"Thanks for the fried chicken, Colonel." Strangle's little tentacles took the delivery, and Su Ming nodded to the old man. "Sorry for making you come all this way. This really counts as a long trip."
"Heh, it wasn't that far. Your machine planet makes a convenient transfer point." The Colonel removed his gas mask, revealing his familiar kindly smile. "That'll be sixty-seven dollars and twenty-five cents. The extra sauce and gloves are free. Sign up for a membership now, and your next order comes with a free egg tart."
"Sign Harley up. I won't use it much."
Su Ming paid and handed out the Family Bucket to everyone present, including Boba the Mercenary. He saved a few pieces of meat and an ear of corn for Anakin.
The Colonel showed no hurry to leave. He looked around at the desert night like a tourist, so Deathstroke invited him to sit, offered him a drink, and asked:
"How are things on Earth-0?"
"The snow has melted, and people can come into the restaurant again. Everything looks peaceful, but in this old man's experience, it's more like the calm before the storm."
The Colonel took the glass, lightly clinked it against Deathstroke's, and drank it with a smile. He was still full of confidence in the future.
Deathstroke nodded, emptied his own glass, and asked another question:
"Has any version of Darkseid, or any of Apokolips's New Gods, ordered from you?"
"My restaurant doesn't serve fried people." The Colonel chuckled and stroked his mustache, declining a second drink. "The New Gods eat differently from humans. The ones from Apokolips, in particular, eat the New Gods of Genesis and other intelligent beings."
Su Ming fell silent for a moment, then poured himself another drink. "We still don't know where the real Darkseid is.