killer croc the dragon born

Part I: The Monster Returns

Amanda Waller stood across from him, arms folded, jaw set in cold calculation.

Croc—Waylon—stood shirtless, restrained in reinforced manacles. The overhead lights gleamed off his newly jagged, plated scales—tougher and darker than the ones recorded in his old profile.

"Your claws are longer," she muttered to her assistant. "Curved more like hooked talons. Serrated."

"Teeth too," the assistant replied, reviewing the thermographic imaging. "And his thermal readings are off the charts. Look at his throat—near internal combustion."

Waller raised a brow.

"He can breathe fire now," she muttered.

She stepped closer.

"Do you know who I am?"

Croc blinked at her—eyes narrowed but vacant.

"Yurh sum boss lady, yah?"

His voice was deep, rasping, and distinctly Argonian-accented—not the gutter snarl they remembered.

"What about your past?" Waller asked. "Arkham. Belle Reve. The Squad. Do you remember anything?"

Croc cocked his head, eyes dimming slightly.

"Wuz… in a swamp. Warm. Tall people. Singin' tree. Dun know no Belle."

Waller stared at him.

Then snapped her fingers.

"Useless. Get him processed."

Heavy doors opened with a grinding mechanical shriek.

Croc stepped into the containment commons—a massive, reinforced chamber with barred cell doors, cameras, and faint music echoing from a ceiling speaker playing 1940s swing.

Conversations died mid-sentence.

The Suicide Squad was there—scattered across benches, exercise mats, and reinforced chairs.

Harley Quinn looked up, lollipop halfway to her mouth.

Deadshot lowered his magazine.

Captain Boomerang dropped his playing cards.

Rick Flag froze mid push-up.

Poison Ivy's vines twitched.

"No f***ing way," Boomerang whispered. "That's…"

King Shark blinked slowly.

"…Croc?"

Croc stood there, taller than before, horns coiled slightly back, tail sweeping behind him. His scales gleamed like obsidian armor. His golden eyes scanned the room—but he recognized none of them.

"Ah'm Croc," he said simply. "But I dun know you."

Harley stood up slowly, smiling like she didn't know whether to hug him or back away.

"You got tall, baby," she said. "And spiky."

Croc shrugged.

"Food good where I come from."

The room was dead silent.

Then Bane chuckled softly.

"So… the monster's back."

"Not just back," Bloodsport muttered. "Upgraded."

Deadshot leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

"Where the hell have you been, Croc?"

Croc only stared, blank-faced.

Then turned and sat, tail curling around the bench as he leaned back, claws folded.

He wasn't the same.

And the Squad knew it.

Part II: Reactions and Rumors

The moment of silence had passed.

Now, the Gotham contingent was closing in.

Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, and the Riddler stepped forward as a pack—like cats circling a familiar panther that had learned to walk differently.

Harley twirled her bat like a parasol, eyes gleaming with that signature chaos.

"Look at you! All scaled out and gladiator-y. You back from a trip to the Lizard Spa, or what?"

Croc blinked slowly, his claws folded on his lap.

"You… know me?"

Ivy smiled faintly.

"Of course we do. You once used a car door to rip open a SWAT truck and then ate the radio."

"And my sandwich," Harley added with mock offense. "My birthday sandwich!"

Riddler adjusted his coat, smirking.

"You once bit the leg off a robotic lion during a heist and called it 'chewy steak.' We've met, my scaley friend."

Croc tilted his head.

His tail flicked once.

"Ah… dun remember none of that."

"Excuse me?" Harley froze.

"I said… I dun remember. Any of ya."

A beat.

Then:"YOU LOST YOUR MEMORIES!?"

Her voice shattered the calm. Everyone in the cell block flinched.

Harley threw her hands up like she'd dropped a baby and an ice cream at once.

"What do you mean you forgot me?! I'm unforgettable, baby! Iconic! Bang-bang, bells and bats, boom boom pow!"

Croc just blinked again, slow and unbothered.

"I 'member a river. A woman. And a tree that glowed."

Deadshot muttered from the back, arms crossed:

"Well damn, he has been upgraded. He talks like a cryptic wizard now."

The Gotham villains stood still.

The smiles faded slightly—not gone, but softened.

Poison Ivy stepped closer, her voice gentler now.

"You really don't remember anything? Not even Arkham? Or Gotham?"

Croc rubbed at one horn absentmindedly.

"Gotham… sound familiar. But not clear. Like tryin' to grab smoke."

The Riddler frowned, adjusting his gloves. "He's not lying."

"He never lied," Ivy said. "He just… bit people."

Harley stepped forward again, more serious now.

She placed a hand on his massive arm, looking up at him with surprising softness.

"Well… memory or not… you're still our Croc, okay? Big ol' mutant gator tank with a heart."

Croc stared at her hand.And for a moment, he nodded."Okay."

Behind them, King Shark muttered:

"I liked him better when he didn't talk so poetic."

Boomerang:

"I liked him better when he didn't stare through my soul."

Bloodsport:

"I like him better now. More terrifying. Less dumb jokes."

Part III: The Bite and the Blaze

The Mission Gone Loud

The target was simple: breach an underground weapons lab in Iceland, recover two stolen prototypes, extract without detection.

Of course, things never stayed simple.

They were halfway through the third sublevel when the alarms blared—not internal alarms. External.

A voice came over comms:

"Eyes up. We've got capes inbound."

The roof above shuddered as a sonic boom tore overhead.

"Justice League," Flag muttered. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

The walls cracked as Superman dropped down in front of them, arms crossed, cape flowing.

Behind him, the air shimmered—Martian Manhunter appearing in ghost-like green form above the corridor.

Superman raised a hand.

"Stand down. We're taking it from here."

Rick Flag stepped forward.

"We have orders. Stay out of the way."

"You're operating illegally. This mission ends now."

The Squad braced for a fight.

But it was Croc who moved first.

Croc stepped forward slowly—no roar, no warning.

He dropped to all fours and surged forward like a beast loosed from chains.

Superman didn't even brace.

That was his mistake.

Croc leapt—and bit into Superman's shoulder, fangs glowing with arcane light. There was a wet crunch.

A piece of Superman's suit—and the muscle beneath it—tore free.

"GAH—!" Superman staggered, hand clamped over the wound as blood poured between his fingers.

"He bit me?!"

He dropped to one knee, visibly pale.

The Squad froze.

So did the League.

Martian Manhunter charged down to intercept, expression grim and unreadable.

"Enough!"

Croc turned, jaw still wet with blood, eyes glowing gold.

He inhaled .

And exhaled a pillar of blue flame, straight from his throat.

J'onn flew directly into it.

The moment his skin touched the fire, he let out a psychic scream—the fire wasn't just hot. It was alive. Magical. Painful on a soul-deep level.

He dropped like a meteor—out cold.

The Squad stared in slack-jawed silence.

Harley slowly leaned toward Deadshot.

"Did Croc just eat a piece of Superman?"

Deadshot:

"Yup."

Bloodsport:

"And melted a Martian."

King Shark:

"I'm scared of him."

Croc turned to them, still calm.

"We have task," he said, voice guttural and slow. "Move."

No one argued.

They completed the mission with absolute efficiency.

No hesitation.

No delays.

And behind them, the League lay broken in the rubble—reassessing everything they thought they knew.

Part IV: Debrief and Denial

Belle Reve – The Interrogation

Amanda Waller stood alone in the concrete observation room, arms folded, watching Croc through a thick blast window.

He was shackled—not for security, but formality. The titanium bands barely made it around his new forearms.

His horns brushed the ceiling every time he sat up straight.

"You bit Superman," Waller said without preamble.

"Ah wuz tryin' tuh talk," Croc replied from behind the glass, voice thick with guttural drawl. "But he look't at me like Ah wuz still some beast."

"You are a beast," Waller said, pressing the intercom. "But now you're a magic-breathing, dragon-skinned version of one."

She tapped a screen.

"Thermal scans show combustion temperature in your throat. You're sitting at star levels, Jones."

Croc shrugged.

"Ah jus' breathin'. Not mah fault folks weak tuh heat."

She narrowed her eyes.

"What happened to you?"

He smiled slightly—an honest, confused expression.

"Ah… dunno the start of it. Swamps. A tree that sings. Mate who laugh like water. Been long. Good long."

Waller turned to her techs.

"Translation matrix?"

One analyst winced.

"We ran phonetic extrapolations. Cross-referenced speech cadence with known Earth languages—zero matches."

"What about psychic parsing?"

"Same problem. We brought in a Class-3 empath. She said his thoughts… don't structure like a human's anymore. Even internal, he's thinking in that accent."

Waller stepped away from the mic and muttered:"So he's speaking ancient swamp-wizard lizard tongue and thinks in it too."

She turned back toward the window.

Croc was just sitting there, humming something low and ancient-sounding. Possibly a lullaby. Possibly a spell.

She didn't like not knowing which.

Meanwhile, orbiting Earth aboard the Watchtower, the Justice League sat in tense silence.

Superman sat near a regen-pod, arm braced, wound mostly healed—but not forgotten.

Martian Manhunter was reclined under psychic shielding.

Batman reviewed the footage again, pausing on Croc's impact frame.

"His physiology's changed. He's not Kryptonian… but he bit through Superman."

Wonder Woman nodded.

"And his fire incapacitated J'onn in seconds."

Flash tapped his fingers anxiously.

"Okay, but, like… what is he now?"

No one answered.

At Belle Reve, Waller stepped back from the monitor, lips thin.

"Get him cleaned. Re-armed. Put him back with the Squad."

"Just like that?" asked the guard.

"We don't need to understand a weapon to use it."

Croc stood up inside the containment room, stretching.

"When's lunch?"

"You'll eat after the next mission," Waller said dryly.

"As long as it ain't frozen crab again," Croc muttered.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Part V: The One He Loves

After the Mission

The Squad was back in their cell block.

Some were bandaged. Some were drinking. Others stared at Croc like he'd grown a second head.

Deadshot was the first to speak.

"Okay, big guy… you vanish for a while. Come back lookin' like a raid boss. That swamp you lived in… what the hell were you doing?"

Croc reclined against the wall, tail flicking lazily.

"Didn't just fight," he said calmly. "Ah lived. Had a life. Built a home."

Harley blinked.

"Wait. You… settled down?"

"Yep."

"With, like, a pet goat or something?"

Croc smiled faintly.

"Wife."

Silence.

Everyone turned and stared at him like he just said he'd joined a knitting club.

Boomerang nearly choked on his drink.

"Wife?! You? Married?! To what?! A mirror with low standards?!"

Croc ignored him.

"She's got warm eyes. Laugh like a spring breeze. Smiles as bright as sunlight in the morning. Smart. Kind. Stronger than most warriors I've met."

Harley had her hand over her heart.

"Awww…"

Poison Ivy:"That's… actually beautiful."

Deadshot: "What's she look like?"

Croc nodded slowly.

"She's tall. Over seven feet. Same as me. Tail. Scales. Hist-blessed. Lizardfolk. Like me."

Boomerang snorted.

"Pfft. So she's a seven-foot swamp gator in a dress. Got it."

Croc didn't say a word.

He didn't growl.

He just looked up—and released it.

A wave of pure, unfiltered killer instinct slammed into the room.

The air became heavy. Lights flickered.

Everyone dropped—knees buckled, sweat poured.

Harley gasped and clutched a nearby railing.

Bloodsport stumbled into a wall.

Boomerang hit the floor, shaking, face pale as chalk.

"I-I'm sorry!" he shouted. "I take it back! She's beautiful, she's stunning! Ten outta ten, would date a lizard!"

The pressure vanished instantly.

Croc blinked, calmly sipping water."Don't talk 'bout my wife."

The room was dead quiet.

Then a splattering sound.

Everyone turned to Boomerang's pants.

A very obvious dark patch was spreading.

Flag sighed.

"Boomerang. Did you piss yourself?"

Boomerang sat slumped against the bench, still trembling."No! I mean yes! I mean shut up!"

Flag looked around.

"Anyone else?"

A long pause.

Then King Shark slowly raised a hand.

"…Only a little."