Both women were agility-type heroes—long-legged, fast, and light-footed. They didn't need to outrun the Flash; as long as they ran faster than the restaurant patrons, they'd be fine. Together they gave the onlookers a live demonstration of Run, Sisters, Run.
After sprinting out of the restaurant, they stopped in an open area, blending in with the crowd of curious bystanders.
Neither of them knew exactly what had happened, but as the local, Catwoman felt obliged to investigate. Besides, she was just as curious. Under Thea's expectant gaze, she grabbed one of the gangsters who had gone into the kitchen earlier, dragged him into an alley, and came back a minute later after a short "conversation" of fists and kicks.
"It's Killer Croc," she said calmly. "He came up through the sewers. Killed two people already… didn't expect he'd been released too."
Thea didn't bother asking who that was. She knew the Batman team had fought him before, which was all that mattered—because that meant there was a guidebook. The first encounter with a villain was always hard; the second time, much easier. Once you'd "unlocked the boss mechanics," it was just farming loot.
The same trick never worked twice on a Saint Seiya, and Gotham ran on the same logic. Most villains here were mutations—dangerous the first time, cannon fodder the second.
Powers are temporary, technology is forever, Thea thought. It only reinforced her commitment to the tech-enhancement route. It wasn't that she had much choice—if she had Kryptonian blood, she'd be sunbathing on a beach, not grinding combat skills. But since she didn't, well… gadgets it was.
She was about to ask Catwoman how they'd handled Killer Croc last time when the ground shook.
The restaurant's side wall exploded outward, pulverized into dust. A moment later, the entire building sagged and collapsed, crumbling into a heap of rubble before everyone's eyes.
"What a pity," Catwoman murmured. "The fish there was really good…"
Thea could only marvel at Gotham citizens' unshakable mental fortitude.
"Come on," Catwoman said, pulling her away.
Wait, that's it? Thea thought. What about heroes of justice? Protectors of the city? We're just… leaving?
Besides, they hadn't even paid for lunch. The owner was probably crying unconscious in the bathroom by now. Couldn't they at least—
But Catwoman seemed to read her thoughts. "With Croc's habits," she explained patiently, "he won't stay where there's a crowd. He prefers wet areas—sewers, canals, underground reservoirs. We'll head back, change, grab our gear. There's a man-made lake not far from here. He's probably heading there."
A water fight? Thea grimaced. That was a problem. None of her equipment was tested for underwater use, and she had yet to hear of any hero who could shoot arrows while submerged. Plus, the idea of being soaked from head to toe? No thanks.
If they were really going into the water, she'd be supporting spiritually from dry land.
As they hurried back, Thea's phone buzzed.
"—Thea, are you still nearby?" Felicity's voice crackled through the speaker. "Listen, that Killer Croc guy is in a small man-made lake not far from you… seriously, who names these things? Anyway—Robin's already there. Barbara's worried. Go back him up."
Thea respected Robin—Batman's first apprentice, practically his eldest son. If Batman had a daughter, Robin would've been the ideal son-in-law. Felicity didn't say the situation was critical, but it clearly wasn't safe either.
"No time to grab equipment. We go as we are?" Thea asked.
Catwoman didn't hesitate. No matter who it was—Robin, or even Barbara—she would never let a teammate die if she could help it. She took the lead, and the two of them sprinted toward the lake.
The farther they ran, the more desolate it became. Trees thickened around them, and the traces of human life thinned out.
After crossing a patch of sand, they finally saw the so-called "man-made lake." It was part of an abandoned amusement park—long rusted and forgotten. Broken carousels, shattered Ferris wheel cars, and peeling paint lent the place a haunting, almost ghostly air.
The lake sat at the park's northern edge. When they arrived, Robin was already there—engaged in fierce combat with Killer Croc.
God, Thea thought, he's hideous.
That was her first impression. The thing was a hulking, bipedal monster, vaguely human-shaped but covered head to toe in dark gray scales. His upper body was bare, his arms were thick as tree trunks, and his head was grotesquely large with a mouth full of jagged fangs.
He had to be at least 2.2 meters tall—maybe 500 pounds or more. Thea couldn't help wondering how much this beast had to eat just to stay alive.
"What the hell is that? Some kind of failed experiment? A bio-weapon?" she asked, watching Robin trade blows with the creature. He seemed to be holding his own, so she wasn't too worried yet—just curious.
Catwoman considered for a moment. "Bruce once collected his cells. From what he found, there's no sign of lab tampering or modification. He's just… a human with a mild case of atavism."
Thea blinked. "Mild? You call that mild? The man looks like his mom wouldn't recognize him! If that's a normal human, then I'm Superman's seventh aunt twice removed!"
Catching her incredulous expression, Catwoman quickly distanced herself from the theory. "That's Batman's conclusion, not mine. If you've got questions, ask him when he's back."
And that ended the topic. Both turned their attention back to the fight.
It didn't take long for Thea to notice—Killer Croc had raw power, but no technique. No form, no stance, no discipline—just wild, brute swings. From that perspective, Batman wasn't entirely wrong: he was more beast than fighter.
Robin, on the other hand, fought with precision and rhythm. His black hair whipped behind him as he struck, his short staff cracking against Croc's scaly hide with sharp thwack-thwack sounds. Every movement carried trained intent.
Impressive, Thea thought. Batman didn't waste his years training this one.
She measured their skills in her mind. If she didn't use her tech gear, she'd be slightly stronger than Robin—but not by much. If she made a mistake, she could lose.
Still, it was clear who had the upper hand.
The battle looked like a martial artist versus a musclebound brawler—every one of Croc's attacks was powerful enough to kill, but if you couldn't land a hit, it meant nothing.
Robin already had this fight in the bag.
.