A Queen Among Heroes

[ Artificial Lake, Abandoned Amusement Park, Gotham city ]

Robin naturally spotted the two women as they neared the fight. As Batman's chivalrous yet mildly mysophobic protégé, he shouted with forced confidence, "Don't come near me, I've got this!"

Thea felt instantly reassured. Honestly, she hadn't planned on jumping in anyway. The hulking crocodile-man reeked of swamp muck and had a disgusting sheen of mucus clinging to his scaly hide. Just looking at him made her skin crawl.

Catwoman, raised in Gotham's slums, had a higher tolerance for grime and filth—but not by much. As the wind shifted, a wave of rotting stench rolled over from the fight. She recoiled instinctively and took two swift steps back. The odor was unbearable. Her feline senses—especially smell and sight—were too sharp. Her stomach lurched, and she nearly lost her lunch.

The two women exchanged a glance, unspoken agreement passing between them. Neither had the slightest intention of joining the fray. They each let out a breath of relief, silently convincing themselves that this wasn't cowardice—it was simply preserving Robin's pride. No one was afraid of slime, of course not. It was about giving him his moment.

It felt like déjà vu. Just like when they'd watched Batman and Lady Shiva duel, they stood off to the side, arms folded, casually exchanging critiques as if reviewing a movie.

Robin, of course, had no idea what they were thinking. He said he didn't need help, but inside he was screaming, Please, someone join me in this misery! Ten minutes of exposure to the Croc's stench had nearly anesthetized his nose. He had assumed his shout would summon two battle-hardened women to his side regardless of him saying not to.

Instead, they obediently stayed back, spectating like it was a sporting event. Robin was baffled. Wasn't Catwoman supposed to be compassionate? Was the Star City girl the root of the problem? Maybe crime was too rare over there. Maybe when they said they weren't helping—they actually meant it.

Robin had always found it unsettling that people in Gotham often said one thing and did another. As someone with a naturally straightforward temperament, this inconsistency annoyed him to no end. Yet today, watching the blunt honesty of Star City's representative in action, he found himself longing for Gotham's familiar brand of duplicity. Perhaps, he mused, there really was no place like home—Gotham had its own kind of charm after all.

Unaware that her inaction had already earned Star City a very particular reputation in Robin's mind, Thea was deep in thought, trying to come up with a way to defeat this stink-smeared monstrosity. But the more she thought, the more she realized—she didn't have a solution. Was this what it meant to encounter the natural enemy of female heroes? Honestly, even Supergirl and Wonder Woman would likely hesitate to get near this walking biological hazard.

Every time Robin's escrima stick struck the monster's scales, it splashed off a trail of nauseating slime. Could anyone imagine Wonder Woman wrapping that lasso around him? Or swinging her divine blade without instantly regretting it? Unless she had a backup set lying around, she'd probably just watch from a distance like they were. No, the optimal strategy was clear: shoot a freezing arrow, trap him in a block of ice, and bury him somewhere far beneath the earth. Minimal smell, zero cleanup, and maybe—just maybe—the sludge on him could act as fertilizer.

The more Thea speculated, the queasier she felt. While her mind was wandering, the fight reached its conclusion. Robin executed a slick Sambo maneuver, managing to dislocate—or was it break?—Killer Croc's left... claw. He tucked away his weapon and attempted a classic over-the-shoulder throw, but misjudged both the beast's weight and his own limits.

The throw was more symbolic than practical. Still, for reasons unknown—perhaps instinct, perhaps cowardice—Killer Croc didn't retaliate. Instead, he leapt backward into the lake with a mighty splash.

Once in the water, he swam to the center, then bobbed to the surface, issuing what could generously be called a "taunt." In truth, the garbled, guttural roar that left his throat sounded nothing like human speech.

Seeing enough, the two women instinctively moved forward to check on Robin, but after only a few steps, they stopped in perfect sync. They truly couldn't help it—Robin was now a walking biohazard. The aftermath of that final over-the-shoulder throw had left him thoroughly doused in filth. His sleek black and red suit was barely recognizable beneath the layers of green-white slime and various unidentifiable substances.

It was disgusting.

Thea subtly gestured toward Catwoman, palms up, a silent message in her expression: He's your teammate, not mine. You go. At the same time, a wicked little thought crept through her mind—Robin, if you show up at Barbara's like this, she won't even let you into the house unless you bathe at least eight times.

Catwoman couldn't really blame Thea for keeping her distance. As a fellow Gotham native and his teammate, the duty reluctantly fell to her. Sighing, she braced herself, plugged her nose in spirit, and stepped forward to greet him.

Robin was just like Batman—on the surface, he seemed calm and composed around women, even gentlemanly. But anyone who watched him closely could see the truth: he simply didn't know what to say to them. The way he trailed after Barbara every day without ever expressing himself made it clear—he was the sort of painfully sincere boy who didn't even know how to hold a grudge.

Even if Thea and Catwoman had stood by laughing or taken cheap shots while he fought, Robin would have only asked softly, "Was there a reason? Were you okay?" and never retaliated.

"Are you alright?" Catwoman asked gently, doing her best to ignore the smell that was now trying to invade her every pore. To distract herself, she forced her brain to conjure pleasant images—crispy fried fish, sizzling grilled fish, delicately pan-seared fillets. What? Killer Croc is a reptile, not a fish. Reptile, not fish, she reminded herself firmly. There is no connection. No. Connection.

Robin shook his head, oblivious to the swamp he had become. "No...no," he mumbled distractedly. The adrenaline from the fight was still ebbing, but the nausea was just beginning. He hadn't yet realized what exactly he was covered in, but he could smell it. The stench had soaked into his sinuses, like it had settled down and rented a room inside his skull. He wasn't sure whether it was just lingering fumes or if his olfactory system had taken real damage.

He'd definitely need a check-up. And fast. Gotham didn't provide superheroes with medical insurance, which meant any issue discovered late was paid for in pain and regret.

Seeing that Killer Croc hadn't fled far but had instead surfaced in the middle of the lake to provoke him, Robin grew increasingly annoyed. In truth, it wasn't just Thea—most of Batman's team wasn't suited for underwater combat. Or rather, aside from Aquaman, very few heroes ever trained to fight in water. It simply wasn't their terrain.

Which meant that dealing with someone like Killer Croc was a headache. The best option? Trick him back onto land.

"Come up if you dare, I can take you down with one hand!" Robin shouted, pouring every ounce of sarcasm and swagger into the taunt, hoping to lure the mutant out of his aquatic fortress.

"If you've got guts, come down here! I'll send you back with two broken legs!" Killer Croc snarled back. He wasn't stupid. Despite his monstrous appearance, his IQ hovered around the human average. He could clearly see Thea and Catwoman positioned farther back—still forming a loose encirclement. He wasn't going to walk into a trap, especially not when he was already losing to Robin on land.

And so began the most pointless standoff in Gotham's recent memory.

"Come down!"

"You come up!"

"If you're tough, get down here!"

"If you're tough, come up here!"

The verbal back-and-forth dragged on for five full minutes, each insult more juvenile than the last. But neither side backed down. Killer Croc refused to budge, floating calmly in the water with the stubborn pride of a ten-year-old. Even if I die, I won't go ashore. I'll drown you in rage if nothing else!

Just as the war of words hit a deadlock, the distant roar of a motorcycle broke the tension, its horn blaring cheerily as it approached with a loud, almost mocking beep beep.

To Be Continued...

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