Killer Croc was still rolling on the ground when it hit him—well, metaphorically. His reptilian instincts screamed danger, but the pain had scrambled his brain so badly that he'd forgotten his own name. His nerves weren't firing properly; whatever warning signals were coming in, there were no brain cells left processing them.
Compared to the searing pain along his back, that single arrow was barely a sting. He even managed to lift his head and catch sight of the shooter.
Wait—what? Why was she floating?
Having spent twenty years skulking in the sewers, Killer Croc had never seen anything like it. Is that one of those "airplanes" people talk about? he wondered dimly. But no, it looked too small. A private model, maybe?
His mind wandered aimlessly, and as he distracted himself, the pain ebbed slightly. That, to him, was excellent news. If he could just move again, he could make a break for the lake. That floating one probably couldn't follow him underwater, and the three on the ground—well, he figured he could take a few hits and still barrel through them.
Yeah, he thought. This time, no matter what they shout, I'm staying underwater.
Good plan—on paper.
Except when he tried to move… nothing happened.
He blinked. His body refused to respond. A cold, biting sensation was spreading up from his legs.
He glanced down and froze.
Literally.
"Wh—what the—" His head jerked from side to side, the only part of him still mobile. From the neck down, he was encased in solid ice. He could still see the same lake, the same enemies, but now he was just… part of the scenery.
Catwoman, standing nearby, stared blankly at the frozen monstrosity. When she and Thea had gone back to fetch gear earlier, Thea had casually explained her "battle process": something about firing from afar, slowing the enemy's movements, then letting the team close in.
Catwoman had assumed "slowing movement" meant a neat arrow to the leg—maybe a flesh wound to hobble the target while the others moved in to finish the job. Standard procedure: incapacitate, swarm, loot, done.
Reality was… different.
She didn't know whether to admire or be horrified.
This wasn't "slowing movement." This was turning the enemy into an art installation.
Only Killer Croc's head stuck out of the ice block—a frozen statue of pure misery. If he'd been even a bit shorter, he'd be fully preserved by now.
Catwoman swallowed. "Uh… I think we have very different definitions of 'mobility restriction.' Is this how you people in Star City usually do it?"
Because at this point, the guy wasn't just immobilized—he was halfway to being a medical case study in cryogenic paralysis.
"Barbara," Robin said, wide-eyed, "what's in those arrows?"
He'd just collapsed onto the ground moments ago, exhausted and gasping for breath, but the sight of the frozen creature made him forget his fatigue.
Barbara leaned in, cautious but fascinated. "It looks like some kind of chemical compound… hard to tell exactly what, but the effect is powerful."
"You think we could, uh, study it? Maybe make a few of our own?" Robin asked hopefully. His tone wasn't scientific—it was personal. After all, if Thea had shot that arrow earlier, he wouldn't have spent the last half hour getting smacked around like a training dummy.
Barbara shook her head. "I doubt Bruce would allow it. It's fine against meta-humans, but most of our targets are ordinary people. One of these arrows could kill them outright."
Her voice carried both admiration and resignation. The weapon was undeniably effective—fast, precise, and efficient. But as long as Batman's no-kill rule stood, tools like this would remain off-limits.
Robin sighed. "What if we developed it secretly? As a last-resort weapon?"
Barbara's lips curled into a smirk. "Do you even know how much something like that costs? Do you have a lab? The expertise? The funding?"
She rattled off questions like bullets, until Robin wilted under the barrage.
Yeah… she was right. Neither of them had billionaire backers. Robin was just a circus kid with grit; Barbara, while comfortably middle-class, wasn't that rich.
The Quinn Corporation might not match Wayne Enterprises in scale, but judging from this display, it wasn't far behind either.
Batman's tech cost millions per prototype—sometimes tens of millions. The math made Robin's head spin. He could only sigh and mutter under his breath, "Rich people's problems…"
Catwoman, meanwhile, was staring at the massive ice sculpture before them. "So… Thea, what now? Just… leave him here?"
She gestured helplessly. Croc had weighed nearly five hundred pounds before; with all that ice on him, he was pushing a ton.
Normally, they'd hang captured villains outside the police station like trophies, but with Gotham's precincts in chaos, that wasn't an option. And carrying him? Impossible.
Thea hadn't thought that far ahead either. She turned to Felicity through her comm. "Ideas?"
Felicity's voice came back uncertain. "Uh… no good ones. Maybe… label him 'modern art' and call it a day?"
Thea rolled her eyes. "Fine. We'll do it my way."
She waved for everyone to step back. "Move. I'm reinforcing the seal."
Robin and Barbara both blinked. "Reinforcing?"
Barbara frowned. "You're not going to kill him, are you? He's practically frozen solid already!"
She pointed toward the ice block. Croc's once-twitching head was now barely moving. His yellowed eyes stared glassily into the distance, and his jaw trembled, teeth chattering weakly.
Thea shrugged. "Relax. He won't die. Everyone, back off."
She honestly couldn't understand their moral gymnastics. So what if he dies? Would anyone even notice? Would it matter?
This creature wasn't human anymore—did he pay taxes? Did he have health insurance? Was there a single law in Gotham that actually protected him?
Even if Batman himself popped out of the shadows right now, she could argue him into silence.
Besides, freezing him wasn't fatal. Probably.
Captain America had been an ice cube for seventy years and turned out fine. And Killer Croc? The guy was half-reptile. Cold-blooded. Built for this. He'd be fine.
Maybe a little nerve damage, some muscle atrophy—but honestly, that was his problem, not hers.