A/N: Just as a small disclaimer I DO NOT own anything relating to the Batman franchise, so that means no, I don't own Killer Croc or Gotham City, or even the sewers of Gotham, but I do own my character, Emilee Dale. As a quick note, this is my first attempt at a fanfiction, and at something written in first person. So please...don't kill me yet if isn't spectacular.
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1
Lost

This was my lucky day. On my thirteenth birthday, I, Emilee Dale, managed to run away from my grandmother's house, get something decent to eat, and pick pocketed three hundred dollars from some rich lady's purse. Including what I stole from my grandmother's stash earlier, I had about five hundred dollars. They say, nobody can make it in Gotham City, but here I was. Sadly, I felt like I needed to lie low after stealing from that woman. I didn't exactly blend in with other kids. So I figured, how much lower can I get than hiding in the sewers for a while. Gross, I know, but the safest I felt since having to move in with my grandmother.

Sitting on a stone slab, I let my fingers rub the scars on the right side of my face. I traced the one scar that started on the left side of my forehead to the right and across my upper cheek. It helped me to think things over. Like what was the first thing I was going to do with my money. Maybe buy new clothes, or get makeup to try and cover up these scars, hair dye would be nice to so my red hair didn't stick out so much like my face did. I started to feel tired, but I refused to let myself sleep. My plan was to only stay underground for a few hours and if I fell asleep then, I wouldn't be up until morning. I didn't plan to spend my night in some sewer.

Then I heard footsteps. Distant, but surely there. Whoever it was, was walking in the sewer water, because I could hear the splashing with every step. Slowly I stood, and inched away. I was scared to hear someone else was there, but also felt a burning curiosity inside of myself to see who it was. For all I knew, it could've been the police. I wouldn't have been surprised if that older lady on the street saw where I went and called them. But there was a growl. It was inhuman, and it sounded angry.

I put the hood of my sweater over my head to hopefully hide the scars, stuffed the wad of money in my pocket, and stood my ground. I would not be bullied again. The shadowy figure coming closer was huge. It must've saw me, because it growled again and said:

"Who dares to enter my sewers!?"

My voice refused to work. That voice was deep and menacing, and my body started shaking from it. I was nervous. The figure came closer. Once it was a few feet away I noticed it had green scales, a snout, and it was huge. But then it hit me. This was Killer Croc. Last time I saw him on the news, Batman put him in that Arkham Asylum place. He stepped up onto the slab, and looked at me. My stomach did somersaults in his presence. His teeth were long, jagged, and looked needle sharp, and his red, reptile-like eyes stared down at me, and I could feel his rage. I thought he was going to eat me right then, but instead he said,

"Just a boney hatchling. You're not worth eating, but I might as well get rid of you."

I gasped, but closed my eyes. What was the point of running off if was going to catch me anyway? At least he wasn't going to eat me alive. After a minute of torturously waiting to be ripped apart, I opened my eyes. His red eyes were staring with curiosity.

"Aren't you going to run? I can smell your fear."

"I-I spent my whole day running away," I squeaked and I felt my body shake more with fear.

He grabbed the collar of my sweater and raised me off my feet with so much speed I could feel my money slip from the shallow sweater pocket. I looked down.

"My money," I said quietly, a little disappointed I wouldn't die with at least a penny on me.

But Killer Croc dropped me and I landed on my side. I could feel the bruise form on my arm as soon as I hit the cement. The money was close by and I went to grab the balled up bills until he grabbed if first. Surprised, I looked up at him and slowly stood, my hood falling off.

"I'm impressed. Where did you get this?"

I looked down, afraid to say anything.

"Well!?" He roughly insisted, thrusting the wad of cash in my face.

"I stole it. Two hundred from my grandmother's emergency stash and three hundred from some lady in a fur coat."

He was quiet for a moment, then stuck the money in the pocket of his ripped up pants.

"But that's mineā€¦" I whispered, and he put his crocodile like face close to mine.

"What happened there?" I felt his claw touch my burns, and not gently either.

"Just some burns." Was all I said, my heart beating in my throat. Why didn't he just kill me?

"How long have you had them?"

"Since I was four," I looked down, but then, I couldn't take it anymore, I looked at him and said, feeling tears sting my eyes, "If you're gonna kill me, please just do it. I can't just stand here, I'm starting to feel sick." I couldn't believe I said all of that. But it was true. My stomach felt weak, and I thought I was going to collapse, my legs felt so jelly-like.

He stared down at me, then picked me and tucked my under one of his arms and walked off. Tears ran down my face, but I didn't dare make a sound. This was it, wasn't it?