What's wrong with Superman's son wanting to be Superman?

Page 397

The words carried a name that Clark hadn't heard in several days, a name that had finally brought some peace to his ears. Upon hearing it again, Clark crushed the Coke can in his hand into an aluminum disc.

"I heard that the boy became an angel after he died, and even the Vatican venerates him." The waiter wiped the condiment bottles, his eyes filled with a pious reverence as if he were discussing a great being. Hearing this, Clark controlled his facial expression, his mind filled with images of Jordan and Ian's illicit affair, images that wouldn't leave his mind.

"You guys still believe this?" Clark tried his best to put on an expression of indifference, as if he were just a bystander, but his voice was still squeezed out from between his teeth.

"Why wouldn't you believe it? Anyone with eyes can see that Superman in stockings and Superman in Walmart plastic bags are Superman's children. They are the new era's correct-minded Supermen." The waiter said in a low voice while wiping the table, stating a fact that people not only in Metropolis, but also in other places could probably guess.

"..."

Superman glanced at Lois, who was fast asleep on the table, and felt a pang of sadness. He was saddened by the fact that he had no normal family member to face this life with. At that moment, Clark truly wished he could develop Alzheimer's in his old age, so he could forget the trauma he had to endure in his youth.

"That final manuscript... is it very valuable?"

Clark asked mechanically.

He really was trying hard to pretend to be a complete stranger.

Upon hearing this, the waiter paused in wiping the cups. He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Speaking of valuable items, the truly valuable ones are definitely the things Walmart sold in its early days with its Plastic Bag Superman."

"Perhaps because of a lack of money, no one expected that such a thing would actually be circulating on the black market." The waiter's eyes drifted towards the "Superman Altar" behind the counter.

Clark's superhuman intuition suddenly went off, his temples throbbing. He could almost see the Daily Planet headline: "Shocking! Black Market for Superman's Son's Sperm Exposed!"

This is Clark's concern.

Superman is starting to regret that he focused too much attention on Ian, which prevented him from noticing some of Jordan's more serious symptoms than his youngest son's.

What did he sell?

Clark did some mental preparation before finally asking, choosing not to pry into others' thoughts. His voice was as dry as weathered desert rock. Fortunately, the waiter's answer brought him a partial relief—only a partial relief because he still needed the other half to stay alive.

The waiter looked around and then lowered his voice.

"Rumor has it that Walmart sold three pairs of Superman underwear in plastic bags. Who knows if Superman's DNA is still on them?" The male clerk said with a sigh.

He didn't know why, but the feeling of longing grew stronger and stronger, and his face turned a little red. So much so that even Superman's super vision couldn't look him in the eye.

Clark's super brain crashed on the spot.

Clark, his head buzzing, was completely speechless. He stiffly helped Louise up and stumbled toward the door, the waiter watching him with bewildered eyes.

When the automatic door opened with a "ding-dong," Clark had already caught his breath. Instead of taking his drunken wife to a hotel, he went to the outside of a convenience store.

The night wind is cold.

The wind blows through the neon lights above the city.

Superman, carrying a drunken Lois, finally landed on the top floor of an abandoned office building.

The night wind howled past the edge of the skyscraper. He gently placed his wife on a worn-out bench, while ten bottles of "water of life" he had bought from a convenience store were neatly arranged at his feet.

“Ian…Ian can definitely handle the nuclear issue…” Louise muttered, her eyes unfocused. “He may be smart, but he is certainly very righteous and bold in his actions.”

"Clark, go find Ian and tell him that if he solves the nuclear bomb problem, I'll get him on the front page!" Louise, wrapped in Clark's coat, kept shouting on the bench.

Her fingers unconsciously traced the interview outline in the air—alcohol convinced the Pulitzer Prize winner that she should go to the mold farm tomorrow to do a feature report on the "black market deal for nuclear bombs".

She also had to bring her orange cat, which always liked to type gibberish on the keyboard.

"Oh, right, where's my cat? I think I forgot to bring my cat back. A reporter and a cat, you can't do without the cat, the two of us together can conquer the world!"

Louise was indeed too drunk.

"You're very brave," Clark said with a forced smile, patting Louise on the head before pulling a sealed metal box from Louise's bag.

He turned and walked to the side of the building, sitting on the edge of the suspended roof. Superman's legs dangled three hundred meters in the air. The wind made his cape flutter loudly.

It felt as if they might fall into an abyss at any moment.

"Hey~"

Clark looked up into the distance; the lights stretched like a sea, yet they couldn't illuminate the gloom in his heart. Of course, the matter of his two sons was secondary; what truly worried him was the deal involving the US military.

"Violence can't stop them, so what can I do?" Clark was filled with confusion, a sense of helplessness that even a superhero faces when confronted with the nature of humanity.

He looked at the box in his hand.

He hesitated for a moment.

The lid was finally opened.

Inside was a piece of green kryptonite.

Kryptonite gleamed with an eerie green light under the moonlight, like an imprisoned aurora. It lay silently on the black velvet, utterly sinister, like a cursed eye from its home planet. Clark stared at the ore that could kill him, suddenly recalling Bruce's words, "safety pin," when they first met.

He was holding the safety pin in his left hand.

Holding the 96-degree water of life in his right hand, the Kryptonian had deliberately used Kryptonite. His body became somewhat weak and swayed, but ultimately he was not in danger of falling off the building.

"Cuckoo~"

Clark stared at it for a long time.

He picked up a bottle of "water of life," unscrewed the cap, and took a sip. The burning sensation went down his throat, and surprisingly, it stirred up a slight dizziness within him.

He took another sip and then held the kryptonite in his hand.

pain.

A sharp, familiar, and visceral pain instantly swept through his body. His muscles trembled, his breathing became rapid, and his supercells groaned under the corrosive effects of the toxins.

But under the combined influence of this pain and alcohol—he got what he wanted and got drunk.

Clark's pupils turned into a mesmerizing vortex.

His super-metabolic system prevented alcohol from truly numbing his senses, but the chemical reaction resulting from mixing with kryptonite radiation put his mind into a strange, overclocked state. The coordinates of the global nuclear arsenal unfolded in his mind like a 3D projection, each red dot pricking his moral conscience.

“Perhaps…” he murmured, “I shouldn’t wait any longer.”

"Perhaps I should take all the world's nuclear weapons to space and destroy them." His gaze pierced through the clouds, looking down at Earth. Under his superhuman vision, every nuclear weapons storage site was clearly visible—beneath the Siberian ice sheets, within the rock formations of the Rocky Mountains, inside submarines in the Indian Ocean…

He could see the position of every single warhead, and he could even calculate that he could clear them all out in less than sixty seconds with just one flight.

"Procedural justice?"

"When the system itself is rotten, what's the point of talking about programs?" Superman was drunk, and it seemed like he had unleashed his hidden personality. His evil version wanted to be a real thief for once.

Steal those dangerous nuclear weapons from Earth.

This may be Superman's most wicked moment yet. His sharp gaze sweeps across the globe, his super brain calculating how to sneak into every nuclear weapons storage site.

Just then—Superman's vision suddenly caught something unusual, instantly bringing him to his senses. On the edge of London, a box-shaped building had appeared in what should have been an abandoned factory.

The architecture itself is not just bizarre.

At that moment, a blue telephone booth-style box silently descended from its top. The door opened, and the woman in the white dress stepped out.

She still wore her veil, holding the ball of light in her hand, standing quietly on the rooftop, as if waiting for something. Almost instinctively, Clark's expression hardened.

"What is this woman trying to do now?"

He hoisted Louise onto his shoulder and charged out, the wind howling in his ears. He broke his previous limits and reached his target in the blink of an eye.

however.

When he arrived, there stood a modern art museum. Not a factory, not ruins, but a brightly lit, bustling cultural landmark.

"Damn it."

Clark rubbed his eyes, suspecting he was drunk, but the result was the same: the building he had seen earlier that was located here did not actually seem to be in this area.

He couldn't catch a glimpse of the mysterious woman again. Infrared, quantum, time remnants... Clark activated his full-frequency vision, but everything remained normal under his eyes.

That blue box.

That building that exists here.

There was also a woman in a white dress.

None of them exist.

"Did I see something that shouldn't be here?" he muttered to himself, the alcohol and the toxicity of the kryptonite bringing his mind into a strange clarity.

The other person might not be walking in reality!

"paradox……"

Clark always felt that the name was meaningful, and his super brain reached an unprecedented level after drinking—he knew that to solve the puzzle, he could not rely on strength or speed, but only on thinking.

Use all your strength to think.

Thinking of this.

next moment.

Superman vanished from the spot. The speed was no longer just simple flight; it was a teleportation on a purely spiritual level, utilizing the quantum entanglement effect of the material world.

……

Gotham City.

Superman landed precisely on the rooftop of a slum, his footsteps as light as a falling leaf.

Ahead was a seemingly abandoned three-story building with mottled exterior walls and fake windows that were more realistic than real ones. Several ventilation openings emitted a faint blue light.

This is the strange thing that Superman accurately detected.

The Bat Cave Secret Safe House.

inside the house.

Bruce Wayne took off the suit that could block Superman's vision, took a shower, took some sleeping pills, and prepared to sleep for ten minutes. He put on the sleep mask inlaid with Kryptonite halfway up.

Just then, the alarm system suddenly emitted a dying hum. He instinctively reached for the kryptonite spray in his belt, only to hear the concrete wall groan under its strain.

boom! ! !

The walls were torn apart like pieces of paper.

"Bruce!!!"

The blast wall crumbled like a biscuit.

Clark emerged from the dust and mist, carrying a drunken Louise. Yes, Superman needs to think with all his might, so he used all his strength to find his best thinking device.

"???????"

Bruce Wayne threw his blindfold to the ground and nearly crushed the spray bottle in his hand. The Gotham Monster stared wide-eyed at Clark, who was carrying Lois and swaggering into the safe house.