17

Welcome to the General's Rotisserie, where every chicken is cooked with care. What can I get you started on today?" In the DC realities, it looked as though Colonel Sanders never saw any great success. Kentucky Fried Chicken was just not a thing in Gotham.

There were a few, sure, but it wasn't a country-spanning franchise like it was back home.

Instead they got The General's Rotisserie. They specialized in a slow-roasted chicken that's flame kissed and coated in seven special seasonings.

That's what they said on the front door at any rate.

"Yeah, hi. We're going to need... Five? Five sound good?" Leslie looked behind himself, but Superboy was standing completely still and offering no input.

M'gann just shrugged. She'd shifted to a skin tone that looked identical to a human, but retained her other features.

"Yeah, five whole chickens. And a large order of every side. And two dozen biscuits."

The cashier took a moment to put that in, not a single word about the size of the order.

"And would you like anything to drink with that?"

"A diet coca-cola? I don't want to get fat." This finally got the older teenage boy to look up from the register.

"I'm sorry? We don't serve any, uh, coca-cola? We serve Freshky products."

"We'll take water." Leslie frowned as he moved his group to the side to wait on their order. That was probably some more of DC's early history weirdness, probably a shift that happened around World War Two.

He'd been avoiding soda since he'd been thrown into this reality, but he was going to have to look into those differences.

He already knew Oreo's had been replaced with Chocos cookies. Functionally the same thing, except that they tasted exactly the same as the cheap store-brand knockoffs.

"Oh, my uncle mentioned those! He said I should avoid them because they're dangerously addictive." M'gann spoke up unexpectedly from the side.

Leslie looked over at her, visibly confused. He'd been sure he wasn't talking, and he knew Superboy hadn't. But M'gann was looking directly at him. Suddenly she slapped the front of her forehead.

"Hello Megan! I'm so sorry Alchemist! It's just, you're projecting so loud! I thought you were actually talking. I didn't mean to, you know-" She held her hand up to her forehead, and then pointed back and forth between his head and hers.

"No, no, you're fine. I didn't even know I was... Loud? I wouldn't suggest digging too deep though."

"Because it'd be a huge invasion of privacy and you'd hate me forever?"

"Nah." Alchemist said as he handed one of the huge bags of chicken to Superboy. "It's because my mind is pretty much just memes and porn."

"Oh." M'gann took two of the other bags, these holding the various sides Alchemist had ordered. "I... Appreciate the honesty? That's really not what I was expecting."

"Yeah, that's what she said."

"But" Superboy finally had something to say. "That is what she said?"

"Someday you're going to look back on this and realize that was probably the funniest thing you ever said." Alchemist did a quick check, looking through the various bags of meat and greased up vegetables. "But probably not today."

"Would you guys like-" The three teens disappeared right before the cashiers eyes. "-yeah, no. At least these guys paid for their food first."

-----

Bruce reviewed the mental notes he'd made throughout the day.

A habit he tried to continue whenever he had that rare, rare night to decompress.

As much as people tried to say that crime never sleeps, it does tend to take a nap on Mondays.

Alchemist had been behaving oddly today as compared to normal, more flippant and energetic, less nervous than normal.

Or perhaps this was his normal, and his earlier behavior was how he tested the waters of new social situations? He'd make a note to update the profile he kept on the magician.

Upon their return from the unscheduled and unapproved outing, Superboy had gone to his room. He'd claimed the city was "Too loud, and bright, and way too fast.". He did make an appearance nearly half an hour later when Miss Martian had told him everyone was ready to eat.

Communal dining appeared to be a good team building exercise. It had even gotten Power Girl involved.

Not very involved, the girl had been unable or unwilling to speak since J'onn had finished her deprogramming. She had shown up however, and had been willing to take directions from M'gann to try different foods.

Opinions on her were incredibly mixed in the Justice League's core members. She had apparently been cloned from Faora, one of Zod's contemporaries, rather than Clark. Her initial programming had involved a rather heavy-handed dint of Black Widow, or Praying Mantis mentality.

Clark, understandably, wanted very little to do with her. He didn't want much to do with Superboy either. Considering the boy had been made from his own stolen genetic material, and both clones were intended to kill him, Bruce could hardly blame him for his hesitation.

Kid Flash... Was going to be problematic. He'd eaten two whole chickens, an entire tub of macaroni and cheese and then topped that off with eight biscuits.

He'd then made the off-hand comment that it was the first time he'd felt full since he got his powers.

By Bruce's estimate, that was almost four-thousand Calories.

And then he'd taken the leftovers home so he could "Have a snack before bed".

As much as he didn't like to, the team might need to send him to one of the Star Labs metahuman testing divisions. If he needed upwards of ten-thousand calories per day, his superspeed would be leaning heavily enough on his biology to function as a mutation. As compared to The Flash whose power seemed to be pure speed with few, if any, drawbacks.

Player One had been interesting. They had finally gotten rid of the hockey mask, at least long enough to eat, and instead had large mirrored aviators. They hadn't stayed long enough to finish the meal alongside everyone else however.

M'gann had been the one to ask if they were alright, and Bruce certainly hadn't expected their answer.

Or, considering their reluctance to speak at all so far, any answer.

Player One had therapy on Mondays. Every Monday. They hadn't said for what, simply leaving afterwards. It had signaled the wind-down of the meal, where everyone except Kid Flash finished what they had and moved on to other things.

After the meal had concluded, Alchemist had been shown to the remains of Mr.Twister...

-----

"So all of his parts are here?" Alchemist was poking at some of the android's remains.

"Everything we could find, yes. The head and chest were complete, though crushed." Batman had called ahead, ordering the remains to be assembled as best as possible before they'd arrived.

"Alright, yeah. I could probably fix him. Not doing it here though."

"Why not?"

"The last time I fixed someone who'd been attacking me, I nearly lost my teeth. And you said it had wind and lightning powers?"

"That's correct."

"Well I don't like being electrocuted. Get a Faraday cage built and drive some copper rods into the ground, I'll fix it."

"Why do you need a Faraday cage?" It was actually an excellent suggestion, but Batman had wanted to hear Alchemist's reasoning.

"Because he might have a transmitter in there. Or a receiver next to a self-destruct. I can repair everything inside of an object, but I don't get any understanding of what they are, or what they do. The spell is pretty indiscriminate on that front." All good reasons, though fewer than what Bruce had thought of.

They didn't know how fine the androids control over electricity was, or if that extended into electro-magnetism. They also didn't know if it had some kind of connecting technology that would allow it to piggyback off of their own devices.

A Faraday cage with an outside observer was just good sense.

"Acceptable. We'll get a proper facility constructed. In the meantime, you should take your two days. Be sure to be at Mt.Justice Thursday morning."

"What's happening Thursday morning?"

"You'll find out Thursday morning."

Alchemist silently stared at Batman's cowl for several long, uncomfortable moments before shrugging and turning around.

The young man needed to work on his body language if he wanted to glare at someone when his eyes were covered.