"What is going on!!!" Clark shouted while running and turning his head towards Killer Croc.
"Ask who I am first, you impolite outlander!!!"
"Fine!! Then who are you?!!!"
"I am Killer Croc!!"
"Are you a crocodile?!!"
"I'm a bloody killer!!!"
Killer Croc, quick as a flash, grabbed Clark's arm, pulling him into a side alley. The two of them watched in astonishnt as a massive crocodilian whirlwind swept past them.
"What is happening?" Clark asked.
Killer Croc squatted down, rubbing his broken nose, if he had such a thing.
"It's a shark!"
"What shark? Isn't it a crocodile?"
"You know it's a crocodile and you're still asking ?!!"
Clark rubbed his temples, "Yes, I know it's a crocodile, and you're a crocodile too. My question is, why are crocodiles rushing out of Gotham's sewers?"
"Why can't crocodiles rush out of Gotham's sewers? I claid sovereignty over Gotham's sewers five years ago. That's my lawful residence. Even Wayne Enterprises didn't object. Who are you?"
Clark was speechless.
"No, I an... theoretically, a shark's natural habitat shouldn't be a sewer, right?"
"We are crocodiles, you idiot!"
Clark felt completely befuddled.
"Sorry, I misspoke, crocodiles. But whether it's a shark or a crocodile, their natural habitats aren't any city's sewers, right?"
"That's because other crocodiles don't have legs as long as mine, they can't choose their natural habitats, but I can."
Killer Croc sighed, "Originally, there was only one crocodile, , in the entire city's sewers. But those little bastards who couldn't beat decided to use mother nature's laws. They filled the sewers with a thousand male crocodiles to compete with for territory!"
"They knew perfectly well that the pollutants in Gotham's sewer could drive any organism in this world mad. These muscle-bound bitches used a collective strategy when they realized they couldn't beat individually. They're cowards!"
"Wait a minute." Clark asked in utter surprise, "Are you a crocodile or a human? Why are you fighting crocodiles for territory?"
"Because obviously I can't compete with humans!"
Just as Clark was about to ask again, he heard a rumbling sound from the street they had just left, followed by Earth-shaking noises.
Then, Clark watched as a hippopotamus larger than a rooftop ca thundering in, then moved away with unstoppable montum.
"Gothamites won't simply let it go, right?" Killer Croc sighed, "They retaliated with the sa approach, and I don't know which cultured person claid that a hippo is a crocodile's natural enemy, and here we are."
"God! It's heading towards the city!"
Killer Croc stood beside him, hands on hips and said, "Tank charge!"
"Are you just going to watch?" Clark's eyes widened, he had already taken flight, stating, "Such a large animal rushing into the urban area is going to cause a lot of casualties!"
"Don't worry, soone will teach it a lesson."
Clark didn't have ti to argue with Killer Croc. He rushed towards the hippo, but halfway there, he discovered a imnse shadow looming over him.
Clark looked up and understood a ssage from the pair of blood-red eyes — I just finished my fries at the dock.
It was a seagull with wings so large they blocked out the sun. Even Superman looked small compared to it.
The seagull nosedived, biting a chunk of flesh from the hippo's back. Clark ca to an abrupt halt mid-air, instinctively assessing the relative danger of a hippo, a tank, and a heavy transport plane towards the human race.
Is there any question about this? Clark was exasperated with himself, he had to stop those two now!
Just as Clark was about to deliver a punch to the seagull, a figure leaped high into the sky with a "whoosh", and a massive hamr struck the seagull's head.
The seagull lost balance and fell downwards, tumbling onto the hippo. The enormous hippo staggered, and a mass of roots, thicker than its waist, wrapped around the colossal beast, splitting it in two.
So, there was Clark, hovering in mid-air, watching as window after window opened on both sides of the street, one head after another peering out.
After a while, the Gothamites living on the street, one hand holding axes, sickles and pitchforks, and the other washing pots and pans, seamlessly transitioned from chopping, washing, cooking to frying.
By the ti the aroma reached Clark's nose, he was debating about whether or not to go down there.
To put it simply, those currently dining below were ordinary citizens who hadn't committed any cris for the ti being. Moreover, Gothamites have never been too fond of tropolis folks. If he were to just swoop down, it would seem a bit like crashing the party.
People from tropolis are always criticized for ddling, Clark didn't want to add to that reputation, but... Clark hesitated in his heart, is food safety really not an issue?
The seagulls and hippos have grown so large not because their genes are extraordinary. Then, what about the toxic substance that induced their giant sizes? Wouldn't it accumulate in the food chain?
Then Clark suddenly thought, the toxic substance present in giant seagulls and hippos, once inside the bodies of the Gothamites, who knows who would overpower whom.
Eventually, Clark managed to suppress his curiosity. He believed he should focus on his objectives. He must at least film footage today.
He was working for a docuntary channel, not a fantasy channel. No hippos, no seagulls, and no Killer Crocs!
Clark found a secluded place to land, he walked forward like an ordinary civilian, planning to continue from the previous crossroads, through half of Arkham City's wall, venturing into the real slums.
Just before entering the wall, he spotted a group of children carrying large and small packages, selling orange juice.
He grabbed one by the collar, watched him stand stuttering in place for a long while, before asking, "What are you selling?"
"Juice, Sir, would you like so?"
"No, I want to ask, do you know this juice contains a large amount of narcotics?"
"Not exactly, Sir."
"You're saying there are no narcotics in this?"
"I'm saying 'a large amount' isn't accurate." The kid shook his head, pulled out a packet of juice, and handed it to Clark, saying, "Here, no one above 18 drinks this. They call it Wimp's Delight."
Clark stared wide-eyed at the child. He had swallowed a mouthful yesterday, feeling the harsh and sudden rush of the drug toward his brain.
Although his brain had fought back, this thing had survived the Kryptonian's blood defense, taking only a second to affect him. And you're telling this is Wimp's Delight?
"You're from out of town, huh?" The kid seed to realize sothing. "Find a nearby pharmacy and ask for the children's dosage. Don't ntion drugs, just say you need headache dicine."
"Is this so sort of illegal prescription code?"
"Of course not, it's just a common child's painkiller, mostly used for sudden spasms and projectile vomiting in children."
The boy started explaining to Clark, "You're from tropolis, right? You wouldn't understand. People here are resistant to dication. Normally, a child's painkiller would be enough to knock an adult out."
"Huh?"
The kid shrugged and said, "I don't know why. Probably just how things are in Gotham."
With that said, he hopped away. Doubtfully, Clark opened the packet of orange juice and took a sniff.
He squatted down and looked around, considering that there was probably no way to do a chemical test here and his X-ray vision was certainly not responsible for showing any theoretical data. The only things that could help were his blood and his brain.
So, Clark gritted his teeth and took a small sip. A single thought rushed through his mind -- this stuff was seriously strong.
The torrent of data from his body's reactions enlightened Clark that if Gothamites could drink this and still stand, their brains must have held up against these hallucinogenic substances with more than just one punch. They must have given it a full round of Wing Chun.
Can Gothamite brains really be more robust than a super-brain?
Clark stood up, his mouth pursed, his nostrils scrunched, his hands resting on his hips, he looked around. The group of kids had already disappeared.
As he was putting on his glasses, he noticed a person in a trench coat squatting next to a collapsed wall.
"Am I high or what? Why am I seeing a group of alligators flying in the sky?"
Clark saw a blond man crouching on the ground, muttering in pain. Just as Clark was about to ask if he needed assistance, the man suddenly stood up, gesturing in the air in front of him with his hand.
"Spirits of Thunder! I command you! Eliminate these evil alligators and recapture my hat!"
Could he have drunk the juice from those kids back there? Clark thought helplessly.
Then there was a cracking sound, a dazzling bolt of lightning struck down from the sky, and the alligator cyclone rampaging on the next street over turned into a puff of black smoke.
"Hehehe..." The man started giggling.
Just as Clark was about to approach him, another towering figure burst out from behind the wall. He grabbed the blond man from the ground, gave him a thumbs up and said, "Well done! We've recaptured the sewer territory! Now I'm once again the city's strongest and most handso male!"
The blond man looked back at him with a bewildered expression, only to find himself looking at a muscular Killer Croc.
Clark was expecting the man to panic and was prepared to intervene, but instead, the guy lit a cigarette, blew a smoke ring in Killer Croc's face, wrapped an arm around him and said, "Right on, mate, you're really handso. By the way, are there any female crocs around here?"
"Stop talking nonsense, buddy, you must be high. Where the hell would there be a female croc in a city sewer?"
"Perfect." The blond guy also gave Killer Croc a thumbs up, and, arm around the croc's shoulders, began walking away and said, "I don't like fighting for territory either. Co, show how handso you are."
"Hey, by that do you an ..."
"Honestly, the last ti I saw biceps this impressive was on a shark. And your nose, it's splendid."
"Thank you, mate. Your praise is making blush. But... a shark? Really?"
"You have no idea how hot that guy is. I'll introduce you next ti, or the three of us can hang out..."
Clark felt like he might be the one who was high.
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