DEEP WITHIN THE SEWERS

They had come, just like he knew they would. All throughout his sewer, cameras had flashed and harsh voices had reverberated. He could smell their flesh and bone and hear their blood rushing through their bodies. There was temptation… such sweet temptation. He had even come close to them, just close enough to taste the pheromones their bodies emitted. However, he had restrained himself; the oily metal scent of their guns and bullets was also present. Waylon knew that his skin was stronger than that of most men. The blunt instruments with which his previous meal had attacked him hadn't even made an impact. But, he wasn't sure he could withstand a gunshot, so for the time being, it was best to exercise caution. Others would be along who were not as heavily armed.

Ghosting through the water, Waylon approached his nest. For the first time in a while, he paused over the quilt on top of his blanket pile. It was almost unrecognizable from the years it had spent in the grime and refuse, but the pattern underneath could still be felt. Roses were sewn into the middle of the quilt, with their green stems contorting and interweaving to form a frame around the rest of the blanket. His mother had sewn it for him when he was five years old. Every day, he had come home from school, having endured a day of jeers and mockery and disgusted looks from both classmates and teachers. With tears streaking down his face, he would sit at her feet while she sewed that quilt. He would caress the fabric, feel the softness of the padding that she stuffed inside. Then, he would look at her, the only person who had ever truly loved him, and for a moment, everything wouldn't seem quite so bad.

Shaking his head, Waylon rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Those days of tenderness were long gone, just like his mother. The rest of the world had no such softness for him, so he had learned to respond in kind. He closed his eyes, planning to slip into as deep a sleep as he could manage.

Suddenly, skittering could be heard throughout the sewer chamber. Thousands of rats were instantly on the move, running like one cohesive organism as they worked their way through the pipes. Waylon stood up and listened to the direction of the flow. Slipping into the water, he began to travel in the direction opposite the rats. He was careful to make as little noise as possible so they wouldn't scatter. They only moved like this when an intruder was nearby, and their stream would lead Waylon precisely to his location.

He followed the sound for several meters down the main sewer channel, then heard it branching off into one of the lesser pipes. Climbing out of the water, he was forced to crouch to accommodate the smaller size of the pipe. As quietly as the echoing concrete would allow, he continued through the intricate network of pipes until a voice stopped him dead.

"Alfred, send me the schematics for the entire Gotham sewer system."

"I thought you would have it memorized by now, sir," a British man replied, sounding as if he were on the other end of a phone call.

"I'm heading into new territory. If this thing has managed to escape my attention thus far, it can't be using the main sewer pipes."

"As you wish, sir."

Waylon felt himself flinch at the words "this thing." It was hardly the most offensive thing he'd been called, but something about how the man said it made his skin crawl. He felt a familiar rage start to boil in his stomach. His heart began to pound as his tongue ran over his teeth. He edged closer to the man, barely making a sound. Just as he was deciding where his first bite would land, a disturbing thought occurred to him. The man had made no mention of the people Waylon had killed. He wasn't even near where the attack took place. The only person the man had mentioned was Waylon himself. He wasn't looking into the murders at all. He was looking for him.

For the first time since he had attacked the sewer workers, Waylon felt truly afraid. This man knew what he had done to them. He knew that he had ripped people apart. Perhaps he even knew he had eaten them. Despite all this, he still came looking for him… alone. What kind of man would even entertain the thought of hunting him? He may be an overconfident hunter searching for his next trophy, or a lunatic suffering from a heroic delusion of grandeur. Waylon began to calm himself down. He was most likely just a man who was out of his depth, and he would be easily dealt with.

Footsteps echoed as the man began to move. Thankfully, he started in the direction away from Waylon. Waylon allowed him to gain a several meter lead before following him. The man wove his way through the maze of pipes, at times touching base with the British man on his phone. An hour passed, and Waylon felt his confidence building. He had managed not to raise alarm. His hearing was obviously superior, meaning he could easily trace the man while remaining untraceable himself. As the minutes ticked by, Waylon felt his stomach beginning to growl.

. . . . .

It's getting closer, he thought. The sounds were faint, but Bruce could hear the gentle nudging and scraping across the concrete. It was so quiet that, at times, he wasn't convinced anything was following him at all. However, the noises had gotten louder throughout his investigation, and there was now no doubt in his mind. Bruce pondered exactly what might be behind him. From the sounds he heard, he could tell it was large, even enormous. Yet, it had enough control over its body mass to maintain a reasonable level of stealth, indicating its girth came from muscle, as opposed to fat.

He decided against engaging it. It became more insistent as time passed. Soon, it would be confident enough to strike.

. . . . .

Closer and closer he edged… Waylon felt ashamed for letting his fear get the better of him earlier. This was only a normal man. The sooner he was dealt with, the better. Crouching to all fours, Waylon charged towards him. Instantly, he felt a slight pain in his shoulder. He smirked. So that's the best you've got? However, within seconds, electricity was coursing through his body, causing him to collapse to the ground in a convulsing heap.

. . . . .

Bruce blinked, then blinked again. He almost didn't believe the thing lying in front of him could be real. It had the general shape of a man, but was monstrous in size. When fully erect, it would have been nearly ten feet tall, and its arm span was well over six. But, its most shocking feature by far was its skin. It was covered in thick scales, giving it a reptilian appearance. As Bruce shined a light in its eyes, he could see they were a clouded, milky yellow.

Suddenly, the creature exploded off the ground. It blindly swung its claws in all directions. Bruce was forced to lunge backwards to avoid being sliced. After a moment, it appeared to regain its bearings and sprinted away. Giving chase, Bruce followed it through the network of pipes. He was barely able to keep up. The speed of the thing was incredible. Within minutes, they were approaching the main sewer pipe. At the end of the tunnel was a steep drop into the rushing sewer water below.

Without slowing down, the creature dove in. Bruce stopped short of the edge of the tunnel and peered into the murky depths. There was no sign of the creature from the surface. Its weightlessness in the water would make it far more lethal; diving in after it would be suicide.

Swinging across the tunnel, Bruce hastened to make his way to the surface. He'd known this thing would be strong, but its durability had caught him completely off guard. His shock batarangs could knock Bane out for several hours, but this… this crocodile man was barely down fifteen seconds.

"Alfred," he called, "Tell Lucius to meet me tomorrow morning in the Batcave."

"I believe Mr. Fox is negotiating with investors from 8:00 to…"

"Cancel that."

"This will be the third time, sir. They won't be happy, and Mr. Fox won't either for that matter."

"I need my arsenal upgraded. He won't stay mad for long.