Batman – Apocalypse
Chapter 3: The Sewers
The sewers weren't his favorite place to be. Nor a place he would even go, if not necessary. Despite the image he held with the rest of the family, Batman, for once, had no idea what to do or where to go. On top of the fact that the man was in the sewers, a place where he'd normally expect an attack from Killer Croc, or some other sort of trouble. If the lack of air and water down here didn't kill him, someone else would likely do the deed. Lincoln, Brother Eye, The Joker.
A scream was heard behind him. Familiar, and he knew it was that of his daughter, whom was no longer behind him.
"Mystreria...? Mysteria?!" He shouted. The voice simply echoed. His ears caught little sounds. Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip... Splash... Tiny whimpering. And then... a roar. The World's Greatest Detective had knowingly walked into the lair of Waylon Jones, Killer Croc.
A green scaled hand grabbed the Batman roughly, clutching his throat in a death-grip and holding the Dark Knight in the air. Sharp, reptile-like claws dug into The Bat's cowl, causing his white eyes to narrow in anger and shock. Struggle was the body's function, and so tough, armored arms struck out, flailing at the reptilian enemy.
"I'm feeling... hungry." Croc whispered, menacingly. His two hands closed in on the Batman's head, pulling him close. The Batman's hands lay at his belt, his fingers curling up in some sort of grabbing fist.
"Today's not a good day to push me, Waylon." He simply said, as if being eaten was not even a possibility. Which to him, it wasn't. A gas-like toxin flew out from the Batman's hand, surrounding Croc's aggressive skin and entering every part of him. Suffocating him, or so the victim thought. Fear. It was the Bat's intention to provide fear to everyone. Him included.
The Bat noticed Blackeagle on the floor, laying with blood near her. She had been in Croc's hand, before Croc had attempted to eat Batman. But he didn't care. Not now.
"Where's the TYGER storage compartment? Talk, before the toxin does its purpose." He said, angrily, while he stood above the coughing reptile. "NOW." Like the figure of the night he was, this was his purpose. Croc was an obstacle, a fence, a damned gate in the way of his vengeance. The deaths around him had weighed on the Knight, and he had to stop himself before he killed Croc with his bare hands.
As if to stop him, his Justice League communicator signaled. No direct message, but a distress call. A call for help.