same speed to avoid the hit. Landing in pure stealth and silence, smoke bombs were procured from his notorious faint gold utility belt and thrown strategically to the floor before Croc—exploding in thick plumes of grey-blue vapors, clouding out all vision and senses.

Having taken into account the warehouse’s amenities, the Bat moved towards the crane-hook rig pulley located just behind Croc, hanging from the ceiling. The hook attached to the rope pulley was a massive iron one, made for tugging and lifting thousands of pounds—and would easily cause damage to concrete if dropped like dead weight to the ground. In the small time his smoke bombs bought him, Batman pulled out his grapple gun, took aim, and fired the grapple line right at the pulley—latching about the heavy device tightly.

A fierce yank was given to the massive pulley, making the device roll along its track attached to the ceiling, causing a fast momentum to build for the insanely heavy iron hook to arc back in a mighty swing. The iron hook then swung forward—all of its heaviness and speed aimed right for Killer Croc…

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As his powerful swing hopefully sped toward his target, Croc began to think of his assailant's identity. In the few first moments of the fight, which had left him confused and somewhat disoriented, he had not seen his opponent once. Was it really Batman? Could anyone else attack him so effectively and still manage to remain unseen? Robin perhaps. No, it had to be Batman, even now, after such a long time, Croc recognized the Bat's familiar scent, how could he ever forget? Now if only he could see him.

His heavy, clawed fist, swung through empty air. To Croc's annoyance, Batman avoided his attack, and Crock was now staggering forward, burdened by the force of his own attack. He caught himself on his right foot and regained his lost balance, vision finally beginning to clear as the pain subsided.

Maybe now he could see his target and Croc looked around, desperate, but it seemed luck was not on his side for this fight. No sooner had he caught just a slight glimpse of the vigilantes, his vision was obscurred by a thick screen of smoke, leaving him confused and disoriented once more. Furious, Croc was about to lash out again when he heard it.

It was a rather unfamiliar noise, eerie and directly behind him and Croc thought he could hear the air rushing past a seemingly heavy object, desperate to get out of it's way as it sped toward his position. What could it be? Croc wasn't sure he wanted to stand around and find out, just the sound of the object suggested that it was big enough to smash concrete. Was Batman trying to kill him? Desperate and suddenly a little frightens, not to mention furious, he stepped to his left and the massive hook slammed Into his shoulder, shattering the precious bone that allowed movement of his arm. Croc roared in agony and anger as he staggered, crashing into a pile of crates and cradling his crippled, throbbing limb with his free hand.

"I ll destroy you!" He roared at his assailant, Batman, trying to hold back another cry of pain. He knew he had to get up if he wanted to crush the man who had caused him so much misery, but he just fell back again in his first attempt blinded by a flash of red as his shoulder throbbed violently. Batman would pay for this, he guarenteed it.

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Going against someone like Waylon Jones required excessive amounts of pure brute strength. Though Batman was at the peak of physical fitness for a man of his build, his own undeniable strength was still no match to that of Croc’s. Not to mention Croc’s disorder gave him thick scaly skin—much like the hide of the reptile he was nicknamed after, allowing Croc stamina and resistance to most melee combat delivered with human strength. Taking the Croc on in a fist fight would be a suicidal move to say the least; brains would usurp brawn in Batman’s tactics for handling the feral criminal. Given Batman’s lack of physical power delivered by his bare hands needed in order to take Croc down, the huge iron hook attached to the pulley within the warehouse made a great substitute.

The sickening crunch of bone could be heard loud and clear when the swinging near two-ton hook collided into the thick of Croc’s shoulder, launching the reptilian man back into a tack of crates. Croc’s snarling threat was easily ignored by the Bat; the vigilante wasting no time in making his next move on the dangerous foe, moving towards Croc with speeding stealth. As Croc struggled to pull himself back up, a sudden blinding and sharp pain would shoot through his crushed shoulder caused by the steel toed booted kick-stomp delivered by Batman. He pinned Croc down against the splintered wood shards of the crushed crates beneath his massive form; Batman’s boot purposely and firmly placed on that broken shoulder in effort to hold Croc down long enough to wield yet another one of his fun “bat toys”.

A silvery pellet was pulled out of his utility belt along with a sleek breathing mask piece. Before Croc even had time to comprehend the pain Bat’s boot was now inflicting upon him, the pellet was thrown down to strike against Croc’s chest. The breathing mask was quickly secured over Batman’s cowl covered face to protect him from the vapors that seeped out of the pellet. The moment Croc took a single breath in, the drug in the pellet would immediately kick into gear—it was a highly potent, specially cut tranquilizer specifically designed to paralyze all muscles in the body from the neck down, leaving just enough functionality for the head. The tranquilizer was instant in its effectiveness and lasted anywhere from 2 to 4 hours.

The Bat had crafted such a potent drug specifically for Waylon Jones, even using some of the reptilian man’s DNA he had saved in cryo-storage to ensure the effectiveness of the drug. Then again, he had never used this tranquilizer on Croc before—time would tell if it was a success or not in the next few seconds…

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Pain. It was not something that Croc felt often. In fact, it was more like a tool that he used against both his enemies and anyone else that got in his way. He often enjoyed hearing the distressed wails and agonized screams of his prey. But now that one of his favorite tools was being used against him, Croc couldn't help but feel a bit humuliated. Luckily, no one else was around to see his takedown and Batman's easy victory, but he would rather get taken out by an accomplished hero then that pesky sidekick he drags around. But still, Croc would have his revenge, eventually.

How many times had he threatened Batman, only to fail the next time they met? To much. He could not beat the little pesk himself and it was clear now that Croc had to swallow his pride and find help if he wanted to stay out of prison, but who would willingly help him? Perhaps, in time, he would meet someone who also needed help, someone he could team up with. But it seemed first, he would have to escape prison again, unless he could convince Batman to just, let him go, but that was unlikely. He supposed he could try the sewers again, but it would take time for his shoulder to heal and until it did, he wasn't going anywhere.

He continued to struggle, thrashing in a desperate attempt to regain his footing, despite the torturous pain and the flashing red that obscurred his sharp vision, which was now rather presperated. Something struck his shoulder, something hard and solid. He didin't know what it was, but it hurt and caused him to gasp just as another strange object hit his chest. The air he breathed in when he gasped seemed tainted with some other aerial particle and he thrashed again, but it was rather weak as his limbs were beginning to fail, and before long, he found himself unable to move. Well, atleast he now had a veiw of Batman, not that it mattered anymore.

"You may have won this time, but the next time we meet you won't be so lucky." He snarled in a brutish tone, his voice cracking slightly. He chuckled a little, trying not to wince. Bat looked rather funny with two masks on.

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Once the vapors cleared, the Bat took off his protective breathing apparatus, revealing the notorious etched scowl upon his mask covered face. His lips went from their pursed grim line to a menacing sneer at Killer Croc’s writhing form. Ignoring Croc’s defeated threat, the Bat went straight to business—small talk need not apply.

[glow=gray,2,300]“Why are you out terrorizing civilians in abandoned warehouses, Jones? Looking for a new nest?”[/glow]

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Batman ignored his threat, as expected, but it still irritated Croc. He hated being ignored as much as Riddler hated being called a moron. His irritation continued to grow, though he tried to ignore Batman's sneer. Atleast he went straight to the point.t, no small talk this time, not that he wanted to. Croc actually preferred to go right to the point, rather then go around it for practically no reason, only to come back to it after a waste of breath no one really cared about.

Batman started off with asking why exactly he was here, terrorizing the locals, but it was no secret. His old hideout was infested with FBI and he had fled, not wanting to return to a life in chains. All he was doing was trying to find a safe house, away from the FBI. So what if he killed a few people no one cared about?

"The FBI seized my old hideout. I had to go somewhere." He grumbled innocently, his eyes gleaming with mock sorrow. "Surely you don't agree with their actions?"

[flip]

"Piece of shit," Two Face growled as he kicked the tire of the dumpy truck with his classy italian shoes. The steam was escaping the hood of the truck and clouding the air. Stupid truck was barely worth his effort to take since it kept breaking down on them. "Nickle, you fix this god damn you got for us or we'll put a bullet straight though that dumb face of yours," Two Face growled as he kicked the tire again for good measure.

"Yeah got it boss," the more cocky twin did with a nod and a smirk before quickly turning to the hood before his boss could catch the humor in his face. Admittedly, Two Face looked like a three year old throwing a temper tantrum.

We need to get a new car. Jesus, do you get off on stating the obvious? I swear you are freakin headache walkin' and you are a rage on a stick. At least, I am thinking of other options. We should drive out to the city and pick up a car. After we go to the warehouse and get my stuff.

A loud roar of sort echoed around them, and it caused the twins and Two Face to stiffen. Ah damn it! Croc is in the area and not to far from our hideout. Their eyes moved to the noise and realized it was coming from one warehouse over. Croc must be setting up a new spot, but who wasn't right now? "Go check it out," he ordered the other twin that was just standing their with an automatic. His eyes darting all over the place like a scared child.

"What?" the twin said in shock, "Me?"

Two Face growled, "Anyone else is wasting my time right now?" He pointed his gun at the frighten brat.

"R-right on it, boss," the twin said and hurried to the warehouse. Two Face went back to glaring at this horrible contraption that was called a car. FBI was screwin' him hard. Pam got what was comin' to her. Agreed. They had found out the other day through the criminal grape vine that the red head elite was arrested a while back. It was probably the only good news they had heard from the FBI.

"Boss, boss," the twin came running back, shouting in hush whisper. The other twin working on the car lifted his head at his brother.

They rolled their eyes as they turned to face the brat kid. "What? You got a tongue use it," Two Face growled to the paled face boy. He look like he just saw a ghost.

"Batman," he said through deep breaths as he pointed back to the warehouse, "Batman is in there with Croc. He took that monster down."

"Batman's in there?" Dent repeated as his eyes went to the warehouse. What?! No, that's a stupid idea. We need help and luck has brought us here. Dent looked at the overheating car. Luck did determine everything in this world. It was something he respected more then anything. Luck? Bad luck. No. No way!

The coin in there hand went into the air and Dent gave a small smile. Luck was leading them to this point. Luck would have the FBI taken out. "Come with me," he ordered as he moved to the warehouse, gun in hand.

You are going to get us sent right back to the slammer, and this time it will be the FBI with the keys!

They moved slowly and quietly to the entrance of the warehouse. The light wasn't the best in the room, but they could easily pick out the giant creature on the ground and the Batman questioning him. They could easily just kill the Batman.

Stab him right in the back! The FBI is the bigger threat.

Coin. Flip. Land.

"Hello Batman," Harvey stated after seeing the results of the coin. His gun pointed right at the Bat's back.