Watching the "defeated" Gladiator, Su Ming smiled faintly.
He had not brought Peter along merely for Jason's reward, nor simply to teach the boy about being a cosmic mercenary. This arrangement served multiple purposes.
Colonel Sanders was not the only one who could counter the Shi'ar. Anyone skilled at singing and dancing was their nemesis!
Like those soldiers who had fought them earlier—even if they managed to kill a few Earthlings, they would be killed by their own people upon returning. They had listened to songs and watched dancing; violating Shi'ar law in full view of everyone meant certain death.
Perhaps they were not afraid of dying, but dying that way would have been meaningless. By killing them, Deathstroke had instead earned them reputations for loyalty and bravery.
That was why Gladiator had not even mentioned the soldiers who had died at the hands of Deathstroke and the others after they met, and why he had entered the enclosed space of the ship alone to meet them.
Unfortunately, someone born and bred as a pure warrior like him was far too easy for Deathstroke to see through.
"Stop, Peter. You've earned merit."
Su Ming pressed a hand atop the boy's head, like silencing an alarm clock buzzing beside the bed. The noise stopped immediately.
"Really? Then my headphones—"
Peter was first delighted, then saddened again as he lowered his head to look at the black ash by his feet.
Deathstroke's rule was that effort must be rewarded. Whether it was his own effort or someone else's, anyone who contributed deserved payment. He smiled as he answered, "I'll have someone send you a new limited edition pair from Earth. And I'll prepare a big gift for you too."
"Thanks, boss."
Peter happily blew a snot bubble, pulled out a little grass