Note: Here is chapter one of a series I'm working on for fun. Probably won't be too long. Especially judging by the first chapter.

Croc Hunt

Chapter One

The Headlines

Worst Rain In Two-Hundred Years read the headlines of the Gotham Gazette as it was hurled from the bike of a thirteen-year-old boy to his neighbours front lawns. The paper fell on soaking wet grass as it absorbed the rain falling from above, making the paper damp and soggy. It felt as thought it would fall apart in Jim Gordon's fingers as he picked it up off the lawn, standing outside in his robe and slippers, looking the part of an old retired man who's highlight was rushing out to read the news the second his thirteen-year-old neighbour delivered it. But in reality, he was only in his forties, and his day would be much more eventful than just reading the headlines.

Worst Rain In Two-Hundred Years, it didn't surprise Gordon. So many streets in Gotham had been flooded already, they had to put up some police barricades to block off some parts of the city so cars didn't get trapped in the rising water levels.

The sewer drains were overflowing, with muck, dirt, rain and sewer water fountaining out. The Gotham Harbour reported the highest levels on record, some houses and buildings near the docks even had to be evacuated.

If things didn't change, then a massive flood would be on Gotham's hands, and Gordon would have to order all of his men to evacuate the city and help as many people as possible. That's not what he wanted, in fact, he didn't even really care or pay much attention to the rain. He was more concerned with another headline on the newspaper, in a small column below the rain article.

Killer Croc Still At Large, it said in thick bold writing, Waylon Jones eludes capture once again, it reiterated in a smaller font, with a blurry picture of Killer Croc next to the headline. The picture, taken from a distance, it wasn't unlike the kind of picture you'd see of Big Foot. Some hulking animal in the distance, not aware of a camera, not aware of anything but itself, some kind of monster that just happened to be within fifty-feet of someone with a camera.

Technically speaking, Waylon Jones was human. He was born human enough, and he still has the same needs that a human has. But he had the misfortune of being born with a rare skin disorder, an advanced disorder called epidermolytic hyperkeratosis. It causes the skin to blister and bleed, and over time the skin begins to resemble that of reptillian scales. It's a rare disorder, affecting only one in every two-hundred and fifty-thousand births. Waylon Jones was unlucky enough to be that one in two-hundred and fifty-thousand. He drew the shortest straw. Combined that with his abnormally large body mass, strength and height, he began to resemble less of a man and more of a monster.

Not much is known about Waylon Jones, he was abandoned at a young age and ended up living the dream of all young boys – he joined the circus. Not as a clown or an acrobat, but as a freak. A sideshow. Something that all the other normal kids walked passed and pointed at whilst tugging on their mother's dresses.

Years of being treated as a monster finally managed to turn Waylon Jones into a monster. He adopted the name Killer Croc and turned to a life of crime. Since then, he's been behind many hideous and grotesque crimes, sparking all sorts of rumours about him.

Does he actually live in the sewer? Can he breathe under water? Is it true that he actually eats people? These were the sorts of questions that Jim Gordon had to answer at press conferences. He always said no. No, we don't believe he lives in the sewer. No, Mr. Jones is a human and needs oxygen to breathe. No, Waylon Jones does not eat people.

But to be honest, Gordon didn't know. He just said no to relax the public and get the media off of his back. He'd been hearing the rumours for years, and he had even seen his share of evidence that could support such rumours. Broken human bones in the sewers, licked clean. But then rats could have gotten to them. Secret hideaways and lairs under the city streets, but they could belong to any homeless person in Gotham. But with all this flooding, the water was pouring out of the sewers and onto the streets. Maybe that would drive Killer Croc up onto the streets. As much as Gordon wanted to catch Killer Croc and have him behind bars, he'd rather catch him in the sewer. If he was up on the streets with everyone else, then there's no telling what he's capable of.

Gordon looked up at the sky, the dark black sky shadowing the entire city. Rain still pouring down relentlessly as it had been all week, and he sighed. Then he went back inside, dragging his dripping wet newspaper and damp slippers with him, he knew he had a long day ahead of him.