Commissioner James Gordon had been in charge of the Gotham City Police for more than a decade. As the official face of law enforcement in one of the most crime-filled cities in the country, his ass was on the line when bosses like Rupert Thorne or Sofia Gigante decided to flex their muscle over the underworld, or when madmen like Solomon Grundy or Julian Day went on brutal killing sprees. It could be said he'd seen Gotham through some of the most difficult times in the city's history, except not even he could remember an easy one.

But as he looked over the police report on the latest victim of the most recent string of murders in the city, he was seriously beginning to consider that all the mayhem and carnage that he had witnessed in his years on the P.D. might have been nothing more than a warm-up for what was happening now.

The public face on these so-called 'vampire murders' was that of a lone lunatic who had been striking every week or so. The press was aware of ten victims--- four female, six male--- who had been found dead of massive blood loss with two small puncture wounds on the neck. All of the victims had different economic backgrounds, different nationalities, and no relationship to each other except that they were all dead. The idea of a serial killer seemingly killing at random was enough to throw the entire city into a state of panic. The Joker had been doing it for years, and they had gotten used to it. Let one nutcase show up and start making bad vampire references, and they were hysterical.

What the public didn't know--- what Gordon had managed to limit to the Department and a few other important individuals--- was that those murders were merely the tip of the iceberg. The city was on the verge of becoming a powder keg ready to explode at any moment.

"Commissioner?"

Gordon looked up from the report to see Detective Harvey Bullock standing in his doorway. He looked sour but that was his general attitude towards life.

"What is it, Harvey?" he asked with a sense of foreboding.

"This a bad time, boss?"

Gordon gave a small smile. "How often has it been a good time, Harv?"

"True, boss." Bullock entered his office and closed the door behind him. "I hate to add to your load, but I just came back from lock-up."

Gordon sighed and put down the police report. "And?"

"They just booked Hammer Nolan." Nolan was small time muscle who worked for the Maroni family. "He just confessed murdering Eddie Brooks."

"Wonderful." said Gordon. "I supposed that he gave a detailed description of how he killed Brooks, why he destroyed the body and that he was working independently at the time."

"Yep, yep and yep, Boss."

Eddie Brooks was a contract-killer for Rupert Thorne. Normally this would have been good news for the police. However, Brooks' murder and Nolan's confession were symptomatic of a larger problem in Gotham--- ones that could potentially dwarf the ones that Gordon had with the vampire- style killings.

Over the past two months there had been a string of deaths among certain known criminal players in Gotham. This was nothing new, of course, there had been these kinds of murders before Gordon had started working for the department, and they would no doubt continue after Gordon left.

There were, however, two very critical differences about this recent streak of murders. The first was, in all twelve killings, the killer had been caught---but never by the police. Every time, the murderer had come to the police and confessed. Most of them had criminal records. Some had no known priors, but all of them had connections to the city's crime syndicates . There was a lot of doubt as to the authenticity of their confessions but, in every case, they had been borne out by the evidence.

This was odd enough, but even stranger was the fact none of the killers, despite their connections, wanted to make any kind of deal. They took their sentences of twenty to life without offering any kind of defense whatsoever. They just didn't seem to care that they were giving up their life and property without any kind of fight at all.

Bullock shook his head. "I've dealt with Nolan a couple of times before. Coolest customer you've ever seen. When he picked up the pen to sign his confession, I swear his hands were shaking. Somebody really put the fear of God into him."

Gordon nodded. "What explanation did he give for turning himself in?"

A very small smile appeared on Bullock's face. "He just said that his conscience wouldn't let him sleep anymore." The smile disappeared. "Apparently beating a teenager up for not paying for drugs didn't bother him but killing a schmuck like Eddie Brooks did."

"And did he say what he did with the body?" That was the other critical difference about this string of homicides. In each of them the day after the killing the corpse had disappeared.

"He just said that a scumfuck like that didn't even warrant getting a proper burial." Bullock took out a cigarette and lit it. "Boss, what the hell is going on here?"

Gordon gave a small smile. "What's the matter, Harvey? The world's becoming a better place. I'd think that you'd be happy about getting these guys off the street."

Bullock's face puckered as if he had just swallowed a lemon. "Come on. Be serious. You know things like this have an effect on the world. Known guys from major crime families and cartels are getting greased. Their killers are players themselves. Nobody believes these guys are acting on their own so they get more and more pissed. Right now, half of the crooks in the city want to kill the other half. This one's just gonna make it worse."

Gordon gave a sigh. "What would you have me do Harvey? Send inthe United Nationsto make peace between Thorne and Maroni?' He gestured towards the outside. "There are still a lot of bodies falling out there for other reasons, Harv. You want me to start fretting over cases that are closed, and closed clean?"

Bullock put his hand to his head. "I know the city's going to hell and you've got a lot on your plate. But this ain't gonna go away, Chief." He looked at Gordon. "It's going to get to get bigger until not even that freak in the cape is going to be able to help." Then, perhaps knowing that he had gone too far, Bullock left his office.

Gordon wasn't pissed that Bullock had been baiting him. The truth was, he was getting very worried about what was going on. There was only one other man who might have an idea what the hell was going on and how to stop it.

He stood up and left his desk, hoping that Batman was having better luck than he was.

The Killer Croc did not look happy. No-one trapped inside a padded jail cell (proofed against his teeth, and his inhuman strength) would be. A transparent screen kept Croc visible to his guardians. Whatever it was made of, he'd tried to smash through it twice, and he hadn't even made a dent. It was thin enough for them to speak to him through, but too strong to break.

Four of his ribs were taped together, the tape a stark white contrast against his dark, scaly blue-green skin. It was obvious he was mad – the Killer Croc was always mad at something or someone – but this time there was something else in his eyes beside the rage.

He shifted on the floor of the cell (they had given him no furniture – it was too much of a risk), looking at the wall. The physicians and dentists had finished with him for the night – what they wanted with him, he still wasn't certain. It was obvious something was up.

It was five minutes later when the Batman appeared on the other side of the screen. Croc had looked down for a few seconds, and when he looked up, the Batman was there. It didn't surprise him the Bat was there, considering what was going on.

"Croc." The Bat's voice was as flat and emotionless as usual, his mouth hard. His tone of voice made it clear that whatever he was there for, Croc wasn't going to like it.

"What the fuck do you want, Bat-freak?" Croc's own voice made it very clear he wanted to be left to his business. Whatever it was that had happened to leave him in the cell, he wanted to forget about it.

"Someone deposited you on the steps of the Thirty-First precinct's station house at two AM, Croc. I've heard your story as to what happened. We both know you're lying." It almost seemed through the lenses that covered the Batman's eyes that he was staring right in to Croc's inner self – something that always unnerved Croc.

"Screw off, Bat." Croc growled.

"No gangland posse did what you're claiming they did to you, Croc. There are no marks anywhere on you. You've been beaten terribly, but there are no bruises. Whoever did this knew precisely what they were doing. They wanted you to live with the fact that they had done it to you."The Bat paused a moment. "If one of the families wanted you dead, Croc, we both know you would be."

Batman spoke matter-of-factly. He'd dealt with the Falcones, the Giovannes and the other 'families' of Gotham's criminal syndicate many times over. Whoever had done this with the Croc had come nowhere close to fitting their modus operandi. If they had wanted Croc punished, they would have kept it 'within the family'.

"It doesn't matter. You wouldn't believe anything I told you, anyway." Croc's voice was angry and sullen at the same time, now, as if he was certain his fate was sealed. "I go before the grand jury in a week. Chances are they'll kill me no matter what I tell you, even if I tell you the truth. I didn't kill those people."

Batman's mouth, the only visible part of his face, was a thin line. "Then explain the indentations in their throats or wrists, Croc. They match your teeth exactly, and there isn't anyone else in this city that has teeth quite like yours."

"I didn't do it, damn you!" Croc was growing angrier.

"Lying to me isn't going to save you from the needle, Croc." Batman exhaled. "Now. When did you start eating humans?"

Croc blinked, displaying an emotion he had never shown in front of the Batman before. Shock. Surprise.

"ExSCUSE me? I DON'T!"

"Croc, the bodies came to the infirmary with your tooth imprint in them. The next day they were gone. I know that some of the people you've worked for have contacts in the Medical Examiner's office. Did you bribe them to let you have the bodies?"

"I didn't pay them anything because I didn't do it!" Croc was clearly enraged now, and he tried to put one of his fists through the screen, visibly wincing afterward as he rubbed the knuckles that had been unable to even make a mark.

"And when did you start drinking blood?" The Batman's tone was now clinical, as if he were a psychologist doing an evaluation.

Croc punched at the screen again, using the other hand. This time he did not react, and simply let his hand fall when the fist's contact did nothing. He screamed, enraged – as if what Batman had said to him had touched a nerve somewhere deep inside.

"I do not drink blood! I never would! Even I have my limits, you stupid bastard! I may kill people, but I don't eat them and I don't drink blood!"

Batman did not react visibly, despite Croc's tirade. "Then explain to me, Croc, why the bodies were completely drained. It keeps coming back to the fact that the imprints match your teeth perfectly, that these were gangland family members, and that someone dropped you on the steps of a police station. You tell us a gang beat you senseless, yet there isn't a mark on you."

Croc spoke again, the rage gone, his tone once again sullen and humiliated. "You would never believe me, even if I told you the truth."

It was the humiliation in the tone that registered with Batman. He had dealt with Croc countless times over the years, and though he had known the half-breed to be angry and upset when he beat him badly, he couldn't remember a time when Croc had ever sounded so disgraced.

Abruptly, he changed his tone. "Try me."

For a moment it seemed as if Croc was going to raise an objection. Finally, he put his head in his hands and began to talk.

"The past month or so I've been dealing with some people who said they were from out-of-state." Croc started. "People who knew about my work with… well, you know, good family men."

Batman knew that Croc's involvement with the 'family men' of Gotham was far deeper than he was admitted but knew this was not the time to press. "What did they want?"

"Nothin' much. Just some names, anything I could tell 'em about some places in Gotham, and where people are in the 'totem pole'." Croc shrugged his massive shoulders. "They could have figured it out themselves if they knew where to look, but they offered me three times what I get for working for the family men, so I figured, what the fuck? Why not? But then, yesterday…" he trailed off.

"Then what?" asked Batman.

"Yesterday their questions started getting weird. Who were the ones with the weakest wills or the strongest spirit. Some kind of stupid new age bullshit. I told them that if they wanted to know that stuff it was going cost double."

"Double-crossing people always works so well for people in your profession." Batman spoke with no humor in his voice at all.

"Hey, what the fuck were they going to do? They were men and I'm… well… me! What chance would they have?"

"So they got angry at you and..." Batman trailed off.

"They told me I cold either help them out or that would extract the information some other way. I laughed in their face, and then…."

"And then what?"

Croc hesitated. "This is the part you're not going to believe." He hesitated again. "I swung at one of them and…"

"And?" Batman pressed.

"His face changed."

Croc sounded genuinely puzzled. This was nothing new, Croc wasn't exactly the brightest bulb, but Batman thought that this attitude had less to do with his intellect than with what he had seen. "How did it change?" Batman asked.

"His eyes changed color. They turned yellow. There was these ridges that appeared on the edge of his nose, and his teeth… I don't get how he managed that…"

"What happened to them, Croc?"

"They changed… they looked like mine."

Batman considered this. "You're not trying to tell me that this criminal grew fangs, are you?"

Croc was simultaneously slouching in his chair but sticking to his guns. "I told you that you wouldn't believe me."

At this point, Batman normally would have told Croc that he was tired of his crap, exit the room and leave him to his date with the court, and then with the needle.

Two things, however, stopped him. The first was the fact that Croc did not have the kind of imagination or intellect that could have made this kind of story up. There was a possibility that he knew the details of the vampire murders and was improvising from that but again he didn't think that this hood with muscles and teeth had the ability to imagine quite that much.

The second were the wounds on Croc's body. He had fought Croc many times, and though he had managed to come out victorious most of the time, he had never been able to do a great deal to Croc physically. It took a lot of power and placement to manage to bruise Croc, and he didn't think that there were more than a hundred people in the world who could do that kind of damage.

So, if it wasn't a person who had done this kind of damage then who…?

Batman was quiet for so long that even Croc had the nerve to break the silence. "What are you going to do?"

Batman maintained his silence for a while longer. Finally he turned to Croc. "Call in the guard outside. Tell him that you have a statement to make. Tell him exactly what you said…"

"I tell him that the feds will be… "Croc started.

Batman fixed him with a dark stare. "Exactly what you told me, Croc. If you that, I'll make sure D.A. doesn't ask for the death penalty."

"You have that kind of influence?" said Croc incredulously.

"You'd be surprised." Batman said as he walked to the outside door and rapped on it.

When the guard entered the room, Batman was gone.

Gordon's phone rang. He sighed, hoping it wasn't the mayor asking if there had been any breaks in either set of murders.

He picked up the phone. "This is Gordon."

There was a momentary silence. "I just had a talk with Croc." The voice on the other end spoke with authority.

Gordon was surprised; in the years that he had known Batman he didn't think that he had ever called him. "Did he give you aything?"

There was a pause. "In a few minutes one of the guards is going to tell you he has a statement from Croc. After you read it, call the district attorney. Make him take the death penalty off of the table."

Gordon forgot who he was talking with for a second. "You're kidding, right? The DA wants him tried for seven counts of first-degree murder. He's not going to let that happen!"

"Croc didn't commit those murders, Jim."

"We're supposed to take his word for it? "

A pause. "I believe him."

Now Gordon was truly flummoxed. "What the hell did he tell you?" he asked.

Silence. "Make it happen, Jim. This is a lot bigger than just these murders."

"How much bi…" Gordon was cut off by the dial tone. He held on to the phone for a few seconds longer. "That son-of-a bitch always finds a way to do that to me." He put a hand to his forehead. "What the hell is happening to my city?"