Arkham City was a cesspit of cruelty and depravity. It was a wonder why the idea had been pitched and accepted in the first place, Bruce Wayne's money being poured into a place where you didn't doubt your father was fearing for his life. With turfs and territories from criminals like Two-Face and the Penguin, your father, a political prisoner, did not deserve to be trapped in the same place as those horrible men.

Sneaking into Arkham City had been a challenge - you had underestimated the security a playboy like Wayne and his company could produce. But with the heavy thought of your father's sudden radio silence, there was nothing you could do but try and find him. Make sure that he was safe, at the cost of your own. But nothing went as you expected. You got to see how horrific the inside of the city was, how rife abuse was and how crime was able to run rampant under hardly any surveillance at all. In a place where you didn't belong, you had made yourself a target for plenty of thugs, who seemed to lurk around every corner.

A group had easily snagged you despite your attempts to get away, your questioning on your father's whereabouts having not interested them at all. The glimmer of knives in the moonlight had made you realise that you might really meet your demise here, until Waylon Jones had emerged from the depths of the murky water along the ports and frightened them all off with only his terrifying presence.

You, too, had attempted to make a run for it, not wanting to find yourself a late night snack for the crocodile man, but he had swiftly showed that he meant no harm. Sheltered you in the sewers until the noticeable tremor in your hand eased. But he wasn't named Killer Croc for no reason, and you couldn't shake off the nerves you felt around him. He seemed off put by your fear.

"There is not much food in this place," the crocodile man grunted, making sure you weren't injured. From a distance. "But if you need it, I will find something for you. Why are you here? You do not look like a prisoner."