Charles Masters found crocodile hunting to bring the most joy to his life. In rural Australia, it was one of the few things to keep you busy. He learned it from his parents as a youth and carried on the tradition as he began to live on his own. There were many things to be done with crocs. Depending on the season, he’d sell the meat, or live crocodiles to any interested buyers. What most drew him in, however, was the standing prize for the largest crocodile ever killed.
“There ya go, Oslo!” Charles shouted, tossing out bits and pieces of crocodile carcasses.
Years prior on a hunt, Charles captured a baby croc that was missing an eye. It felt frail in his hand. Its mother wouldn’t allow it to partake in meals. He decided to keep it in his yard as a pet. He called it Oslo and fed it mostly crocodile meat. It would be there waiting whenever he got home, chomping the air for its daily snack. Charles thought of it like a dog, and it acted as such.
The only other hunter in his region was Russ Filber. He’d gotten a decent amount of fame as an outdoorsman, so people often came to see him and follow his search for the prize croc. Though Charles was a better hunter by all metrics and had been doing it longer, most of his clients of late had been moving to give Russ their business. It was destroying the living he was making, draining his funds and threatening his lifestyle.
In the shallows one afternoon, Charles ran into Russ and confronted him about the situation, the two of them doing their best not to be any louder than the conversation. “You know you’re taking my business, right?”
“It’s not like that Charles.” Russ said. He froze for a moment as a little crocodile whipped away from them. “They like me. They don’t like you.”
“That shouldn’t matter. I’ve been here longer. I’m consistent.”
“But do you have influence?”
Russ’ foot touched something rigid and then slipped out from under him. He had unknowingly stepped on the tail of a crocodile. Water splashed and russ vanished in front of Charles. He paused and considered for a moment allowing nature to take its course. It was a decent plan. He’d regain all the customers he lost to his rival and have the entire region to himself. But he couldn’t comfortably live with the secret.
Charles took his bowie knife and went down under. Blood obscured his view of the crocodile. He stabbed downward into the murk, unsure what he was aiming for. The knife hit flesh, that much he knew. A sigh of relief came when Russ came up for air. His leg was torn up a bit, and the crocodile floated lifeless on the water. It was much larger than either of them realized. Charles helped him back to his home and called for medical services.
The following day, Charles took the short walk over to check on Russ. There was a sea of reporters and onlookers all around his front yard. Strange, considering the nature of the work, for there to be interest in a crocodile attack on a crocodile hunter. That wasn’t the purpose of the crowd’s gathering. Russ had displayed on a tarp in his front yard a massive crocodile. It was certainly the record holder at this point. Charles’ face darkened as people cheered on the second-rate hunter, realizing that the one on the tarp was the very same that he killed to save Russ.
Charles stormed off back home, sick of being upstaged. He’d been robbed of his own kill, and wouldn’t have it. He’d been working on an ace, however. Something to trump any attempt Russ could make at the record. He loaded up his truck in a haste, tearing up seeing his work coming to fruition.
Just outside of the crowd, Charles backed his truck up and honked for a couple minutes to get everyone’s attention.
“Congratulations to Russ for taking down that miniature crocodile.” he said in a charming voice, clapping slowly, the crowd following along. The attention fueled his showmanship. “It’s been a great run, buddy. Thanks for giving me some competition.” He lifted the tarp from a giant object in the bed of his truck. “Some.”
People gasped loudly, astonished by a crocodile easily twice the size of the one Russ had on display. It was a true giant.
“How’d you take down this monster?” asked a reporter.
“Just some quick knife-work.” Charles flashed his bowie knife.
“Wait. That’s Oslo!” Russ shouted from behind the crowd, noticing the missing eye of Charles’ pet croc. “That was his pet. He didn’t hunt it, he slaughtered it.”
“I don’t keep pets, Russ. Not like your pet lizard there. Poor little guy.” Charles pointed at the crocodile dwarfed by Oslo. The crowd laughed and reporters went back to interviewing him.
Charles received a substantial cash prize, which he used to move to Big City and open up a crocodile meat restaurant called Croccos. On the wall outside was a mural to Oslo, though people just thought it was a silly drawing of a crocodile. He expanded across the city, opening ten locations in the span of a year. By the second operating year, he sold the business for a few million.
With the money from the sale, Charles began to invest in the many players in Big City, earning himself spots at important tables, where his words alone could influence his reality. He found an addiction in that influence. Every opportunity to dip his toes into different industries, he would take. He found a special interest in technology. Watching Duperman protect the world, he sought a way to stand toe to toe with the heroes and villains that populated his city. Charles consulted an engineer of small stature to discuss development plans with.
“You need a theme.”
“A theme?”
“Something distinct.”
Charles looked down at a crystal chess board on his coffee table. “What about chess?”
“Works for me.”
The engineer delivered a suit made from solid gold, able to be controlled from the luxurious suite inside. Charles stepped in and pressed the suit’s hand down, crushing cutouts he’d made of Duperman and other heroes.
“Checkmate.”
