Trapjaw the Terrible Snippets

The murky kelp forest stretched on as far as the crocs' eyes could see. Tall, dark green plants surrounded the group and hid everything from colorful fish to dull blue sharks within their wavy leaves. Above them, powerful waves crashed into the ocean and created huge, bubbling clouds of foam. From where the bask of crocodiles was sitting, it sometimes appeared as though the top of the forest was covered in thick fog.

The largest croc of the bask—he was about twenty-five feet long, longer than your average minivan—stared disdainfully at the forest with his single, golden-brown eye. The other was missing,. The empty socket was protected by a leather eyepatch.

A belt was tied tightly around his waist, and a mighty sword made from the skeletal head of a swordfish had been stuck through it.

His teeth had been capped with shimmering, sharpened metal (though rumors said they grew out of his mouth that way). It was said that getting bitten by him was like getting chewed up by a beartrap, which was how he’d gotten his name (even though he preferred a good stabbing over anything else).

This was Trapjaw the Terrible, leader of the Scaly Pirates.

When he laughed, the plants unfortunate enough to touch his breath shriveled up and died.

When he snarled or hissed, the spit that flew from his mouth ate through the ground like acid.

And when he swam forwards, every marine animal large or small moved out of his way, and his bask followed close behind him without complaint.

They were right to do so.

Trapjaw wasn't a croc to be messed with in the first place, but when he had a mission on his mind it was best to walk on eggshells around him.

His temper was unusually short from spending seven long days on the open ocean, searching for an old treasure instead of pulling off heart-racing heists. Normally this sort of thing would have bored him to tears just thinking about it, but this was too important.

One of his underlings had discovered a huge cliff with a gaping hole in its side. They'd said the hole had rusty gears, fallen scaffolding, and twisted, broken metal in and around it. All evidence that pointed to the notorious thieving ninjas that had lived there.

Or rather, their equally notorious downfall.

Finally, after ages of swimming through nothing but kelp, Trapjaw and his crew found the wreckage.

The ocean had done a good job of breaking it down. The secret doors to the old ninja base had rusted and fallen off like the croc had said. The water was murky and foul.

It looked like just getting close to it would have you in bed with a fever for a week. The underwater entrance was a no-go.

Trapjaw put his head above water so he could speak, and his bask followed.

"Not even I'm gonna go in that dirty muck," the huge croc said, "We're goin' the way of the landlubber, lads. Watch your step, if one of you's collapses the buildin' I'll have your hides made into handbags!"

The rest of his bask took the threat seriously. They carefully hauled themselves onto the craggy rocks surrounding the base and crept inside, following Trapjaw’s lead. Pitch black greeted them as they went deeper. They could only see by the faint light reflected off the river that ran through the center of the entryway, which was a long, maze-like series of hallways.

Jagged rocks scraped at their feet as they began to explore. Lichens and strange, dank-smelling plants grew up the walls and into nooks and crannies, providing ample food and shelter for the small critters that had reclaimed the building as it rotted away.

Unfortunately for the bask, the plants roots had broken up the rock and made their footing unstable.

If a croc loosened the wrong piece of rubble, it could send the rusty scaffolding and walkways above crashing down on them.  It was possible the entire tunnel system would follow suit, and they would all be flattened.

But even in the best case scenario, Trapjaw wouldn’t be coming back for injured pirates. At least, not without some convincing.

"This ain't no pirate's life..." a croc complained, "Creepin' around in some musty dump that's fallin' apart, we're all gonna die! What's in here that's so important anyway?"

If Trapjaw had known where the croc was standing, he would have hit him with the blunt end of his sword.

Instead, he settled for a raspy growl, "You'll see when we get to it, numbskull."

"He's gotta point, boss," said another pirate, "What if we find out whatever you're lookin' for is a pile of junk?"

"It ain't a pile of junk!" Trapjaw snapped, "If we got our claws on that beauty, we'd be the most feared thieves in the world! It might even make me a king..." He laughed at the thought. Some of the crocs covered their noses, grateful that the dark hid the disrespectful action. "Imagine that! Trapjaw, king of the crooks!"

The other crocs eagerly agreed that the title was fitting before they continued their plunge into the ruins.

When they finally found an entrance to the main section of the base, it became even more treacherous.

The rumors were true, it really had been blown apart from the inside-out.

Sharp pieces of metal and other debris twisted up to cut the toes of careless crocs. Huge piles of rubble had formed where support pillars had been broken, creating steep hills that led to higher floors.

A croc shrieked as a tiny creature zipped over his tail on its way to hide. When his comrades snickered, he spat on the floor. "I bet you me right toe this place is haunted, or infested with somethin' dangerous," he complained, "I can't believe we don’t have any flashlights for this! We're gonna get eatin’ by somethin' before we find what you’re lookin’ for, I swears it."

"If there's a beast in here, your yappin' will draw it to us," Trapjaw snapped, "Besides, last time I checked, nothin' alive can kill Trapjaw the Terrible."

There was a long pause.

"Well? Nothin’ alive can kill Trapjaw the Terrible, right?”

"A-Aye sir! Nothin' alive can kill Trapjaw the Terrible,” the bask said.

Trapjaw nodded to himself. "Aye, that's good to hear. Now split up and get to searchin’. If you see a big, rusty robot lyin' around anywhere you shout for me before you do anything. If I see you destroyed the Doom-thing, the critters down here'll have a nice, fat croc to eat for dinner."

"Aye-aye captain!" the bask saluted, then dispersed, leaving Trapjaw all alone.

The huge pirate waited around to make sure his crew followed orders, then began to walk in the only direction his crew hadn't gone in: forward.

Behind him, two of his crew bickered over who had picked what direction first. Trapjaw hoped something really was down here to eat them as he pressed on.

As far as he was concerned, once he got his claws on the robot, his crew would become obsolete. Maybe he would still need them to guard his loot or something, but with a monstrous machine like that on his side he could very easily work alone.

Trapjaw stopped at a huge pile of rubble that had blocked his way. Not about to let a pile of pebbles block his path, the huge croc spun on his heel and whipped the blockage with his tail.

Crack-a-crack!

The boulders smashed apart. He swiped the rubble out of his way with ease.

A huge hallway stretched in front of him. Rusted metal doors lined the walls on either side, and at the very, very end, a gaping hole lead into a destroyed room.

Trapjaw's heart skipped a beat.

Could it really be…?

He had only heard tales of what the machine could do, but the hole in the wall seemed to be just the right size…

Trapjaw didn’t waste another second. He tiptoed into the opening and found himself standing in a destroyed office.

Bullet holes riddled everything in sight and one wall had clearly been blown to pieces by a rocket or bomb. In one corner, chunks of rotten wood and rubble lay at the foot of another huge crater in the wall; it was the same size as the one before it.

Now Trapjaw was certain he was on the right track.

Excited, he entered this hole, too, and found himself standing on a sheltered pier of some kind.

It had been built into the cliffside and led out to open sea, but part of it had been caved in. A mountain of rubble lay in the middle of the walkway, blocking off the end of the pier.

The skeleton of a dolphin's head had washed up on a pile of broken concrete crumbling into the ocean. It had been picked clean a long time ago. A necklace of black pearls still lay around its neck.

These were the only things remaining of Pearl, final leader of the Sea Ninjas.

Trapjaw sized up the pile of debris as he got closer. It looked about big enough to hide the robot underneath, but there was only one way to find out.

The huge croc started to rip rocks from the pile.

One by one at first, then by twos and threes, and sometimes fours. Soon, the pile started to shrink, and there was one around his feet and tail steadily growing.

When the smaller heap rose up to his knees, he finally started to see what he was looking for. The glint of steel and faded blue paint peeked out from between the rocks.

Frantic, he started to tear the pile apart as fast as he could. Bit by bit, more of the huge machine was revealed, until he finally removed enough for the top half to become visible.

The robot’s screen was cracked and dark; he imagined it had been the monstrous creation's eyes.

After a moment of staring in awe, he let out a whoop of joy.

He had really found it!

Just as he opened his mouth to call for his crew, the robot made a noise, and the screen flicked on. Thankfully, nobody was there to see him jump out of his scales.

Whatever was supposed to be displayed on the screen was reduced to a series of unreadable glitches.

 The robot beeped and booped and spoke in a broken voice, "D-om P--ject is active. Pl--se ---ect t-tar--t."