[ Artificial Lake, Abandoned Amusement Park, Gotham city ]
"Take me with you," Selina called out the moment she realized Thea was heading back. Without hesitation, she jumped on behind Thea in one smooth motion. She hadn't brought her gear either—just a slim dagger tucked in her boot. While it might work on a mugger, against a sewer-grown prehistoric monster, it might as well be a cocktail pick.
"We'll be back soon. You guys hold him off for now!" Thea tossed the words over her shoulder as she gunned the accelerator, and the motorcycle roared off at full speed, kicking up dust behind them.
Easy for you to say, thought the two left behind. They exchanged a long look, the kind of look that asked all the questions they didn't want to say out loud. Finally, Barbara raised her arm and pointed toward the lake's center. "Keep yelling. Don't stop."
Robin almost choked. How about you yell a few rounds, huh? To get it out of your system? He'd been hollering insults at the top of his lungs for ten minutes now. Killer Croc could afford to take a breath, maybe even sip lake water. But Robin? His throat felt like it was packed with gravel and smoke.
Still, Barbara's face made it clear there would be no debate.
So, he bit the inside of his cheek, swallowed his pride, and resumed the war of words. After all, that's what boyfriends do—listen to their girlfriends and do what needs to be done. Even if it meant yelling curses across a lake while your lungs begged for mercy.
The combat suit clung to him uncomfortably. It had seemed breathable enough during missions, but not after ten minutes of constant yelling. The fabric was practically boiling his neck, sweat pooling beneath it like a torture device disguised as tactical gear. He tugged at it absentmindedly and kept shouting.
From a few paces away, Barbara watched him with satisfaction. He was obedient, diligent, and—even if he stank like a biohazard container—he was hers. She smiled to herself, the faintest hint of pride sneaking into her expression. Maybe she didn't have a perfect family. Maybe her friends were few and far between. But somehow, without any guidance, she'd managed to learn the sacred art of keeping a boyfriend in line. A true talent, right?
Until she started listening more closely for two minutes.
Barbara felt something was off. Robin, by nature, was reserved—so quiet that even if someone hit him with a stick three times, he might not say a word. His usual replies rarely strayed beyond "Batman is right" or "Barbara is right." Yet today, in just a few short minutes of cursing, his vocabulary had turned venomous. His sentences were sharp, creative, and brutal—and none of them repeated.
Something was wrong. Barbara's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Could it be… had he been taught these things by some other woman?
The idea that Robin might be cheating on her made her blood pressure spike. She no longer cared about the lingering stench clinging to his body. She marched forward, grabbed his collar, and demanded, "Who taught you those words? Where is she!" If Robin so much as mentioned a name or a location, she would rush there without hesitation. The fate of Gotham could wait. What use was a saved city if her own happiness crumbled?
"Ah? Who taught me? Oh—Miss Smoak." Robin was completely thrown off by the question. He blinked, puzzled, trying to figure out how she made that leap of logic. Unable to piece it together, he simply answered truthfully and pointed to the earpiece tucked behind his mask.
"Felicity?" Barbara's brows shot up. She quickly fished the earpiece out of her belt pouch. Before she left earlier, Felicity had handed her one "for smooth communication," but Barbara hadn't bothered to wear it—she hadn't exactly warmed up to Star City's dynamic duo.
Once connected, the voice came through crisp and clear. "Welcome Barbara to our chatroom! Can't talk long—very busy right now. Robin, continue!" Felicity's cheerful voice rang out, and then immediately got back to the "mission"—whispering savage lines into Robin's ear for him to broadcast like a very offended town crier.
Barbara stood there, silently digesting it. The things Robin had been shouting just now were vicious, creative, and honestly kind of terrifying. If someone had screamed those things at her, she might have spontaneously combusted. And yet Robin was repeating them word for word like an obedient megaphone.
Her mind drifted back to her earlier clash with Thea—when the girl had flung insults at her with such ease she'd lost her appetite entirely. Is everyone from Star City like this? Not a single repeated insult in a sea of verbal daggers? The vocabulary reserve must be enormous...
"Robin, take a break for half a minute. I'll find you a new one. Have a drink of water…" Felicity's voice rang out through the earpiece, followed by the clatter of her fingers on a keyboard and a faint shout in the background, "Baldy over there, pass me a bottle of water…"
Barbara's brow twitched. What the hell is this? A new what? Clearly, there was something going on here she didn't know. She glanced at Robin. Normally, if his girlfriend were staring at him like that, he'd be over the moon. But right now, he looked utterly spent, gasping for breath with flushed cheeks and sweat clinging to his temples.
He wanted water—desperately—but there was none nearby. The lake ahead was covered in a film of something unidentifiable, the kind of thing Killer Croc might have no trouble digesting, but which Robin clearly couldn't. He licked his dry lips and tried to imagine something—anything—to quench his thirst.
"Ha! I'm back, let's continue!" Felicity announced energetically.
"Wait—let me interrupt you. What were you looking for just now?" Barbara interjected, unable to hold it in. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight without an answer.
"100 Classic Practical Street Curses, 2007 edition! Have you read it? Total goldmine. Always thought it was collectible—didn't think I'd get to use it like this, haha! Anyway, Robin—let's continue!" Felicity had gone completely off-topic before snapping herself back on track with the enthusiasm of a TV host.
So that's what kind of people Star City raised… Barbara stood still, questioning her entire upbringing. She had spent the last twenty years being far too normal. Quietly, she turned to watch Robin curse under his breath like a one-man insult orchestra.
And the curses really were classic. At first, she'd tried to memorize the particularly vicious and creative ones. A few lines in, she realized every line was a masterpiece. Giving up, she stomped her boot lightly in frustration and activated the recording function in her combat suit.
Meanwhile, in the middle of the lake, Killer Croc was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable.
When Robin had first started insulting him, Killer Croc hadn't taken it seriously at all. He had been focused on something else entirely—hoping these irritating people would hurry up and leave so he could get ashore and make a break for it. The artificial lake, as he had discovered, was an absolute disgrace to construction standards. Whatever contractor had built it must've siphoned off half the budget. The lake was nothing more than a stagnant pool with a single muddy passage below—one that he had used to slither his way over from the Chinese restaurant. And by now, that narrow channel was probably swarming with his enemies.
He had circled the lakebed multiple times but found no alternative exit. Even so, he wasn't too worried. They're on land, and I've got water. I'll just wait it out. There was food and drink down here. He wasn't exactly planning a feast, but survival was guaranteed. As he thought this, he snatched a small fish drifting lazily by his snout and crunched it down in two or three bites, sneering in the direction of the people on the shore.
When he noticed Thea taking off with Selina, his heart lifted momentarily. Are they finally retreating? But his hope was quickly dashed when the young man who had sent him sprawling earlier returned to the lakeside—his cheeks puffed, his throat cleared—and launched into another long-winded barrage of insults.
What do these people take me for? Killer Croc huffed silently. Trying to provoke me with cheap talk? My body's a bit mutated, sure, but my brain isn't mush. I'm not just some swamp brute—I'm still sharp! I'm... I'm a unique firework in the night sky! The metaphor didn't quite land, but he consoled himself with it anyway.
He caught another unlucky fish and chewed thoughtfully. Glancing at the shoreline, he regarded Robin's furious gesturing and insults as an impromptu performance. Let him yell. Free entertainment.
But as time passed, something felt... off. Robin's words had started to cut a little too deep. In mere minutes, the curses had escalated into a genealogical assault. Killer Croc blinked in disbelief as the boy named his entire immediate family—then moved on to roasting ancestors from generations long past. Did he just insult my grandfather's grandfather? What kind of creative demon is this?!
To Be Continued...
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