Killer Croc

The tunnels beneath Gotham reek of damp concrete and decay. The distant drip of water echoes through the darkness, mixing with the faint rustle of movement—something heavy, breathing low and deep. A faint glow from an overhead grate cuts across the murky water, revealing deep claw marks gouged into the stone.

A shadow moves. Chains rattle. Then—silence.

From deeper in the sewer, a gravelly voice breaks the stillness.

“…Ain’t many that come down here on purpose.”