Reptilian Reaping (open)

Another day. Another body. 

It had become a routine. One that clawed at the base urges of both man and beast. Without fail, Waylon's treks through Gotham's waterways revealed corpses. Lots of them. Shaggy clothes, disheveled hair, needles. Some he knew, some he didn't. But one thing was clear. Some wannabe big shot was peddling towards the destitute and desperate of Gotham, with an alarming fatality rate. This would have been infuriating enough, the demise of the few people Croc could call kin....But that wasn't the worst of it. Strewn alongside each body was a hunk of meat bobbing like a lure, clearly designed to draw in Jones as nothing more than their garbage disposal. 

The beastly desire to consume within his brain had not won out, but rather the burning fury of a mourning man. Snipping the meat off with his claws, Waylon tossed it aside in disgust for the ever present rats pitter pattering through the tunnels they both called home. Gently lifting the body from the watery depths, Croc placed it neatly with the others. A morbid raft of death strewn together from a scrapped billboard and lots of rope. Taking to the waters, Croc tethered the bundle of bodies outside the GCPD. Both in search of justice for these men and woman.....but more than that.

It was a warning. 

The Killer Croc was coming, and he was going to live up to his name. 

Despite its moral bankruptcy and constant promise of business, Cheshire rarely operated in Gotham.

Unlike much of the locale's criminal element, she didn't fear the city's vigilante population – the mercenary was more than capable of holding her own against masked, caped and cowled crusaders of justice, and was confident enough in her skillset to best them or flee, leaving no trace of her passing. It was more that they represented an ever-present chance of complication, which, in her line of work, could result in a damaged reputation and a substantial loss of income. Jade Nguyen wasn't an individual who shied away from challenge, but she was loath to take unnecessary risk: at least without sizeable reward, or as a cure to alleviate the suffering of intense boredom.

Sat upon a shipping crate in one of Gotham's less well-patrolled docks, it was the promise of personal gain that had enticed her to hazard the bats and birds that stalked the midnight hours. Tasked with the assassination of a local cartel's inner circle, she had been able to charge an extortionate fee, but one that her employers had been more than willing to pay: the promise of territory, custom and an end to direct competition made more than a few criminals desperate, and thus all the more willing to part with wealth.

Lacking much in the way information, and given more than one target, Jade had been able to sell her services for almost seven figures – half of which had been pre-paid. Though her employers had not been able to provide exact locations, names and pictures of her quarries were enough. She was no detective, but she had never struggled making people talk: she found she was a natural when it came to interrogation. So long as she could find the inner circle's underlings, she would find them.

Her search had led her to West Gotham, to one of its seediest harbours, where waste pipes flowed freely into the ocean, and under the cover of dark, the needy and destitue sold their livelihoods and souls for a moment of euphoria. There, Jade had been informed, operated a number of dealers who had ties to her targets – those willing to peddle to Gotham's most deprived, for any gain at all. Even to those that dealt in narcotics, they were seen as stains upon society, the lowest of the low.

Which, for Gotham, was quite an achievement.

Notes: Hope this is ok! I tried to explain as best I could why Cheshire would be looking for the same individuals as Croc and give them a reason to work with each other! If you'd like anything added/edited let me know!
Waylon Jones

The lumbering creature slide gracefully among the waves, a stark contrast to his destructive rampages, or sullen shuffling down the streets of Gotham, the frigid solace of the waters gave Croc his closest semblance of peace. His body laying limp and relaxed as his mighty tail propelled him forward with only the slightest trace on the water's surface above. A few stray bubbles creating ripples in a trail of Waylon's pursuit of the warehouse. It may have been enough to clear his minds of recent affairs, to embrace the primal instincts for awhile and just drift along the bay. That would be, if he hadn't come with a purpose.

Rising back into the oppressive air of Gotham, his hulking frame made deceptively little sound as the brute made his way aboard the docks leading to the hideout in question. Cracking his knuckles in preparation for the ensuing carnage, a casual sniff of the air around Waylon told him that something was off....Eyes glinting in the pale moonlight, Killer Croc shifted his reptilian hide towards the rooftops nearby as he sneered with equally shimmering teeth. 


"I know yer out there. May as well show yerself before ya try anything stupid."


Jade Nguyen 

Almost an hour passed before Jade’s watch over the area proved fruitful, and through it, she sat still as the shadows about her, one with the darkness. It was a learned talent, to move so little to be rendered almost invisible to a sidelong glance or quick scan, and it was a skill she had mastered early in her career. However, the first sign of movement was not one she’d expected. It wasn’t on the dockside, a shuffling of people trying to be as invisible as she, keeping their intentions a secret as the wares stashed about their person, but rather a parting of waters out in the bay, unusual ripples from which rose a hulking, scaled behemoth.

Jade’s brows lofted a little, eyes widening near imperceptibly, the only real signs she was surprised by what emerged from the fetid depths. Wading toward the shore, the crocodilian human hauled himself onto the docks, looking over his surroundings with small, dangerous eyes. If he had seen the assassin, he made no obvious sign. Rather, he took a few further steps inland, before sniffing at the air; a predator tracking the scent of his prey.

Or, scanning the area with a more reliable sense than sight, which caused him to tilt his head almost exactly in Jade’s direction.

"I know yer out there. May as well show yerself before ya try anything stupid."

Nguyen assumed the monstrosity referred to her – she had seen no one else pass through the docks in all her time sat monitoring the water front. Quite how to react, though, she wasn’t sure. Unless the humanoid reptile was somehow linked to the inner circle of drug traffickers she was targeting, she had no qualm with him – she could simply slip away into the night. However, that her employers had not mentioned a giant, scaled enforcer could also have been a possibility – he might have been guarding the very enterprise she hoped to disrupt.

A second or two of careful consideration made up her mind – she couldn’t leave, if he was working for her targets, her scent might cause him to tip them off, increasing their security. She would have to deal with him quickly and efficiently if that were the case. If he wasn’t, perhaps he would be inclined to offer any information he had – if he resided in the area, she wondered if the Killer Croc knew more than his brutish appearance might suggest.

Gracefully rising to her feet, she stepped from the shadows, revealing herself to the sharp-toothed other. Remaining upon the shipping crate, she smiled over at him, and waved a hand with surprising nonchalance.

“You caught me,” she purred in response.

Waylon Jones

Ninjas. As if Gotham didn't have enough strangeness shambling across it's littered streets. Glancing towards her, he wasn't really impressed. He doubted her weapons could pierce his hide, though if his experiences with the bat were any indication, he shouldn't take ninja types lightly.



"Hmmph. Thought ya were one of their goons. Move aside, I got beef with them, not you. Stick around and I can't guarantee ya won't get hurt in the crossfire." Said Waylon in a gruff tone, continuing to slouch his way forwards towards the warehouse. His bulk causing the boardwalk to creak and groan as the reptilian reaper began his rampage. With the ease of peeling open a tin can, Croc ripped open the nearest wall of the warehouse, charging inside and sending several of hte panicked goons slamming across the room

Jade Nguyen

The reptile seemed as nonplussed by Jade’s appearance as she was by his. Glaring at her with tiny, angry eyes, he considered her for a long moment before making a hissing, snorting ‘hmmmph’ sound, akin to a groaning crocodile huffing water from their nostrils. Cheshire tilted her head and raised a brow, intrigued by his apathy. Once he had deduced she wasn’t working with the men she herself sought to interrogate, he turned away from her, muttering. Her brow raised only further.

It appeared he hunted the same individuals she did, and without waiting for a response, he had begun his march toward the nearest warehouse, tearing through the building’s walls with ease. “Interesting…” Jade murmured to herself, sliding from the shipping container on which she was sat, landing neatly on the dockland below. Then, wasting little time, she sped after the scaled hulk, who, if the noises from within the building were of any indication, had set upon those within.

Ducking through the sundered metal, the beast having torn a steel sheet in two, she stepped into the warehouse, drawing a guom from its sheath on her back. The reptilian’s entry had caused chaos – scruffy individuals desperately tried to rise to their feet, and men armed with all manner of handguns rushed to joined their floored allies, levelling their weapons at the raging, crocodilian monstrosity.

Expertly, Jade spun, taking hold of a small, light-weight throwing knife, worn in a brace about her midriff, and hurled it at one of the newly arrived gunmen. It arced narrowly past the killer crocodile’s face, ending its flight embedded in the targets larynx, dropping him rather finally. “I’ll be fine,” she said clearly. “Just try to leave some alive, would you? I’d quite like to speak to a few of them once you’ve had your fun.”

Waylon Jones

A reptilian snarl bellowing from Croc's throat this time, he carelessly tossed the corpse in his hands at the nearest goon looking to try and use their increasingly useless pistols against him. Stomping their head flat like a grape, Waylon merely shrugged off any bullets pinging against his scales. "If ya want any of them alive, better take them and run. I've got a score to settle here. don't care what they're payin' you. Don't care about your rep. So either buzz off or shut yer yap." 

Noticeably irritable was an understatement for Waylon's current disposition. He reached out, nullifying a volley of bullets with his palm before crushing their hand and gun in one swift motion, almost fusing the two together from the immense pressure. Hardly taking note of their screams, Waylon swung them like a club, battering away several thugs in a circular motion. A ripping sound etched into the air, Croc's impact having been hard enough to tear the man's body off his arm and across the warehouse. Dropping the severed arm with a shrug, Jones looked to a nearby stockpile of supply crates. 

A far more animalistic snarl sounding out, Croc wasted no time in ramming into the storage containers, smashing and slashing at every ounce of metal and wood he came across. Copious amounts of some type of experimental drug littered the floor. Bags torn, needles crushed, vials shattered. Useless now. All of it. Red. All Waylon saw was red. Snarls and bellows being the only words escaping his lack of lips as everything that got close was torn to varying degrees of shreds. Boards became splinters, shards to dust, flooring to dirt. It was all a blur of motion and a pounding within his skull. Chest lurching up and down, panting breaths, and a bracing against the nearest wall signaled the primal outburst's end. Claws digging into the wooden wall, Waylon steadied himself on his feet. 

"Damnit. Always at the worst times. Gotta keep it together Waylon." 

Jade Nguyen

Watching the raging reptilian work was more than a little intriguing; his unhindered savagery was near-enough a joy to behold. Cheshire was renowned for her brutal efficiency. Her strikes were considered and lethal, and she could slaughter a warehouse full of thugs without even being seen – a hunting shadow haunting the darker corners of the building. She worked carefully, cautiously, and most importantly of all, precisely. Collateral damage was rare, for it meant something had gone wrong, a mistake had been made, and Jade Nguyen avoided mistakes at all costs. Her methods of murder were direct and silent – a far cry from the monstrosity she followed into the warehouse.

A dervish of destruction, he could not have been a killer more opposed to the assassin’s methods if he’d tried. Drawing the ire of everyone present, he cared little for stealth. It mattered not how many shots were taken at his thick hide, how many bats or knives were dashed against his skin – he shrugged off every blow with an apparent ease. He cared not how many saw him, for he tore through them with wild, careless blows – ripping anyone and anything to shreds. His surroundings were in just as much danger – walls, floors and crates were all demolished, leaving an unmistakable path of devastation in his wake.

It was a path easy to follow, and one Jade had no mind wandering. Her work was made infinitely easier with the crocodilian bruiser close by, for he drew most of the attention and did much of the work. Any wounded that rose and tried to catch him unawares, Cheshire dispatched, her blade flashing expertly – a single, almost graceful move to end what little life they clung to.

And thus she followed, until the hulking beast collapsed sideways against one of the warehouse walls – gasping for breath and struggling to remain upright. Stepping nimbly by him, while he grumbled to himself in angry, frustrated tones, Jade offered a smile of mock reassurance. Gently patting his arm with the flat side of her blade – not foolish enough to risk her hand – she winked. “I can take it from here. You catch your breath.”

With that, she was gone, darting forward and looking for the next thugs to make their appearance. Most she found would end up sprawled lifeless on the warehouse floor, felled with one or two practiced cuts. Any she found that looked important, however, those that carried themselves as if they held a position of minor responsibility, would likely find themselves severely maimed. Maimed individuals were so much more likely to spill secrets – the location of their employers, for example – than those untouched or dead.

Waylon Jones

A small snarl of annoyance made itself evident at Cheshire's demeaning sword tap. His claws dug so deeply into the wall beside him that the planks snapped like twigs from the clenching of his fist. He had to keep steady. Keep focused. Keep sane. 

Seeing little reason to step in the way of the nimble assassin's jollies, Waylon lurched his way forwards at a casual pace, seeing a few of the surviving stragglers rushing in a panic towards the one remaining exit. Hissing with anger, Croc grabbed the nearest crate of contraband, hurling it like boulder so it came crashing down right in front of the door. Ensuring that anyone left alive in this wretched warehouse was trapped between an angry alligator, and a cackling cat. Neither option was particularly pleasant in the long run. 

His pitch had been spot on in fact, as one of the higher ups of the whole ordeal was caught beneath the splintered wreck. His legs shredded and mangled into a crunched up heap, hidden beneath the glass and needles he had been peddling so hard moments ago. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Every boardwalk shaking footstep of Waylon's approach seemed to match the pounding in the panicked man's chest as the beast loomed ever closer. 

Their eyes locked in an exchange of horror and agony, for vengeance and fury. Any thugs foolish enough to try and approach Waylon left twitching on the ground, nearly cleaved in half by his sharp claws. The bellowing of a predator closing in on it's prey echoed it's way through the warehouse, audible over the sounds of gunfire, screams, and blood gargled cries. 

"Please! PLEASE! I'll give ya whatever you want! I'm begging you!!!!" Pleaded the pinned lieutenant as the footsteps slammed ever closer.


THOOM. THOOM. THOOM. 

"KEEP YOUR BLOOD MONEY!" Roared the Croc as he snarled right in the terrified man's face, a scaled palm pressing down onto the top of the crate, cueing more cries  of agony as the pressure and pain increased upon the poor sap. 

"DID YOU CARE ABOUT ME WHEN YOU THREW CORPSES INTO MY HOME LIKE KIBBLE TO A STRAY DOG?! DID YOU CARE ABOUT TAKING FROM THOSE WHO HAD ALREADY LOST IT ALL?! DID YOU CARE THAT SOME WERE KIDS?!" His voice thundered through the compound in a bone chilling cry of hate, drowning out the sounds of war that had occupied the area moments prior. 

This was different than the feral outburst before. This wasn't the beast within. This was Waylon Jones. The man within the monster. 


And he was out for blood. 

Jade Nguyen