American comic book: My Father is Superman, am I just an NPC?

Chapter 198 Apocalypse, A Tumultuous Time
Ian's backpack was very, very big.

It can hold anything.

He swept away hundreds of books that had been shaken off the table.

“I will keep these top-secret files for you. I will find a friend of mine, a professional, to do trace analysis. Maybe there are clues about the Yellow-Eyed Demon hidden in them.”

Ian's tone was righteous and serious, with a hint of meticulousness. His hands moved so fast it was dazzling; Sam only saw a blur before his eyes and the table was completely empty. Even his own stationery, which he had accidentally spilled, looked like a lighter to anyone who didn't know better.

"Forehead……"

Sam watched Ian's attitude change 180 degrees and the smooth motion of him taking the magazine, and his lips twitched uncontrollably a few times.

Feeling conflicted, he was momentarily at a loss for whether to be happy or speechless.

"Thank you... thank you..."

Sam said dryly, but inexplicably felt relieved. In any case, Ian had finally agreed, and he didn't care too much about how the future of the exorcist world would be affected by this.

Of all the Winchester family members, he was the one who disliked his family business the most.

"You're too kind! We don't need to say such things between classmates!" Ian waved his hand, exuding a heroic air, as if he wasn't the one who had been making all sorts of excuses just moments before.

With his dramatic flair, Ian put his arm around Sam's shoulder, causing Sam to stiffen. Ian, on the other hand, gazed intently into the distance, as if he could already see an incredibly bright future.

"This is nothing short of a supernatural industrial revolution! In the future, people will remember the Winchester family's insignificant contributions, and Ian, the benevolent lord, for my sacrifice."

"Think about it, I can sell standardized holy water spray in nine different tiers, like 45-degree holy water, 20-degree holy water, etc., just like selling alcohol, to meet everyone's needs."

"Mass-produced enchanted salt bombs, crosses that can be remotely consecrated via an app, and more... How many hunters with limited budgets and innocent families will this save! We will change the world, Sam! We will be saints in the exorcism world! My magic... uh, I mean, to what extent will my business empire explode!"

Ian became more and more excited as he spoke, as if he could already see the moment when his magic power was so great that he could take up his old profession as a dimensional demon god and carry out the "magic loan"—a moment that was both grand and traditional.

"Don't drag me into this, I don't know anything." Sam felt a chill run down his spine and didn't want to continue the conversation. All he wanted was to find his missing father and brother.

I don't want to become the Rockefeller of the exorcism world.

"Don't worry, I definitely won't take you with me."

"I've thought about your idea of ​​'everyone can afford to exorcise demons' again, and it is indeed very forward-thinking. From now on, we will say that this idea is mine."

"Don't look at me like that. It was our teacher who taught us to learn from Edison." Ian was an honest and sincere person, and his scoundrel nature lay in his innocent scoundrelness.

Nothing to hide.

"..."

Sam found it difficult to refute Ian's logic; after all, he was a fairly honest kid.

“My dad and brother might be in Seattle.” Sam only wanted to talk about business, so he quickly revealed some of the clues he knew to Ian.

“Seattle? It’s not that far, no problem.” Ian immediately pulled himself back from his reverie, patted his chest again, and made a confident guarantee.

"Don't even mention Seattle, I'll find your dad and brother even in the City of Light. I want to see them alive, and if they're dead... well, if they're really... well, it's okay! I'll go to a parallel universe and bring back a brother and dad for you! I guarantee they'll be the same type, with synchronized memories and no discomfort whatsoever."

There was a real light in Ian's eyes.

Sam was so taken aback by this overly "thoughtful" after-sales service that he waved his hands repeatedly, sweat beading on his forehead: "No! No! Ian! Forget about the other brothers and dads! I really only want my own dad and brother!"

"I want the original!"

He emphasized it again at the end.

Ian stroked his chin and nodded thoughtfully: "Hmm...that makes sense. Original parts are definitely more compatible than aftermarket parts. Okay, let's go find your original dad and brother!"

Finally, I received a relatively reliable promise.

Sam breathed a long sigh of relief.

It felt more tiring than fighting a room full of vampires.

"Well, I'll go back and prepare for class now. I'll wait for you here tonight." He didn't dare stay any longer, afraid that Ian would come up with some even more outrageous ideas.

After handing Ian a note, Sam quickly got up to leave, practically fleeing the cafeteria. Seeing his customer leave, Ian returned to his table to enjoy his meal.

[Entropy Annihilation Lord Experience Points +22]

[Entropy Annihilation Lord Experience Points +19]

[Entropy Annihilation Lord Experience Points +23]

Some people bring their own hot sauce, while others bring their own sandwiches. Ian brings some minerals and poison to his lunch, which can be considered following the crowd.

The first period in the afternoon is a safety and hygiene class.

Because the homeroom teacher, Ms. Misha, was still organizing Hannibal's funeral and was unaware that Hannibal himself had already attended, and because the place was said to be haunted, she was quite frightened.

This class was taught by a contracted substitute teacher—Ms. David. Don't ask why it's such a strange combination; there really are male mothers and male women in America.

Yes, Ms. David was a tall, impeccably made-up, and well-dressed professional teacher—though not particularly attractive. She, or rather, he—walked into the classroom with confidence, a gentle yet undeniable smile on his face.

"Good afternoon, students. I am your substitute teacher for today's Safety and Hygiene class. You can call me Ms. David." Its voice, after years of training, is now indistinguishable as male or female.

Although he was a terrorist, the course content was mostly normal, mainly covering campus safety knowledge, personal hygiene habits, and some basic first aid knowledge.

Of course, as a security course in the United States, it inevitably involves some "unique" content.

"So, students, you must remember this." Ms. David pointed a laser pointer at a cartoon on the projection screen: a student pointing a gun at another student.

"Under no circumstances should you kill your classmates or teachers. Never point a gun at your classmates or pick up a rocket launcher you brought from home."

"These are all very dangerous and illegal behaviors. If you see a classmate coming to class with a bulging backpack, you must report it to the teacher or campus security immediately."

The students below were used to this, and some even whispered that the teacher must be crazy. They were all practically in high school; how could they not understand these everyday things? Of everyone, only Ian tried to hide his bulging backpack, but no one else noticed.

Clearly, due to survivor bias, these students who haven't experienced real combat lack some vigilance about life. Fortunately, Ian is indeed not a campus killer.

The course proceeded smoothly.

However, when explaining the section on "physiological and mental health during puberty," Ms. David inevitably began to incorporate some American pop culture that she was personally very interested in and involved in.

"Students, you are at a crucial stage in your self-discovery and identity exploration. You may be confused about issues such as your gender and orientation."

"Whether people prefer boys, girls, or any animal, it's perfectly normal. The important thing is to accept yourself and bravely express your true self... and also to respect, or rather, to offer help and praise to those who dare to act on their needs."

This is where they're starting to add their own agendas.

She even began to speak with a preaching-like enthusiasm. When Ms. David said, "If any students still have something to say about this, they can contact me privately for help,"

Ian raised his hand.

"This handsome young man, please speak." Ms. David was pleased to see someone interacting with her, so she became careless and didn't flash her camera, lacking vigilance.

"Huh? Handsome? Male classmate?" Ian stood up, his face showing an extremely serious, even somewhat offended expression, and he spoke loudly in an accusing tone.

"My God! Your teaching is full of prejudice and discrimination! What gives you the right to arbitrarily define my age and assume I'm in puberty? And what gives you the right to arbitrarily assume my gender isn't an IKEA shark, a walking ball of spaghetti, an Apache attack helicopter, or a cyberpunk red-light district guy?"

Ian filed charges.

The entire classroom fell silent instantly.

All the drowsy students were jolted awake and stared at Ian in disbelief.

Ms. David's smile froze instantly, her mouth slightly agape, as if she hadn't quite grasped the sudden question that was beyond anything she had prepared in her lesson plans and training materials.

Ian continued to deliver his righteous and stern speech.

“Your behavior of ignoring my self-identity and forcibly categorizing me is a serious disrespect for my helicopter identity! I feel extremely hurt! I must complain to the principal! I must complain to the education bureau! You are creating discrimination and hatred!” He used the simplification of gender.

After all, it's tiring for him to repeat it himself.

IKEA Shark, A Walking Ball of Spaghetti, Apache Attack Helicopter, Cyberpunk Red Dead Redemption—he spoke with a strong voice, his expression aggrieved and angry, as if he had truly suffered a great injustice.

Ms. David was completely stunned, her face flushing red and then pale. She tried to explain, "Classmate... I didn't mean that, it's just that your gender..."

I was speechless.

Ms. David found herself unable to continue the conversation on this topic.

No matter how she responded, it would seem utterly absurd. All the rhetoric about inclusion and respect she had prepared throughout her teaching career seemed to turn into a joke at this moment.

"I...I need to calm down..." Ms. David finally gave in, her voice trembling as she leaned on the podium, "Students...study on your own..."

After saying that, she almost staggered out of the classroom, without even taking her lesson plan.

The classroom was deathly silent for a few seconds.

immediately--

"Pfft-hahaha!"

"Holy crap! An Apache helicopter!"

"There's also an IKEA shark and spaghetti, hahaha!"

"Ian is awesome!!"

A deafening burst of laughter and applause instantly filled the classroom! The students slapped their desks, laughing so hard they almost fell over, as if they had just watched a spectacular stand-up comedy show.

of course.

In this sea of ​​joy sparked by Ian's "Apache helicopter" theory, there are always a few discordant notes, standing alone and completely unaffected by the classroom atmosphere.

"I have a flush! What are you going to use to beat me? Pay up!" In the back corner of the classroom, Madison and three other girls who didn't look like easy targets were squatting on the floor in a circle. A small blanket they had somehow gotten their hands on was spread out between them, with playing cards and a few crumpled US dollars scattered on it.

"From 3 to 7!"

Madison shouted excitedly, grabbing all the loose change on the table and piling it in front of him, his face beaming with the pure joy of a winner.

The other three girls grumbled and sweared as they reluctantly took out their money, while giving Madison suspicious looks.

As the saying goes, if you're not a green tea b*tch, you can't get into a green tea b*tch's den.

Including Madison himself.

These girls were all quite "skilled" at cards, with a hint of Las Vegas casinos, but also a sense of fear that if they got caught, they would be subjected to the Myanmar "cutting law".

"What a clumsy use of witchcraft."

Ian glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help but roll his eyes inwardly. He could clearly "see" the faint, almost imperceptible magical fluctuations between Madison's fingers—she was using extremely crude mental techniques to peek at other people's cards, and even occasionally using her mind to slightly rearrange the cards.

Among the girls' cheating techniques, Madison was slightly better, but not as good as Ian. Ian didn't like cheating, so if it were him, he would just accept the loss.

If you lose, just forget about the other students' memories and try again. It's not considered cheating, and you can always win eventually. That's the real way to win outside the gambling table.

"This is... such blatant cheating. I'm the real God of Gamblers." Ian muttered to himself, deciding to stop paying attention to this doomed game.

While the classroom was still in chaos and Mr. David had not yet returned, Ian quickly packed his bag and slipped out the back door without making a sound.

Allowing oneself to leave school early is also a freedom that American students have.

He walked with practiced ease to a quiet corner on the back street of the school, where his car was parked—a heavily modified Dodge Challenger Hellcat that looked only slightly exaggerated.

Thanks to the excellent food Ian provided, the vehicle's core has undergone a complete transformation. While it may not be as advanced as Rick's spaceship, it is still one of the top-tier black magic technologies on Earth.

This is what a hellcat looks like.

What roars beneath the hood is less a machine and more a bound demonic soul, possessing a completely independent AI autonomous driving system.

Navigation destinations can even be accurate down to dimensional coordinates.

"Go to Madison's neighborhood, and keep a low profile."

As Ian opened the car door and got in, he immediately gave instructions.

[Optical camouflage and acoustic filtering systems have been activated.] It's actually using magical methods; however, the Hellcat hasn't yet evolved its own mouth.

It uses a recording of a game played on the radio.

The car glided silently into the lane, blending into the traffic like a ghost, its presence even unconsciously ignored by the surrounding vehicles and pedestrians.

Ian leaned back in the comfortable leather seat, his fingers tapping on the armrest. He wasn't going to Madison's neighborhood to spy on Madison's mother's private life, of course.

Ian was still wondering why the great scientist Rick had given him that large stone chair.

A conceptual character who might take the universe apart and play with it at any time is indeed causing Ian's paranoia, which he has inherited from Batman, to flare up slightly.

"He didn't beat God, so he resents God and wants to see God make a fool of himself?"

As Ian made his guesses, he was slightly taken aback by the sight before him when his Hellcat silently glided to the vicinity of Madison's neighborhood.

He had only been gone for a few days, and suddenly a huge, seemingly very professional training center appeared out of nowhere in this otherwise quiet community.
It was a huge building that looked like a converted warehouse, with its exterior painted a somber dark blue and a huge neon sign hanging on it.

The signboard flashed with several large characters.

[Sanchez's Exceptional Life Shortcut Planning and Skills Training Center]

There's a line of smaller text below the sign.

[Guaranteed to teach and learn, money back guarantee if you don't (only for surviving students)].

Ian's curiosity was completely ignited.

He maneuvered the Hellcat to silently stop at the street corner, while he himself, like a shadow blending into the night, leaped a few times and climbed to the roof of an office building across the street.

"What the hell?"

Ian pulled a strangely shaped telescope from his mimicry tactical belt—the telescope tube was covered with tiny, constantly rotating gears and flashing runes.

He turned his attention to that eerie "academy".

The field of vision became clear instantly.

Through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows made of some kind of reinforced crystal, Ian saw a breathtaking scene: a spacious hall, as large as a hangar, filled with various facilities. He could see that it was brightly lit, with many desks and chairs neatly arranged, and currently occupied by adults.

These people were dressed in strange clothes, covered in tattoos, and some had fierce eyes while others had lewd eyes. In any case, they were obviously not respectable people, but they all sat there obediently like primary school students.

Everyone was holding a notebook and a pen!
There were even a few magic apprentices dressed in tattered robes and wielding twisted staffs. They formed a semicircle, their eyes fixed fervently on the central platform.

"So listen up, you bunch of incompletely evolved carbon-based idiots!"

A figure was spitting as he spoke.

His graying, messy hair resembled a bird's nest, thick stubble covered his chin, and a dirty white lab coat, stained with unknown chemicals, hung loosely on his body.

It was Rick Sanchez.

He held a laser pointer in his hand, the beam randomly pointing at the huge holographic projection screen, which displayed several three-dimensional city models with different styles.

"Metropolis? Ha! With Superman, that muscle-bound, simple-minded alien, flying around all day long, how could you possibly put your enthusiasm into practice?"

"While Superman is rescuing a drowning kitten, he can also conveniently weld the vault door you just pried open back to its original state!" Rick's voice blared through the loudspeakers that filled the hall.

With a heavy nasal tone and undisguised disappointment.

"A waste of effort! Zero efficiency! Even crime requires skill! You have to use your brain!"

He took a large gulp of liquid from a brown bottle with the label torn off, which he had taken from under the podium, and then began to sway and pound the whiteboard with his pointer.

It's covered with all sorts of complex roadmaps, timelines, and... cost-benefit analyses?
"All you do is rob convenience stores, steal cars, and collect protection money! Low-class! No future! The profit margin is pitifully low! If Superman catches you, he'll throw you straight into jail."

"Look at this! The perfect bank vault robbery plan! It's not about how good you are at fighting! It's about the redundancy backup time of the surveillance system, the security guards' shift changes and urination patterns, the GPS signal delay of the armored truck, and how to short gold futures and cash out before the Federal Reserve can react!"

“This is what crime looks like! This is fucking financial art!” He suddenly raised his voice, and the laser pointer’s spot “snap” fixed on the Gotham City model.

The area was shrouded in dark clouds, with towering buildings standing tall, and bats seemed to flit about in the shadows.

"You guys need to go to Gotham and get jobs after you graduate! Don't even think about staying in Metropolis. Metropolis is a dead-end place, a boring place that's been taken over by Superman!"

"Only Gotham, this is the paradise for you 'ambitious youths'! Batman? That mortal who relies on money and equipment? He has more psychological problems than the stolen goods you've stolen! The entire city's corrupt system is your natural shield! The police? Half of them are accomplices, and the other half are just for show!"

"Crime rate? That's GDP! Understand? A high crime rate means low law enforcement efficiency, which means huge room for manipulation and... freedom of artistic creation! Here, a successful bank robbery has an aesthetic value comparable to... uh, comparable to the instant noodles I cooked yesterday using the principle of quantum entanglement!"

The great scientist Rick's metaphors are mostly more abstract than Ian's.

A burst of enthusiastic applause and whistles erupted from the audience. The thugs and spies were flushed with excitement, as if they had found their direction in life. A sorcerer apprentice in a tattered robe raised his hand, his voice trembling: "Master Rick! What about... what about magical crimes? How about in Central City?"

“Central City?” Rick scoffed, as if he’d heard a low-brow joke. “The Flash? That ‘human electric donkey’ who maintains supersonic speed by eating carbohydrates? His speed perception? His timeline prediction? Before you can even finish the ‘Ka’ in your spell ‘Abracadabra,’ he can tie you up like dumplings and send you to Iron Mountain Prison a hundred times over!”

"Pure suicide! Unless..."

He paused deliberately, whetting everyone's appetite, before slowly saying, "Unless your magic can be precise enough to manipulate the flow of time itself, like... uh, an Iris Cheese Nude Trap that can create local time freeze? Unfortunately, the materials needed for that are extinct in Parallel Universe 33."

"otherwise……"

Rick started pouring himself a drink before he could finish his sentence.

This drew a sigh of regret from the audience.

"In short, Gotham! A land of talent, with a friendly and honest populace, and Arkham Academy offers room and board! Central City? The Flash is fast, but he's prone to mental lapses!"

“Star City? Green Arrow is a former terrorist himself, easy to communicate with! Seaside City? Lantern is alright, but the sector is too big for him to manage! These are all prime crime hotspots, you idiots! Market selection! Do you understand?!” Rick also listed several cities in the DC universe where crime is most likely to succeed for the students.

He was truly a mentor who taught me.

The trainees all looked enlightened, applauded enthusiastically, and praised him. Rick seemed very satisfied with the effect. He put his hands on his hips smugly, and then subconsciously looked up at the broken watch on his wrist... a watch that had obviously been broken for who knows how many years and whose hands were pointing haphazardly.

"Hmm...that's about it..." he muttered, then his expression changed instantly, switching from passionate lecturer mode to slacking off mode.

"Alright, alright! That concludes today's lesson on 'How to efficiently and safely commit serious crimes while evading superhero attacks'! get out of class dismissed!" He announced almost impatiently, then swiftly tossed the pointer and textbook behind him. The textbook arced through the air before landing precisely in a bin labeled "Hazardous Waste".

at the same time.

Rick ripped off his spiritual mentor's white coat, only to find an identical white coat underneath.

"Tomorrow at the same time, we'll explain how to use cross-dimensional methods to exploit tax loopholes for money laundering. Remember to bring a calculator." Without waiting for the trainees' reaction, he dashed off the stage and, with a speed far beyond his years and drunken appearance, dashed out the back door of the training center. Ian quickly adjusted his binoculars to track him.

Rick rushed out the back door, looked around, and then ran straight towards a... car? The "car" looked extremely bizarre.

Its chassis looks like a few steel pipes welded together haphazardly, and its body is made entirely of countless bright green cucumbers glued together with some kind of transparent slime!

The wheels were even four enormous, dripping zucchini! The hood held a bubbling glass jar filled with purple liquid.

There are several electrodes inserted inside.

"Cucumber...car?"

Ian felt that his vocabulary was not enough.

Rick skillfully pulled open a giant lettuce leaf, which served as the car door, jumped into the driver's seat—which resembled a hollowed-out pumpkin—and then the cucumber car made a "poof" sound, like farting, spewing out some green mist from the exhaust pipe before wobbling and levitating against the laws of physics.

I saw.

The cucumber flying car shot into the sky with a "whoosh".

It flew at an astonishing speed in a certain direction.

"Is this really technology?" Ian continued to observe through his telescope, his gaze silently following the observation, always maintaining a distant distance from which he would not be detected.

The cucumber car was extremely fast, and its flight path was completely unpredictable, occasionally making a right-angle turn or suddenly disappearing into the clouds, as if trying to escape Ian's gaze.

It worked.

Just as Ian was feeling somewhat helpless, the cucumber car descended from the clouds and landed in front of the high-rise building where Ian was, directly facing the courtyard of the villa less than a hundred meters away.

The hovercar, made up of glowing cucumbers and other food, resembled a giant, flying jar of pickles, making it hard to miss.

"..."

Even without superhuman vision, Ian could still tell that the house had a beautiful garden and a neat lawn, the only incongruous thing being its ridiculously large garage.

It was almost twice the size of the main house, and the garage door was tightly closed, with various warning signs posted on it such as "Danger!", "High Voltage!", and "No Entry Without Permission!"

Rick jumped off the cucumber cart.

He casually took a wine bottle from the car window, which was made of a large, transparent melon rind, and took a sip.

then.

He staggered, muttering incoherent ramblings, and plunged headfirst into the garage that seemed to hold all the secrets of the universe.

The garage door slammed shut behind him, completely shutting out the sunlight and warmth of the outside world.

The garage was a completely different dimension. Instead of any normal vehicles, it was filled with massive machines that gleamed with dangerous light, connected by twisted pipes, and emitted unidentified smoke and odors. The walls were covered with tools, blueprints, and various disassembled alien specimens.

Because Ian also has a cheat code.

His magic telescope could also see this scene.

“Yeah, here, here, I know now, which means I knew before.” Rick didn’t even turn on the light. In the darkness, he precisely found a workbench, grabbed a bottle with the “XXX” logo, took a big gulp, and then started hammering and tinkering with a half-finished thing that looked like a space armor.

Sparks flew everywhere.

The great scientist, more scientific than Tony Stark, was still talking to himself.

Just then, the garage side door was pushed open, and a bespectacled boy who looked somewhat timid peeked in. It was Morty, Rick's favorite grandson and a high school student.

“Grandpa…Grandpa?” Morty called out softly, trying to get attention amidst the deafening banging and roaring machinery. “What…what are you doing?”

Rick didn't turn his head, nor did he stop working, but his drunken voice came through with unusual clarity.

"Motty? Is that you, Morty? Hiccup~ We're going on an adventure today, do you remember, Morty? A great adventure! An adventure just for the two of us!" His voice was hoarse, with a heavy nasal tone, each syllable sounding as if squeezed out of a rusty pipe.

The references are songs sung by Jay Chou without subtitles.

"Today is our big day! An adventure! Remember, Morty? A real adventure! Not your boring, error-ridden teenage crafts!"

Rick looked eager to try.

"Adventure? What adventure? Damn it! Today is an adventure day, Grandpa, I... I still have history homework to do, about... about the Civil War..."

Morty was clearly somewhat resistant.

"The Civil War? Bah! What kind of bullshit history is that!" Rick whirled around, holding an energy core crackling with electricity, his face glowing with alcohol-fueled excitement and the gleam of a near-mad scientist. "Motty! I've found a great place! A truly exciting place! You know Apokolips? You definitely don't, Morty, your little head is only good for the color of Jessica's underwear!"

Morty's face instantly turned red: "Grandpa! I didn't!"

Rick ignored him completely, continuing to gesticulate excitedly: "Apokolips! Darkseid's lair! But now, Morty, good news! That stone-faced tyrant seems to have disappeared! It's a complete mess up there! There are superweapons lying around unattended, rampaging Parademons, and all sorts of amazing alien creatures you've never seen before!"

“We can go and cause a huge ruckus! And while we’re at it… hiccup… pick up some trash!” Rick hiccuped, and a strong smell of cheap alcohol mixed with ozone hit him.

"Apokolips?! No way! Grandpa! That's too dangerous! And I really have homework to do! It's due tomorrow!" Morty, who was clearly more knowledgeable than a normal middle school student, turned pale with fright.

"Seriously, there are so many... so many amazing animals, Morty! A million times more 'amazing' than the dinosaurs in your textbooks! You'll definitely love them after you use them once!"

"We have to go! Now! Right now! Go and pick up some good stuff! Maybe we can find Darkseid's spare remote control, that thing can control the entire universe's TV schedule!"

"Think about it, Morty, you can watch whatever you want from now on!" Rick suddenly lowered his voice, leaned close to Morty's face, and gave him a tempting, grandfatherly tone.

"I just can't finish my homework!"

Morty remained steadfast in his resolve, determined to study hard, get into the same high school as his goddess, then the same university, and finally have the same child together.

“Homework? Ha!” Rick scoffed, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the universe. He casually rummaged through a pile of trash on the workbench and pulled out a small device that looked like a TV remote, but with even stranger buttons. Without even looking at it, he pressed it in a certain direction.

"call out--"

next moment.

Ian noticed it too.

Several blocks away, at what should have been Morty's high school, the entire school building collapsed into ruins with a deafening roar, as if squeezed by a giant, invisible hand.
Smoke and dust rose into the sky.

It looked like a small mushroom cloud had risen!
Fortunately, no one was injured.

Even Ian was taken aback by this simple and direct solution. He knew, as expected, that he was still too young, and therefore sometimes his thinking wasn't so clear.

"Ugh~"

In the garage.

Rick let out a burp, listening contentedly to the distant sounds of explosions and commotion. He tossed the remote control aside and shrugged at Morty, who was dumbfounded and almost petrified.

"Look, Morty. Now you don't need to do your homework. Problem solved. Hurry up, stop dawdling, our adventure is about to begin again!"

“There’s no more Wubba Lubba Dub Dub! Now it’s just pure family time!” He said, not giving Morty a chance to react or protest, and grabbed his grandson by the collar.

Rick picked Morty up like a chick and scurried into another "spaceship" in the corner of the garage that looked like it was cobbled together from an old boiler, rusty pipes, and a few microwave ovens. The junk ship roared to life, spewing thick black smoke and green flames from its tail.

"Bang bang bang~"

The spaceship crashed through the garage roof and, at an almost suicidal angle, veering and hurtling at an extremely high speed, soared straight into the sky, disappearing outside the atmosphere in the blink of an eye.

On the high-rise building, Ian silently lowered his binoculars and let out a long, deep sigh. An unprecedented feeling of inferiority welled up inside him.

"Fortunately, the fact that he bombed the school shows that he still has some rationality and isn't just a complete madman." Ian accurately tossed the empty Coke can in his hand into the trash can in the corner of the rooftop.

The words have not yet fallen.

The space around him began to distort and fold, like a reflection on water being disturbed. The next second, his figure vanished completely from the rooftop as if erased by an eraser.

Only a few fallen leaves were left, stirred by the evening breeze. Time seemed to freeze for a few minutes. The rooftop returned to silence, with only the faint sound of the fire alarm triggered by the gas explosion at the school in the distance.

The firefighters gradually disappeared into the distance.

After a long time.

The trash can that Ian had thrown into the empty Coke can suddenly started ringing with a retro, static-filled telephone ring—"Ring ring~ Ring ring~".

Immediately afterwards, the lid of the trash can was pushed open from the inside, and a head popped out—it was Rick Sanchez, who should have already left Earth with his grandson for Apokolips!
He looked a bit disheveled, with a large bump on his head from being hit, and his hair was even more messy.

“Diane! I’m at work! A very important job! Why are you calling me during work hours?” Rick was holding the Coke can that Ian had just thrown away. While questioning his wife, his tone wasn't angry, but his voice was much louder.

"Rick, are you really going to work properly?" A woman's voice came from the can, filled with concern and a hint of doubt. She knew all too well that her husband wasn't the type to enjoy working.

“Of course, Diane.” Rick immediately adopted a righteous tone. “My work is very meaningful! Very… ethical! I’m contributing to social stability and employment! Because of me… the employment rate of superheroes has increased significantly in the last two years!”

"What I do is... yes! Structural balance between talent output and demand! Without me, many superheroes would be unemployed! The employment rate of superheroes has soared by 300% in the last two years! It's all thanks to me; I created jobs! I stabilized society! I didn't leave a single superhero unemployed at home!"

"Oh my god, just like I promised you, I really am doing charity!" Rick wondered if he could hide in a soda can next time.

He then used his eloquence to describe his crime training center to his wife, making it sound as if he had won the Nobel Peace Prize.

Diane, on the other end of the phone, seemed to be convinced, or perhaps she had long been used to her husband's ramblings.

"Okay... Anyway, I'm glad you're okay. By the way, the Broadway show is about to start. You promised to come with me and Beth. Do you remember your promise when you were drunk?"

"Come over here quickly."

Rick's wife started urging him on.

Perhaps she was the only one who could urge Rick on.

"Broadway? Ugh—those guys in tight suits lip-syncing on stage? It's mental pollution! I'd rather go home and watch Interdimensional Cable..." Rick said, but he still climbed out of the trash can.

"A bunch of monkeys in ridiculous costumes singing and dancing on stage, telling utterly boring fairy tales full of false hope? What a waste of time! What a waste of life! A living example of entropy increase!"

Just as Rick was rambling on and on, the Coke can in his hand suddenly emitted an abnormal burst of light, like a bouncing bomb.

boom! !

With a muffled thud, the can exploded! Although not very powerful, it was enough to cover Rick's face in soot, make his hair stand on end, and send up plumes of smoke.

"Cough, cough, cough!"

Rick coughed, choking on the syrup, which dripped down his eyebrows and beard.

"Rick?!" Diane's panicked voice came through the phone. "What's wrong?!"

Ke wiped his face, roughly removing the syrup and crumbs, revealing a forcedly composed expression. He spoke into his phone, his voice regaining its nonchalant tone.

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing, just a minor accident!” Rick looked around, his eyes sweeping over the edge of the rooftop. “I ran into the new governor, Diane. He gave me some gifts.”

"What new governor?"

"You know, as I told you last time, the old governor is a complete scoundrel, corrupt and utterly unethical. I'm trying to find a way to remove him from office!"

"This is...this is a necessary sacrifice!" he said, as he took out a spray bottle, sprayed it on his face, and looked completely refreshed.

There were just a few rotten vegetable leaves still clinging to his body.

"Wait for me! I'll be right there! Give me five minutes... no, three minutes!" After saying that, Rick didn't wait for a response and threw the shattered can back into the trash can.

He looked around, then pulled out several barely recognizable parts, a battery, and half a tube of mustard from his pocket. He immediately squatted down and began kneading the mixture by hand. In less than ten seconds, a rudimentary jetpack, emitting sparks and the smell of mustard, was complete!
"Pfft—Boom!"

Rick simply strapped the backpack to his back and pressed the button.

The next moment, the backpack spewed out a burst of flames mixed with yellow mustard and black smoke, propelling him erratically but at an incredible speed towards Broadway.

The great scientist left a strange trail of yellow smoke in the sky. Just as Rick's figure, wreathed in wasabi flames, disappeared into the horizon, on the rooftop of the high-rise, the air distorted slightly, and Ian's figure slowly materialized again. He frowned, brushed off non-existent dust from his clothes, his eyes fixed intently on the silent trash can.

How did you get in there?

Ian really wants to learn this skill.

He stepped forward to examine it.

however.

He was just one step away from the trash can.

"Pfft!!!"

The trash can lid was suddenly kicked open!

A huge, inflatable balloon with distorted and exaggerated Rick's head suddenly popped out, its enormous mouth gaping open and emitting a piercing, pre-recorded laugh.

"Jie Jie Jie Jie~"

The voice sounded pure. Then, the balloon Rick's mouth suddenly opened wide, and a thick, infuriatingly strong yellow stench, a mixture of rotten eggs, expired cheese, sulfur, and some kind of alien excrement, sprayed precisely into Ian's face like a high-pressure water jet!

It's commonly known as being overwhelmed by the stench of farts.

"Damn it! I knew it!" The giant Rick balloon was farting wildly at Ian, making Ian furious and causing him to flee in terror, disappearing without a trace.

All that remained was that lingering, foul-smelling yellow cloud of gas, and Rick's balloon, still emitting a strange laugh.

The balloon laughed for a while before slowly deflating and shrinking back into the trash can. The rooftop returned to silence, only the eerie smell remaining as evidence of what had just happened.

……

Night gradually fell.

In the metropolis, in the city center square, light pollution is everywhere. The square is brightly lit at night, but pedestrians are becoming increasingly scarce. The enormous Superman statue casts a long shadow under the lights.

"Why aren't they here yet?"

Sam Winchester paced anxiously, carrying a heavy backpack crammed with various exorcism tools he thought he might need, glancing up every now and then. He had been waiting there for almost an hour. The time he had agreed to meet Ian had long passed, and he hadn't seen a soul in sight.

"Damn it...I hope he didn't stand me up again..."

Sam was filled with unease, his heart pounding. Ian had agreed, but the guy's reliability was highly questionable; he was probably already fast asleep at home.

"Am I really going to pawn my soul in that place?" Just as Sam was about to give up hope, a figure slowly walked over from the other side of the square.

He was a tall, thin boy.

He doesn't look very old.

However, he was wearing glasses that were inappropriate for his age at such a young age.

He was still wearing a regular hoodie and jeans, his expression hesitant, even avoiding Sam's eyes. He walked slowly to Sam, as if he had made up his mind, and spoke softly.

"Excuse me...are you Sam Winchester?" Politeness, and more politeness. Perhaps it was the glasses on his nose that made the tall, thin boy appear incredibly refined.

Sam was taken aback and looked at the stranger warily.

"I am. Who are you?"

His suspicious expression was undisguised.

The tall, thin boy looked a little embarrassed, but seemed relieved. He still didn't dare to look up, and his voice was a little weak. "Very...very good. Then...let's go."

talking.

He was about to lead the charge.

Sam was even more confused: "Go? Go where?"

The tall, thin boy seemed a little surprised that Sam would ask such a question, and subconsciously answered, "Of course, I'm going to... to save your dad and brother."

His tone seemed to grow increasingly guilty.

"Huh? To save my brother and my father?" Sam was instantly stunned, his pupils contracting sharply. He instinctively took a half-step back, his hand stealthily reaching for the dagger hidden at his back waist. "How do you know about this?! I only told Ian Kent about this! Who are you?!"

He had begun to suspect that the tall, thin boy was a minion of the devil.

"Then what..."

The tall, thin boy felt even more embarrassed.

He hesitated for a moment.

Finally, he opened his mouth and introduced himself.

“I am Ian Kent! It’s just that my magic has run into some problems! For now… for now, it’s like this!” He tried his best to make his tone more certain.

The acting skills I recently learned are finally coming in handy!

Sam squinted, scrutinizing this "Ian".

suddenly.

He seemed to realize something.

"Damn it! Fuck! You're Ian's older brother, right? Jordan Kent!" Sam remembered what Ian had said before, so his mind worked quickly.

He was just about to criticize Ian for lacking martial ethics.

The imposter, who had failed to impersonate Ian Kent, instantly turned bright red, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, and hurriedly denied it: "No way! I am Ian Kent!"

"Can't you stop being so stubborn? Come with me!" He was indeed refusing to admit it, but his frantic attempts to change the subject were clearly unconvincing.

“Call me Ian a few more times, and I will be Ian. A name is just a label. You can call me Ian, he can call me Ian, and of course I can call him Ian.”

Jordan pointed to the people on the street, elevating the issue to a philosophical level. There was no other way; he could only be stubborn like that. The second-generation Superman's words wouldn't soften an inch.

Thinking of the adventure that Ian had spent 100,000 words explaining, which was how he risked his life to get color photocopies of the ten out-of-print magazines that he had secretly copied from the Presidential Library.

"Hurry up and leave! If you don't leave now, your father and your brother will be reincarnated as a loving brother and sister."

Jordan knew very well that he couldn't betray his younger brother, who might still be taking a shower. He had to complete this order that Ian had sacrificed himself for, something he had worked so hard to secure.

"..." Sam looked at the boy who couldn't even lie properly, and thought of his unreliable brother, and felt a deep sense of powerlessness wash over him.

The future of this trip to Seattle is uncertain.

(End of this chapter)