At the Gator's 1 (Patreon)

At the Gator’s - or ‘I am Croc or Waylon, but no Killer’ (DC Comics/DCAU, Killer Croc!SI)

Destiny works in a rather odd manner.

Sometimes you die and get to either heaven or hell, others you get reincarnated. Simple as that. Except it was not. Reincarnation, isekai, getting dimensionally displaced one way or another doesn’t exactly warrant a degree of goodness.

Not when you end up waking up in the body of a future serial killer and Batman’s criminal, Killer Croc. Waylon Jones is my name, but while this may sound like a death sentence to many, the ‘moment’ I got inserted gave me a chance.

In my first months in being in a world that was as deadly if not more compared to the Marvel universes, I found myself working as a ‘carnival wrestler’. A ‘freak’ for the circus that would engage in wrestling.

I knew for a fact that the original Waylon hated it for a very simple reason: too little money for the kind of abuse he had to go through. Sure, getting called a ‘monster’ could easily be shrugged off by patience and time, but getting hurled objects really made the thing frustrating and quite… well, counter-productive.

“You will come to regret this, boy!”

I left once I was sure of my economic survival for a few months. I had taken some time off to study what to do. Crime was not an option, same for superheroic businesses. I needed a legit place to work at and not get any form of interaction with heroes.

Maybe some of the ‘smaller fishes’, but nothing that could upset my neutrality.

And so, I found a solution in the form of the very enemy Waylon beat by sobriety- alcohol. Rather than drink it, I would sell it with moderation.

A pub.

Not only was it relatively cheap to get one set up in Gotham, but some of the unused buildings in town were so cheap that it was easy for me to not only buy but furbish the place with all that it needed to become the ultimate average pub.

All I needed was prepared as I left, and setting up business took me just a few days. The small corner I had prepared to welcome people in need for refreshment and something to ‘clear their minds’ was prepared. I also relied on my appearance. How many bartenders could pride themselves to be ‘freaky’ as me?

The idea increased the growth of the clientele visiting. I soon was dealing with an income that was five times as good as the one I had as a cheap wrestler. Then again, I also had extra taxes to pay. I didn’t need to pay more in owning a flat as I had turned part of the pub in my house. I lived pretty much on my own, so I saw no point in expecting romance to suddenly hit me.

During this first year of activity, I could tell Gotham’s affairs were starting to get particularly frisky. I caught news that Bruce was back in town and fighting off his uncle to retain the position of leader at Wayne Enterprises.

It was around this time that the Riddler started to get active and one of the first big crimes he was responsible for came to be: using Pamela Isley’s invention to use a general blackout to turn Gotham into a city overrun by nature.

Yes, the first bout of Eco-Terrorism in Gotham was engineered by the Riddler. Poor Pamela then got herself put in a corner as the discovery of her indirect involvement in this threatened her funds at Wayne Enterprises.

With Bruce Wayne fully taking over, she made a move to introduce her main invention, a special pheromone, as a way to ‘convince’ people to be more compliant to deals. We all know where this goes as Bruce is not exactly that kind of businessman.

Still, having her invention seized away from her was a big slight after firing her, and it brought Pamela in a bit of a circumstance as she found shelter… in my pub. It was a normal night for me as the steady flow of customers made the cash reach my hungry wallet.

But it soon became clear to me who I was dealing with as the pub started to get emptier the more the end of the shift was over. Pamela was clearly distraught, the redhead having stopped at eight glasses of Tequila and falling asleep on the counter while the night went on.

She was still asleep by the time I had to close the pub and… I ended up giving her a sheet to cover herself before placing her by one of the couches in the place. The former researcher had a few nightmares, but ultimately managed to get some proper rest.

The next morning was… cute. I would say also awkward because a ‘shy’ Poison Ivy going through a hangover sure sounded perplexing and hilarious at the same time. Profusely apologizing for the issue she caused by falling asleep like that, I still ‘forgave’ Pamela and told her that she looked a bit troubled in her sleep.

“What’s up with that, lady?”

She was tense when I just bluntly put that on the spotlight. Hesitation kicked in… but she relented as she told me her backstory from her perspective.

“Not gonna lie, I think you are not good at selling products.”

“W-What? I totally got that one right.”

“You are talking to a guy with a good moral compass. You could have sold your invention as a calming agent for medical purposes rather than just jump at the ‘you can mindwash people with this pink powder’.”

“I- It’s just just… I mean, I get it but… but I needed the funds. And his uncle had been that kind of guy.”

“And he was not. You lost and now you are here.”

Pamela bowed her head at that painful loss, but… I reached up to her chin and lifted up.

“What are you doing? Giving up?”

“I… what?”

“You made a mistake, it cost you the job you had and the chance to keep your progress. Are you quitting?”

“...No?”

“Why?”

“Well… because…”

The young woman replied previously out of instinct, but she didn’t feel confident about it.

“Pamela, I will tell you the advice I got years ago. You may think this is the end for you, to be what you think others consider you to be- but nothing is stopping you from picking yourself up, working a plan and finding a way to recover to be greater than before. Success for someone like you depends on willpower.”

…

Her eyes were wide open as tears flocked to her surprise. “I-I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. But to yourself. As much as this may sounds upsetting, you should prioritize what you want and desire rather than listen to what others demand from you. You got screwed because you were pushed to try and appease others, just improve from this.”

“Y-Yes!”

And just like that… Pamela Isley became a frequent visitor of ‘At the Gator’s’. She would barely drink any alcohol, preferring to chat with me whenever there were just a few clients around. She turned in a common fixture as she would give me some updates on her ‘job hunting’.

She had some old colleagues from school that had openings, but none that felt ‘right’ for her specialization. Time went by for a few months as Batman kept on getting ‘bigger’. Then came the ‘Battle of Jokes and Riddles’ where the two villains tried to see who was ‘better’ in taking over Gotham.

Very intense times, and some criminals did find shelter in the pub but none caused trouble. Everything was… quite interesting. All in all, I became a common sight in Gotham and a bit of a ‘small celebrity’ to some. But as these things go, no status quo goes unchanged. And it was Pam’s own time to find a job out of Gotham.

“I-I have a new job. It’s… it’s funded by the Federal Government so I can’t say much about it.”

Nervous, yet happy and… upset. I smiled for her nonetheless.

“Glad to hear that, Pam. I hope you find success there.”

“I can’t visit anymore,” She admitted with some sadness. “But- But I will frequently call.”

I smiled at her drive. “Good to know, but do focus on being happy yourself first.”

The redhead blushed a bit at this, but that was pretty much the last time I saw her in a while. She did keep true with her promise. At first, she mentioned how the work relations happened with her and her colleagues. Then she started to bring up something quite ‘adorable’ to see happening as a spectator- her gayness manifesting as she left the closet to briefly date a girl there.

I know I shouldn’t really be this kind of a softie, but Pam at this point sounded like a lovely dork that it was difficult to not be happy for her. Still, once more, things changed.

The calls grew a bit less than usual and Pam’s tone started to get extremely nervous until she just… stopped calling. I thought she was busy as I wasn’t that experienced in that side of her origin story but… then I got confirmation that her ‘descent’ had unfolded.

I got a call from someone working at the Gotham Hospital as I was the only name and phone number listed in the ‘emergency calls’.

Pam was in a coma. And green.

—------d-d-d-d—----

AN

Next time, Pam is reborn… and horny. But not too much. There’s still a bit of a lemon tho.