With the help of Dream of a Thousand Cats, Omega Earth had entered a period of stable development.
Its culture was hardly flourishing, but the overall trend was positive. The social atmosphere was far from perfect, but people generally got along. The New Human hosts were weaker on average than proper Superheroes, but they could probably hold their own against the less proper ones.
By "proper Superheroes," Deathstroke meant the eight members of the Justice League's Seven Leaders. As far as he was concerned, every other team was a joke.
Even the Bat-Family looked to him more like a symptom of Batman's mental illness than a professional combat unit.
Why did he say that?
Simple. Batman's abilities had practically no upper limit. With the right gadgets and schemes, he could easily defeat even a Multiversal Level enemy.
But the other members of the Bat-Family? They were street-level Superheroes at best.
Su Ming had nothing against Dick, Red Hood, Barbara, or the others. But unless Batman was doing it for fun, why would he keep teaming up as "one god carrying N deadweights"?
The comparison made it obvious. When Su Ming put together a team, he generally brought Bobo along to handle odd jobs. The others didn't have to be powerful, but each needed a useful specialty—something they could contribute to the mission.
The Bat-Family, meanwhile, was made up entirely of detectives and martial artists, none of whom matched Batman even in their own specialties. A team with that much overlap was only good for a laugh.
Even the Arrow-Family made more sense. Driver, Black Canary, and Arsenal Roy were each highly capable in their own way.
As Deathstroke's thoughts wandered, he raised a hand. Everyone floated off the ground and drifted toward the cave's exit. It was a basic application