Something Wicked This Way Comes [KILLER CROC / O ]

[Baby Doll]

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The sewers were no place for a little girl. At least that was the word that went around as the men chortled and hooted at Baby Doll’s rather perverse, Lolita look. The stern look on her face went unacknowledged as she met with the gaze of men who stood remarkably taller than her. With the scenery so out of place one had to wonder why Harvey had sent one of his more immature lackeys out into the depth of Gotham. Truth be told, why the frail, young and so obviously mentally incapable Baby Doll was sent out on Dent’s bidding – no one really knew. Some said it was because he had a death wish for her, others said somehow, someway she always got the job done.

Truth be told, the young woman despite all her setbacks was like a lucky charm for Dent. In the past few weeks her work, while not being the most impressive had been the most successful and at the end of the day that was all that mattered. There were messages that had to be sent out, people to kill, debts to be paid and an entire mob family that had to be dismantled. Baby Doll was just the girl for the job.

Falcone’s recent exploits had been rather elusive, but not enough for Dent to completely lose their trail. Weapons dealing, drug selling, illegal prostitution, those were rather mundane excursions – even for the Falcone Family. That’s why this evening was so important because a little bird informed Dent of the missing fourteen year old, police chief’s daughter. Word got out that due to the lack of response to their ransom request, the mob was preparing to behead the daughter and throw her into Gotham’s sewers to show Gotham an example.

Do not cross the Falcone family, you will be burned.

As a rather unorthodox lawful undertaker, Dent sought Anne Bromsworth and the men who held her captive. Intel said Falcone sent out one of his top dogs to take care of the job and provide a rather interactive and dehumanizing video of the event. What other way to hit home than through the televised screens of millions. At least Dent and Falcone were thinking the same way at this point. With Falcone broadcasting public feeds, Harvey thought it time to teach the mob family a lesson in justice.

Justice through the murder of Falcone’s top dog. A live feed would surely bring the family to shame and if the girl got away alive well then it would just add salt to the wound. It wasn’t about putting a man behind bars at this point – it was about principle. The time had come to put the Falcone family in their place and what better way than in the underworld that they thought they controlled. This act would force Falcone back into his seat and make him rethink the amount of control he had in the criminal underworld.

He needed to be taught a lesson in playing fair.

And what better way than to send the bubbly, bright eyed and overly excited Baby Doll? Her heavy pig tails bobbed up and down as she skipped down the sewer, accompanied by her ever faithful pair of henchmen and a small pink book bag dangling off one shoulder. She sang a happy yankee tune as she jumped and hopped from side to side, making a game out of the went spots on the ground. “Don’t step on the lava!” She would squeal excitedly as she leaped from one dry spot to another. Her rather bulky and daft looking henchmen ignored her enthusiasm as they cautiously walked down the sewer line – at least they were well aware of the dangers at hand.

Giggling and making all sorts of uncharacteristic noises within the tunnels, Baby Doll almost didn’t hear the scream of terror in the distance. Skidding to a halt the young woman looked curiously around the bend to see the trio of men all huddled around the fourteen year old girl. She was bruised and battered, bloodied and shaken – all sorts of terrible things had been done to her. It could be seen in the look on her face, the lifelessness of her eyes and the tattered clothing that barely covered the remainder of her body. Baby Doll placed her finger to her lips, telling the men to fall silent.

They held back as Baby Doll watched one man unzip his slacks and urinate on the young girl. The trio chortled and laughed as the young girl cried out.

“That’s what I think of the chief.” The urinating man said as he shook his organ at the girl and put the item away. The other two men laughed boisterously as they kicked and spat at the girl who at this point had no more fight left in her.

Breathing in and out, Baby Doll rounded the corner, her heels clicking on the concrete surface and quickly gaining their attention. They turned from Anne Bromsworth a look on caution on their face that quickly turned to amusement.

“What the f&@k this this?” One man asked, raising his weapon nonchalantly at Baby Doll and pointing to her. The firearm brought no fear to her eyes and she pressed forward, her pink, bear shaped book bag now hanging in her hand as her free hand began to dig through its contents.

“Seriously?” Another man asked a bemused look on his face, he quickly cocked his firearm and fired. A warning shot of course and the bullet rebounded off the ground in front of Baby Doll and into the water. She was unnerved, her expression unchanging as she pressed forward, finally brandishing a small handball from her bag.

“Wanna play?” She asked with a pure smile on her face and her expression showing clear innocent and sincerity as she produced the ball and looked at the trio rather expectantly. They stared at one another, and slowly began to break into a chuckle and then finally a laugh.

“Alright…” the same man began, raising his firearm and aiming it at Baby Doll’s head, “Catch.” The round was fired and the subsequent bang was followed by a release of smoke and the bewildered cries and shouts of the men as the aisle filled with a heavy thick blanket of smoke. [/style]

[Killer Croc]

As massive as he was, the labrinthine sewers that spread out beneath the towering Gotham was a perfect place to call home. Though not very stealthy as he was above the ground, the twisting, foul smelling structure helped to hide him in more then just the way of sight. For one, no one could smell him over the normal stench of the tunnels, and since he was so accustomed to moving around within the sewers, he hardly made a sound. The beast's eyes glowed like two orbs of hellish flame, staring out into the dark, rank depths in search of intruders, or as the natural hunter would call it, prey.

While his prodigious frame was only portrayed as an outline of solid obsidian, it was terribly obvious that the humanoid beast was not very human at all. It's form was rigid and broad, it's face stretched out into a muzzle that hid within rows of razor sharp teeth. It's hands were equipped with long, curved claws of an ebony shade that glinted in the low light, shining down through open grates. His large dinosaur like feet held a similar, feral quality, but of course, nothing completed a horrible mutation better then a lithe, heavilly muscled tail that stretched out behind the hunched over body of the Killer Croc of Gotham, gliding just above the ground as to keep from making the slightest of sounds that may echo through the tunnels and alert nearby...guests.

His movements, while usually quick and suprisingly fluid, were now cautious and slow, each step carefully monitored with a sharp eye that could supply perfect sight in even the darkest corners of the underground maze, his large, unhuman nostrils flaring as they hoped the catch the scent of a trespasser, tongue flicking from powerful, scaly jaws with the lowest of hissing noises that came with his heavy breathing, the oxygen slipping between large incisors to explode out into the world. It was after a heavy sigh of dissapointment that he hadn't had dinner yet that Killer Croc heard it, the faint, childish squeel of a girl, and there could only be one girl crazy enough to throw herself into the devil's land, and heck, she wasn't even a girl at all.

Of course, Croc couldn't be exactly sure. Perhaps it was just some kid who had lost a toy down the drain, and had been daring enough to traverse his lands without knowledge of the danger. How dumb. Oh well, it was worth investigating in his boredom, and though the scent was also famillier, the child was still a trespasser in his home, deliberatly or not. Killer Croc picked up the pace with a more deliberate, loud hiss this time, his claws clicking against the concrete as he moved with a direct destination in mind. The echoes that rang through the tunnel could easilly be tracked by the honed senses of the beast, and he knew just where to go.

It was quite the few corners he rounded until he heard the scream, but it wasn't that of the girl he was tracking, but another, more mature. Since when did the sewers get so much traffic? He poked his hand around the corner, reptillan eyes staring out towards the small throng of terrorizing thugs that stood around a young girl. In all honestly, he didn't care for the girl or her life. What he did care about, however, was that these fools were commiting their violent acts in his territory without his permission. And that, of course, meant death.

Killer Croc began to creep forward, straining to keep his claws from dragging across the rough ground, making as little movement as possible, his body molding with the deep shadow of the sewers to hide him in a veil of darkness. Then she arrived. Killer Croc hardly recognized her, but the scent was the same, and the hair was the same, and, duh, the attitude was the same, unfortunetly. It was Baby Doll, and she steped forward now to challenge the brazen group with a childish, stoic expression that mirrored not worry or fear.

“Wanna play?”

That was her voice all right, in it's high pitched, annoying, all to famillier tone that mimicked a false innocence. His lip curled in annoyance, once, he had enjoyed the femanine voice Baby possessed, but now, it was a terrible irritant. He started to move forward again, knowing that within a few moments, he would be visible to the eyes of these intruders, of course, that was when one of them decided to point a gun at Baby Doll's head, and a sudden sense of rage swept through the nightmare's monstrous body. A tremor of raw hatred drove him forward at a suprising speed. Croc hardly realized what had happened until the bullet bounced off his thick hide with a harmless sting.

Killer Croc's hand was raised in the action, but it decended now toward the man who had dared pull the trigger, the immense strength flattening him to the ground like a pancake as razor sharp talons ripped deep furrows into the flesh, a metallic smelling fluid of crimson spurting from the sudden, ragged carvings that stretched across the man's body and caused a scream to echo through the sewers just before the last of his life fluids drained onto the concrete, staining it with still warm ink.

A savage snarl was torn from Killer Croc's maw as he lurched forward with his jaws agape, clamping his deadly incisors around the second man's head and embedding them deep into the cracking skull. In a show of brute strenght, the powerful beast raised the thug into the air and whipped his head from side to side, growling behind the mass of mangled flesh within his mouth as blood splattered the walls like a careless flick of an artist's brush. The man in his mouth squeeled, but Killer Croc didn't just want him mutilated, he wanted him dead.

Raising both hands and plunging his claws into his sides, Killer Croc promply ripped the head from the body and tossed the ravaged corpse aside, spitting the head toward the third fool that had dared to intrude here. In an obvious display of terror as his eyes locked onto the vicious slits of the fierce Killer Croc, the man spun and attempted to flee, but in his fear, he staggered and hit the ground with a shout just as Croc's hand wrapped around his waist to crush him in a ravaging grip that snapped bones and shredded flesh. With a roar, the scaled monster flung the man into the far wall and felt a sadistic leap of delight as his scream was suddenly cut short by a sickening array of cracks and blood splatter.

They, of course, would become his dinner. For now, he turned toward Baby Doll, seemingly forgetting about the girl who cowared in his shadow. His petrifying gaze settled upon the diseased woman with an obvious warning, though they unmistakeably held a light of curiousity within the sharp pupils that flitted this way and that. Killer Croc's tail thumped against the wall behind him as he gave a rumbling growl from deep within his chest, a string of flesh hanging from a large tooth as the large jaws parted to take in the taste of the air that danced around Baby Doll and her crew, his lizard tongue flicking out from between gleaming fangs.

"Why are you here?" His voice held a meanicing, serpentine quality to it, the raspy tone echoing eerily through the tunnels around them. Surely Baby Doll wouldn't be so brazen as to travel his realm without an important reason? Perhaps one involving Killer Croc himself?

[Deathstroke]

The stench of human waste permeated throughout the putrid and humid air of Gotham’s subterranean network, its sewers. Anyone equipped with a weak or full stomach would have retched even after their body began trembling from the stress-inducing activity. Deathstroke possessed neither at that moment, but he did have an extraordinary sense of smell. Through practice and experience, however, Slade had trained his nose as well he would a bloodhound whose olfactory capabilities, in his mind, paled in comparison to his own.

Anyone else in Deathstroke’s position would have scented only an unbearable abundance of feces, urine, and the rot of age-old half-digested food. He, however, analyzed the plethora of smells that bypassed his mask and assaulted his nostrils, and he systematically sorted and categorized them. He picked up the scent of men; there were at least five of them. He smelled metal and gunpowder some distance away; the men were armed. He smelled two girls and the sweat that layered one of them; she was terrified. He also smelled what resembled a crocodile. He paused and wondered when that thing had gotten loose again.

He had to hurry, but he also needed to proceed carefully. The nationally wanted criminal had not slipped into Gotham city well below the bat radar for nothing. He had infiltrated the roach-infested city intent on fulfilling his latest contract. Sex, drugs, and weapons among other unhealthy profitable ventures in Deathstroke’s experience all had one thing in common. They were all big business and business, no matter how small, had competition. The elimination of such proved infinitely convenient as Deathstroke knew all too well.

His client wanted a certain competitor and kin eliminated. The Falcone family had to go! The Falcones, however, had been crossed before and they had a nasty reputation for graphic retribution. Deathstroke's client specifically wanted him for the job because no known connection existed between them. If Deathstroke was caught or subdued, as insanely impossible as the prospect was, his captors would never learn who had hired him. Among professional reasons for this; Deathstroke's employer greatly feared what the Falcone family would do to him if they learned he had sent an attack dog after them.

An all too current example of the reaction to threats was that a police chief’s daughter (presently being used a urinal) had been abducted for a ransom that the police refused to pay. The family planned to have her publicly humiliated and executed in front of a live audience.

How had Deathstroke learned of the precise location? Slade hit the clubs in a wig and mirrored sun glasses and located an associate of the Falcone family, a very close associate. He sat down with the mouse for some “persuasive conversation”. The man cracked easily enough and was later discovered in a public restroom stall with his brains blown out (by his own hand according to investigators). Slade was never one to let loose ends go unknotted.

Deathstroke planned on interrupting the scheduled program to squeeze a few more details about the Falcone family out of the cast & crew. What followed proved unfortunate, especially for Slade’s wallet; someone or, more precisely, something had squeezed something far less valuable out of Deathstroke’s targets. The aroma of freshly spilled blood surged through his nose and the screams of the dead and soon-to-be deceased pierced his ears. A rusted wrench had been thrust into the beautiful engine that had been his plan. He was not amused.

The sweaty and pissed upon girl, the chief’s daughter, remained alive. Surely she knew something helpful. Deathstroke could have her questioned and returned home in time for dinner if he hurried. It had not exactly been in the plan for him to rescue the child; her fate did not concern him in the slightest, but nothing would be gained if he allowed her to die given the circumstances.

He did not move forward, however. If he presented himself in that instant, the girl would bear witness. The entirety of Gotham justice, Batman included, would come crashing down upon him as soon as she reported her experienced to dearest daddy. He was confident in his skills to elude even the dark knight, but his personal investigation into the Falcone family would end up severely hindered as a result.

He considered applying a gas grenade to the situation. He could knock out the remaining parties and collect the girl. He could detain her until he had officially concluded his business then free her and maybe even give her some travel and shopping money for all her trouble…not that he cared how she faired.

Batman, however, would certainly find trace amounts of the chemicals used in the grenade and then trace it back to a list of known criminals who employed such weapons. He would narrow his list down to anyone who could possibly benefit from the abduction of the chief’s daughter. He would eliminate the Falcone family because they had already possessed her. Not unless, however, he thought they had a contingency plan to extract her in case things went sour, which proved unlikely considering the fact all the present Falcone lackeys were present and accounted for. They were also headed straight to the morgue for some admittedly common autopsy work in Gotham.

He could extract the girl and one of the bodies, a relatively intact one. He could make it appear as though a thug had retreated back to his master with the prize. He could then forge a note for the police and fulfill his contract in less time than it took for the cops to figure out they had been duped. What about the witnesses? Could he succeed in his deceit if he killed them? Deathstroke was persuasive, but he doubted he could fool an idiot into believing some moron with a pistol killed that monster.

Limited on time and options, Deathstroke decided to employ the use of one of his subtle techniques, diplomacy. He rounded a bend in the sewer and appeared on the blood-spattered scene with an unparalleled air of professionalism that bordered on absolute arrogance. He held nothing in his hands, but the dim lighting of Gotham’s dismal sky filtered through an overhead grate and revealed he was practically armed to the teeth. Whatever he wanted certainly could not involve a peaceful resolution, but Deathstroke had already resolved to make an attempt.

“Pardon the sudden intrusion, but that poor petrified young lady is expected elsewhere.” Deathstroke spoke up to be heard then eyed (singular) the only defined victim in the scenario. “Dear child, you have suffered a terrible ordeal,” He addressed the visibly shaking girl; her wide-eyed look suggested that she was not registering anything said to her. “You have been saved,” He continued regardless of her state in hopes of soothing her even if only slightly.

“You have been given another chance at life. You are among scarce few who have survived your tormentors. Let me assure you that I intend on making them pay not just for you, but also for all the girls who did NOT survive. You owe it to them and to the law for which your father stands to help bring these men to justice so that they may face judgment for their crimes. Make your father proud; come with me and tell me all you have learned of his enemies and I will avenge every tear, yours included, and every drop of blood that has been shed in the presence of these demons. Do not fear me; I will see you safe and I will return you to your father.” He waited for a response while analyzing the others in his presence.

The monster had proven itself extremely territorial; Deathstroke would engage without mercy and prove to the girl his capacity for destroying beasts if it foolishly decided to challenge him. The other girl, however, presented an entirely different problem. He had to avoid killing her no matter how manic and unhinged she appeared. Harming her in the presence of the chief's daughter would sabotage his current plan.

The obviously insane young lady carried on with the presence of a child who had just been given her choice of unlimited sweets in a candy shop. She, among all of them, was the chaotic element in the situation and, as such, Deathstroke could hardly predict her. In that moment, he silently resolved to end her as well if she forced his hand; he would not fail!

[Baby Doll]

[style= text-align: justify; padding: 5px; width: 445px;] The moment before the gunshot had went off; Baby had crouched low and at the same time thrust the ball onto the ground. It exploded with a hiss and immediately the corridor filled with a thick black smoke that successfully hid Baby Doll from sight. Giggling over the gunshots, she pranced here and there, laughing at the sounds of their shouts when suddenly the boisterous yells turned into terrified screams. She paused, cocky her head to the side slightly as she stared straight ahead the thick black smoke now clearing and the air before her slowly turning grey. She peered through the dissipating smoke and when the footsteps of her accompanying henchmen reached her ears she held her hand out, asserting to them to remain in position (why was she in charge again?).

The smog was lifting now and as her vision cleared she could make out the monolithic figure that stood across her. The smell of blood reached her nostrils and Baby looked down at the horrid sight of the fallen men before her. Blood, shreds of skin and bone splinters lay about. Their identities at these point were physically unidentifiable and there was no way that they would have survived through whatever ordeal they had been put through. Baby’s mouth was agape and there was a twinkle in her eyes as she began to raise them, bringing them to focus on the great reptilian creature that heaved before her.

It breathed in and out deeply, its green, scaly skin rising up and down in the dim lighting. She could make out the muscles on his body as she flexed slightly at the sight of her and then there were his eyes, his large beady, black eyes that were slipped under tight slits. He stared at her a certain disdain in his gaze and he spoke, presenting his ivory, white teeth that were jagged and dangerous sharp in his mouth.

He addressed her with a certain familiarity and that brought a wide smile to her face. Pearly white teeth seemed to brighten the room and her tremendous smile was almost overwhelming perhaps even fake. Baby clenched her fists and suddenly began to stomp around, excitedly and spun in a circle. An insane giggle escaped her lips and she began to skip towards the behemoth.

“Crocky!!!” She squealed in absolute delight as she leaped into the air with an absurd amount of skill and grace and jumped so high as to wrap her arms around the creature’s neck and dangle off him. “Crocky! You came for me! I knew you would!!!” the young woman continued, nuzzling her cheek against his rough jaw line. She didn’t care about the scratches that were produced on her skin, she was like a young girl who was seeing a lover after a long time, nothing could stop her now.

“I was scared and afraid that the big men would get me, but you came! You always do!” she continued, her high pitched voice rattling down the corridor and causing the water to tremble ever so slightly from its frequency. Baby Doll continued to hold on tight to him, raising her hips up and wrapping her legs around the beast’s abdomen.

As she relished in his presence, the oncoming newcomer to the scene went unnoticed until he spoke, addressing the chief’s daughter and promising her some sort of safety – or something like that. She didn’t really care, nor did she fight it odd that the man was here in the first place. Her job was done and she didn’t even have to lift a finger. Harvey would be happy with her progress – without a doubt.

The man, clad in a slate blue armor of some short with orange accents and one eerie eye that looked at them only momentarily was primarily addressing the young woman. Baby Doll had almost forgotten about her in the midst of the battle and she looked over at the young woman who was so battered and broken she was completely unaware of the situation around her. Upon seeing her, Baby Doll gasped and released her strangle hold on Killer Croc. Dropping to the floor, she pulled a small item from her back and quickly activated it.

Producing the camera, Baby Doll peered into it, confirming that the live feed was online and quickly she produced a large smile and began to wave at the lens.

“Good evening Gotham!” Baby Doll began, her pigtails bobbing as she jumped up and down slightly, “I was supposed to give you all a good show about Falcone’s top dog… but… well the pet got hungry before I could even take out the camera.” She frowned slightly, turning the focus of the camera to the decimated bodies on the floor and then raising up to Croc, “Wave to the camera Crocky!” she said in delight as she turned her head to the young woman who was now laying on the floor and looking absentmindedly at the wall, “Oh and chief- sir, your girl’s down here, so if you want her, you gotta come get her!” Baby Doll giggled as she turned the camera onto the girl on the floor and then slowly began to slide it over to Deathstroke’s line of sight, “And hey, funny Cyclops man you say hello to the camera!” Baby Doll yelled as she attempted to capture the mercenary on film. [/style]

Tag: Killer Croc

[Killer Croc]

The eight foot tall Killer Croc wasn't particularity sure how Baby Doll had managed the leap, tender arms wrapping around his rough, thick neck. He gave a sudden growl of annoyance as she touched him, shaking his head back and forth in an attenpt to throw the absurd human away, but she hardly seemed to notice that he didn't want her around, as she continued speaking despite his snort at her foolish words. Did he really do that? Come whenever she needed him? Killer Croc didn't think so, unless he had recently lost some part of his memory, perhaps due to a hard hit to the head. But then, he didn't remember getting recently head banged either, and that caused the humanoid beast to frown, his facial features twisting into an ugly, irritated sight of reptillian porportions. Through the scent of the very obnoxious Baby Doll, clinging to him like a monkey, and with her hair pressed against his face and very annoyingly tickling his muzzle, obscuring his sharp view, Croc was unable to detect the newest intruder as quickly as he would have liked. Like Baby Doll, he only noticed when he spoke, his voice piercing his ears smoothly.

He was almost greatful to the mercenary when Baby's dropped away from him to scurry back a bit, producing a camera that Croc hadn't realized she'd had, and he wondered if she carried it with her all the time. Maybe she had some sort of web show on the Internet to appease some psychotic, erratic fans, Kinda like she was to him. He snorted in response to both of the smaller humans after they had finally finished their speaches, one oddly soothing and poetic, and of course, the other's just shrill, raw childishness. But strangely, it was the man that Croc chose to target now. Baby Doll was a passive guest to his dark, rank home, Deathstroke's confidence towards his task and complete disregard of Killer Croc's powerful presence, and the fact that he was trespassing with the intention of stealing a potential meal really pissed the mutated nightmare off, and as a result and a gesture of pure spite toward the other man, he jerked down with a massive hand, snatched her up by the throat, and flung her back, into the wet, disgusting sewage with a splash and a startled cry. There was a sound that suggested she was still alive, that she was trying to regain her feet, but struggling with pain, likely due to a few broken bones and of course, her previous injuries.

Croc was sure that must have pissed Deathstroke off, so he wasn't going ti give him the advantage of a first strike. Instead, he took the initiative, and charged the man head on, intent of trampling over him with surprising speed, the claws on his teeth just itching to rip through his armour and into flesh. "You gunna wish you'd stayed home." He snarled. To the savage Killer Croc, this was just another challenger. Just another fight. Perhaps even, just another few battle scars. It was nothing special, nothing that deserved his attention but something that, unfortunetly, got it. Something that would offer Croc no pleasure in anything less then seeing the brazen mercenary squeel in agony and terror as he realized just what a horrible mistake he had made in coming here. Of course, he expected Baby Doll, in all her apparent love for him, to back him up in some way, not just stand there filming. But that was probably exactly what she would do, much to Croc's annoyance. Probably wouldn't even be bothered to throw in an explosive or two, it wouldn't harm Croc, thanks to his tough skin, but it might just transform Deathsrroke into a torch.

TAG: Anyone