Su Ming, clutching Gordon, touched down at Wayne Manor. Tucked in the suburbs on high ground, it had a leg up.
Surrounding hills and streams bought ti, and Bruce had decked it out—fully sealed against the flood.
The Justice Hall's energy shield? He'd slapped one on his crib too.
Just money, right?
Top-tier gear. If ti hadn't been tight, he'd have hooked every Gotham building with one.
The shield didn't faze Deathstroke, though. He torched a hole in the top with a fireball and zipped inside with the Commissioner before it resealed.
Su Ming dumped Gordon on the third-floor balcony and hunted for Alfred.
Found him in the kitchen, whipping up breakfast with old-school poise.
Master Bruce might not show, but the al had to be ready—newspaper ironed, too, for his hands.
Orange juice, toast, crispy bacon, runny-yolk eggs—no slacking.
Today's paper was late, though. Still not here?
Alfred turned—and there was Deathstroke at the door.
"Uh, you're no paperboy."
Su Ming: "???"
Alfred straightened his suit, kept cooking. He'd heard plenty from Batman—like this otherworld Deathstroke.
Seeing him in the manor? No shock.
Gordon hustled down a minute later, worried Deathstroke might rough up the butler. Instead, he found him chowing down.
"Huh?"
Gordon had snagged a sword from a hallway armor display, but this scene made him ease it down.
"Toast's solid—no bat aftertaste," Deathstroke said, mid-bite, critiquing.
Flood wouldn't hit Wayne Tower for hours. Breakfast? Sure. A nap? Why not. Harley and Ivy could wait.
Alfred stood by, fruit platter in hand, towel over arm, smirking as he ribbed Deathstroke.
"If you an the young master's quirks, he clearly doesn't ddle in family cuisine."
"Ha! You just spilled a weakness—he can't cook," Su Ming grinned, digging into the eggs.
"As his butler, I'd rather he couldn't do a thing—at least not like today," Alfred's smile faded, bowing slightly.
Su Ming got it. As the elder, Alfred didn't want Bruce as Batman—just living easy.
A cushy rich-kid life, no saving-the-world burden.
But the world needed Batman. Alfred's wish was just talk—he was proud of Bruce now.
Su Ming ate Bruce's breakfast. Batman wasn't coming back soon—don't waste it.
If the flood didn't quit, this might be Earth's last egg.
Alfred had clocked the chaos outside—cooking was just routine.
Reality hit, though. He fed who needed it.
If he'd known Alfred knew him, Su Ming wouldn't have dragged Gordon as a witness-slash-hostage.
Oh well—call it a good deed. Safe spot, at least. If Gordon wanted to bolt and die, Alfred's say mattered.
Forget fists—Gordon wouldn't outmatch the old man anyway.
Not a fit for Harley and Ivy, though. Madwoman unpredictability.
"You... what's this?" Gordon shuffled in, sword dragging, eyeing the youthful Deathstroke and calm Alfred.
Su Ming chewed. "Guess Batman didn't tell you—two Deathstrokes now? As you see, I'm eating."
With the world like this, he figured the OG Slade was out saving it too.
"Mr. Wilson, swallow before speaking—very unbecoming," Alfred chided, seizing the mont. Su Ming felt the heat.
Gordon knew Batman's ID but got kept in the dark on plenty.
This Deathstroke—a League ally?
"You shouldn't have brought here. The city's drowning—people need ," Gordon said, dropping the sword on the table, leaning in like he'd negotiate.
Alfred swiped the blade, stashing the fruit tray.
Su Ming raised a hand—pause—gulped his food, sipped juice.
"Correction: people need saving, sure, but not you. To , you're a normie needing rescue too."
Gordon had no coback—he'd just flown here.
"I scoped it out. Bat-family's on it, Birds of Prey too, even so League C-listers pitching in. Arkham's supervillains are self-saving. Normies' best move? Don't clog the works."
Under Alfred's gaze, Su Ming ditched wiping his mouth with his hand, grabbing a napkin instead. Alfred smiled.
He stood, re-helting. "Alfred, I'm right, yeah?"
"Very rational," Alfred nodded, clearing the table fast.
"Cool. I need your comms to hit up the Justice Hall. Can you keep Gordon from bolting?"
Su Ming pointed at the dazed cop.
He was ditching Gordon here, like it or not.
Alfred agreed—Gordon was Bruce's pal, Barbara's dad, Gotham's straightest cop.
For his safety, soft lockdown it was.
Alfred set him up in a posh, windowless safe room, fingerprint-locked.
"Wood over prothium—secure both ways. Follow ," Alfred said, leading Su Ming to the Batcave.
Floods had sealed the car tunnel out.
Alfred smoothly pinged Batman on the computer.
"Alfred, bad timing," Batman's face popped up, swamped. Screens around him flashed global disasters.
"Master, not calling you for breakfast—your friend needs you."
"I see it," Batman said, head swiveling to other screens, directing local heroes to backup plans. "But Deathstroke's got his own agenda. He's no good news... League ally, not my buddy."
Alfred wasn't buying Bruce's lone-wolf bit. "Yes, Master, you think you don't need friends, but many see themselves as yours. Consider their view—don't hurt them."
"Deathstroke, quit hiding behind my butler," Batman's lip twitched, dodging Alfred's jab, targeting Su Ming. "What do you want?"
"Your spaceship—the eight-seater with a bathroom you and Cyborg built for the League. I know you've got a spare," Su Ming said, no pleasantries.
"An alien fleet's locked Earth's orbit—over 100,000 ships, global flooding. Space isn't smart," Batman countered, sidestepping.
Su Ming rubbed his chin. Alien invasion, huh? Orbit sealed?
"100,000 ships—you didn't send Superman to knock so down? Easy pickings."
"They've got tech—an energy grid trapping anything leaving the atmosphere. Superman too. Priority's rescuing folks and stopping the sea rise," Batman said.
He'd tried.
He could blast Superman out, but with water climbing, he'd opted for civilian rescue.
Fish-mutation—reversible or not—ant every lost normie was a future foe.
Plus, heroes needed food and water—civilian support. Save more now, last longer later.
"Got it. Loan a ship to cruise space with so pals, and I'll scout the alien fleet—maybe off their bosses if I get a shot," Su Ming said.
No heroics—just hacking aliens sounded fun.
Energy grid? X-tal laughed at that.
Batman narrowed his eyes, weighing it. He hated hiring Deathstroke, but this deal was a must.
Every ti Deathstroke popped up, Bruce got strong-ard into trades. Sucked.
No choice, though.
He punched a code into the console. The Batcave floor split, a ship rising from the abyss—Justice League model, Batman's backup since Cyborg took the original.
"Ship's unlocked—yours to use. Temporarily," Batman said, setting terms. Priceless rig wasn't a gift—just a loan.
No lease end date—hinting he knew Su Ming wouldn't stick around.
"Fine, but no gift ship? We're talking pay," Su Ming shrugged. He just needed a mobile base. "I'm no kid—Bat-ship joyrides aren't compensation."
He could breach atmo bare-handed anyti—why a ship?
"Advance: one million."
Batman was swamped—haggling cash? Whatever, numbers!
"Deal. Tough gig, but you're a repeat client—discount for you. Big win," Su Ming said, heading to the ship to figure it out.
He had plane-flying chops in his head—spaceship's close enough, right?
Batman glanced at him, then Alfred. "Guard the house."
Alfred nodded—he would.
"Batman?" Su Ming turned in the dim cave, like he'd rembered sothing.
"Speak."
"Don't die before paying. Watch yourself—sothing's off."
Batman tapped keys, feeding intel and coords to global heroes. His safety ranked below the mission.
Lex? No bald fingerprints here yet.
"Noted. You too."
Batman cut the line.
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