AN: I just thought the little bugger needed some loving. This is not the completely mindless monster version of Killer Croc, more like the BTAS version or the original version in comics.


He looks on as his goons work on the safe. It takes a lot of money to get them to work for him. Even they think of him not as a person, but as some sort of creature. As Frankenstein's monster. He can live with that. Better to be the bogeyman than the scared kid hiding under the covers.

Everyone hates him. When they're sure he can't touch them, they group together and laugh at him, because they're too scared to stand on their own. He'd like to believe that he was immune to it by now, but it's not true. He's always been alone, always been strong, but it's tiring him out. It will never end. They hate him, always have and always will. He'll just hate them right back.

In a way they're right, he is an animal. And he lives like one. He doesn't have any ambitious goals, he doesn't want absolute power, doesn't want fame or luxury. He just wants to live, and live he will. Without restraint, without rules, without doubt or remorse.

He likes to believe he won't be forgotten easily, but he knows he falls in the shadow of greater monsters. He often dreams about someone caring, but he knows it's just that: silly dreams. An empty lie, just like all dreams. The world is a cruel, dark place and the only way to survive is to be even more cruel. For every insult he's ever endured, he answers with an act of brutality. It doesn't matter if he's never seen his victim before, they're all the same. Civilized people that are smarter, prettier and better than him. Just the looks in their eyes are mocking.

The goons finally get the safe open as a familiar shadow smashes through the window pane and lands on the floor with a thud, a wicked gleam coming from the metal in his hand. The only one he actually respects. The only one who has the guts to go against him alone.

He has no delusions about being invincible, about being the best, or even the strongest. One day, it will all end. Maybe the bat, but probably someone else. It doesn't matter. It's him against the world, and he knows he'll lose. He's accepted that. He'll just settle for going out in a blaze of glory, his last breath used to scream his hate. Because in the end, everyone dies. Even monsters.