"Quick, hurry up!" a hooded man snapped at his partner while the other shoveled handfuls of jewelry into a bag.
The partner didn't bother answering. He kept stuffing the bag until it was full, then turned to see the other man finishing his own.
"Let's get out of here before something happens," the first one said.
"Relax, man. Supers aren't gonna bother with us. We're not important enough for anyone to show up right now," the other replied with a confident smirk.
And, in a way, he wasn't wrong.
Supercriminal activity in the city was extremely high at this hour, giving them enough chaos to slip away with a decent chunk of cash… if they were lucky.
And tonight, luck was on their side.
Because tonight, during a stormy night, several supercriminals had decided to rob multiple banks and stores across the city.
The two men slipped out the back door, bags full to the brim, adrenaline still rushing. The alley was empty, lit only by a flickering streetlamp. A distant siren mixed with the sound of rain and the wind.
"Told you it was easy," the younger one said, adjusting his hood and grinning. "Not even the alarms worked right."
"Yeah, yeah…" the other muttered, glancing at the rooftops. "Still don't like this. It's too quiet."
They kept walking, stepping through puddles that reflected distant neon signs. The air smelled like humidity, night, and rusted metal.
"You know what I'm doing with this money?" the younger one asked, lifting the bag. "Beach. Drinks. Like twelve chicks."
"With luck, you'll make it to the hotel," the older one snorted.
The younger laughed it off.
They relaxed, throwing stupid jokes back and forth to ease the tension—
Until they heard something.
A soft sound.
Something between a splash and a plop.
Something that could be rain hitting metal… but heavier.
And it came from above.
They froze.
Looked up at the nearest rooftop.
Nothing—only the shadow of a bent sign dripping water.
"Did you hear that?" the older murmured.
"Probably a cat or something," the younger said, but he didn't sound sure anymore.
They took another step—
This time, the sound was clear: a heavy splash behind them, like something—someone—landing in a puddle.
They turned instantly.
Nobody there.
The younger swallowed hard.
"Okay… that one definitely wasn't a cat."
Silence stretched out—
Until a voice spoke from the darkness, timed perfectly with a flash of lightning.
"Croak."
Or rather—
"Croooo—"
They spun around, aiming their guns, but nothing was in sight—
Lightning flashed again.
This time, they saw him.
A figure perched on top of a dumpster.
Not standing—crouched.
Like a sprinter ready to take off or some creature prepared to pounce.
One hand forward. Perfect balance. Motionless.
The figure was slim, but the black-and-emerald armor made him look bulkier. Not tall, not short.
He wore a green-and-black hood covering most of his head, except for the face—hidden behind large emerald goggles that reflected the next lightning flash. A bit of blond hair peeked out.
"What… what the hell…? Who is that?" one whispered.
"A new one," the other hissed, correctly assuming he was a super.
The figure leaned forward, rain dripping off his hood.
"Uh… I'd say 'the frog who's about to stop you,' but that sounds kinda cliché, right?" he said with a young, excited, sarcastic voice.
The younger one raised his gun.
"Don't move, punk! Don't try anything funny!"
"Too late."
The hooded figure lifted his gloved hands—black with orange fingertips. "I cracked the joke already."
He jumped. Fast.
He landed between them with a splash and a metallic thud from his orange boots.
Before one could react, he kicked him with a spinning strike that sent him flying.
"What the—?!"
"And I'm not even jumping for real yet!" the kid shouted, turning to the other thief with a playful grin behind the goggles.
The remaining thief aimed his gun instantly.
The hooded boy spit.
The gun started dissolving as if the spit were acid.
"What the hell—" the man muttered, dropping it.
"Woah, almost got me! Well, kinda," the boy teased, then spat on his face. The man collapsed instantly, knocked out.
"Tip: if you're gonna rob people, practice your aim first. Though honestly… with tadpole reflexes like yours, you weren't getting far anyway."
The bigger thief recovered and charged him with a crowbar. Managed to grab the kid's hood… or so he thought.
The boy slipped away like a wet frog, bounced off a wall, flipped, and kicked him down in a blur.
Both thieves were on the ground—one asleep, the other unable to move.
The boy stood up, shaking rain off his suit.
"I like the rain. Fits my whole… croak… vibe."
The big thief, the only one still conscious, stared at him in terror.
"What… what ARE you? Some kind of zoo experiment?"
The boy raised an eyebrow behind the goggles—not that the thief could see.
He stayed silent for a moment, letting the thunder and rain do the work.
The thief practically peed himself.
Then the boy smiled.
"Nah. Worse. Just your typical neighborhood frog kid. Or Frogstrike. Or Knightfrog. Or… FrogKnight? Eh, I'll figure out the title later. But as a name, Frogstrike sounds cool. Better than the others, at least."
He glanced at the two thieves.
"And you guys just… croak… fell into my… uh… puddle? Trap? Tongue?"
He grimaced. "Yeah, I need better catchphrases."
He stomped the ground lightly.
The pavement trembled, opening a hole beneath the thieves.
He used his tongue to drop them in and sealed the hole, leaving only their heads sticking out.
"Well… I guess that's it. Next time, try not being a couple of fried mosquitoes. Croak."
Muttering to himself about needing better exit lines, he jumped—
soaring more than seventy meters up, slinging himself across buildings with his tongue as he disappeared from the alley just as sirens grew louder.