Killer Croc wanted to yell back, but quickly remembered—he didn't exactly have much to work with. He'd been abandoned since childhood, growing up in Gotham's sewers. Unlike those four mutant turtles next door, he didn't have a talking rat sensei to teach him vocabulary. Every word he knew was self-taught, learned through sheer determination and osmosis from the gutter.
So yeah—his lexicon was limited. The punk onshore clearly had more words than he did. Better to keep quiet and endure it.
Fortunately, he was part reptile now—cold-blooded, literally. His blood circulation was slow, his emotions sluggish. It took a lot to really make him mad. Plus, the mutation had scrambled his brain a bit, so half of Robin's insults went right over his head. By the time he figured out the meaning of one line, five new ones were already flying at him.
"Hey, Barbara," Felicity's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Thea and Selina will be back in a minute. We just need him to come out before they arrive. I'm opening a private channel for you—join in and help Robin out. Time for some tag-team trash talk!"
"Me?!" Barbara blinked, stunned. In all her years of proper education, she had never done something like this. The idea alone made her heart race. Could she even do it?
Then she glanced at Robin—face flushed, veins bulging, shouting with fierce enthusiasm—and suddenly felt… curious. He looked like he was enjoying himself. And for some reason, that made it feel—wrongly—fun.
A strange thrill coursed through her. So this was the dark side of education—learning to curse. Maybe this was one of those "try everything once" moments.
As a modern woman of intellect and independence, she couldn't allow herself to have regrets. She'd already conquered coding, fought cybercrime, and even built her own firewalls. Surely, mastering the "art of verbal combat" was a skill worth adding—for future use, of course. One day she might need to destroy a homewrecker's self-esteem or verbally annihilate a street thug.
"Okay!" Felicity said, audibly grinning. "I found a good set for you two—it's a mixed duet version! The post's titled 'Make Your Opponent Reconsider Their Life Choices—2007 Trial Edition.' Supposedly super effective. Give me a sec to sync the lines… Robin, explain the basics to Barbara, would you? Heh-heh."
"Basics?" Barbara muttered. "It's just shouting, right?"
Robin, standing a few meters away (partly to avoid his own smell), spoke solemnly:
"Dear, there's technique to this. First, breathe from your diaphragm—low, steady airflow through your chest and into the vocal cords. Don't push all your air at once. Gradually increase power. Like this—watch."
He straightened up, chest out like an opera singer, and began performing exaggerated warm-ups—deep breath, firm stance, perfect projection. When he finished, he gave her a proud thumbs-up, beaming.
Barbara just stared. Is this really my Robin?
She'd always known him as the quiet type—the serious, brooding sidekick molded by Batman himself. The man never laughed, never cracked a smile. If Bruce Wayne ever grinned that wide, it usually meant the Joker had taken over.
Now, here was Robin, literally glowing, shoulders relaxed, eyes bright with purpose, yelling obscenities like it was an art form. The transformation was… shocking.
If Batman could see his protégé now, he'd probably faint.
"I'm back!" Felicity chimed in. "System's ready. Barbara, can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear."
"Perfect. All right—let's begin!"
Out in the lake, Killer Croc squinted. Great—now there were two of them yelling. The guy was bad enough, but now the girl had joined in? A male-female duet? Really?
Fine. He was a crocodile. Crocodiles didn't get angry easily. His thick, armored hide could take anything—even verbal assault. Let them scream. His scales were thick, and his face—thicker still.
But within seconds, something felt different. This wasn't like before.
It wasn't just insults now—it was music.
The two voices blended unnervingly well. Robin's deep, strong tone met Barbara's clear soprano, and together, under Felicity's remote guidance, they created a weirdly perfect harmony.
Barbara hesitated at first, embarrassed—but once she found her rhythm, she really got into it. Using Robin's "breathing technique," she unleashed her voice. Her sharp, ringing notes pierced through the humid air, while his booming shouts filled the gaps beneath her. The sound waves rolled across the lake like ripples in a storm.
Then something even stranger happened. Barbara, caught up in the rhythm, started to… sing. She unconsciously used the same voice she'd once trained in church choir—pure, resonant, even a little divine. Except the words coming out of her mouth were anything but holy.
And every now and then, she'd glance at Robin, smile, and toss him a playful wink—mixing angelic melody with wicked flirtation.
Robin, dazed, thought she'd never looked more beautiful. His heart pounded. Whether she was saint or sinner, angel or devil, she was his.
The duet became a romantic performance—a twisted love song of profanity echoing over the still waters.
And down in the lake, Killer Croc snapped.
Thirty years single. Thirty years alone. Now he had to watch these two lovebirds flirt and harmonize while insulting him? It was too much.
His blood boiled. His rational mind—what little remained—was gone. They want to show off their love? Do it at home! Why make me watch?!
His cold-blooded calm shattered. Rage exploded through his chest. With a guttural roar that shook the shore, he bellowed the single word that had always fueled him:
"KILL!"
He surged upward, bursting from the lake in a spray of water and fury.
That single word—he'd learned it long ago from a half-burned, badly translated novel he'd found in the sewers. A story from some faraway "Eastern world." The hero in that book always shouted "KILL!" before powering up and annihilating his foes. There was another word—"BREAK!"—but it didn't sound nearly as cool, so Croc had dropped it.
As a bullied, hideous child, yelling that word had always given him courage. The habit had stuck—and eventually, so had the nickname Killer Croc. Honestly, he thought it sounded pretty awesome.
On shore, Robin and Barbara were still basking in the afterglow of their vocal masterpiece, faces flushed, spirits soaring. For a moment, they'd forgotten everything—Batman's disappearance, Gotham's chaos—everything except each other.
Until—
"Watch out! He's coming out!" Felicity's voice screamed through the comms.
Right on cue, they turned—and saw the lake erupt.
A massive, scaly figure exploded from the water, droplets cascading like rain, his roar echoing through the night.
The mixed-duet performance had officially summoned the boss.