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

Chapter 217 Does Superman really have to die?
Inside the empty bat cave.

Only the physically disabled but determined Batman stands alone.

He was keeping company with the secrets of the entire world. Water droplets fell from the cave ceiling, as if mourning this eternal solitude, but Batman remained indifferent as he examined the contents of his records.

Experimental record: Number Angel-07.

Genetic collapse trigger condition: Removal of the suppression bracelet triggers gene collapse.

Genetic incompatibility with humans: estimated at 92%, far exceeding the safety threshold (<15%).

Peak energy output: Unable to be measured precisely; it is speculated that the angel's genes contain some kind of unobservable energy generator, and the explosion caused by the collapse of the genes could trigger planetary annihilation.

Subjective experience report: A strong sense of detachment from consciousness, the emotional module was forcibly "purified" and tended towards absolute neutrality, accompanied by intense existential pain.

Risk assessment: Extremely high.

Uncontrollability: Extremely high.

Recommendation for re-use: Use with caution.

Note: Genes that are incompatible with "chaotic factors" have zero compatibility and may even lead to catastrophic consequences—the Kepler 186f galaxy is a bloody lesson in this regard.

……

The above is the information Batman recorded in his notebook. The term "Chaos Factor" is a pseudonym for some mysterious name that he was too careful to record.

Also worth mentioning is the name Kepler-186f, the planet where Superman and other Justice League members set up a mental hospital for Batman.

Few would believe that Batman's experiment, which caused the destruction of that planet and the entire galaxy, was entirely without any personal emotion.

"Demons and angels... their genes are so similar, should I suspect that the so-called God was lazy when creating these two species?"

Bruce Wayne's gaze was sharp as an eagle's as he repeatedly scanned the data on the [Angel] gene that had just been recorded, his fingers unconsciously stroking his stubble-covered chin.

His focused expression made it seem as if the whole world was condensed onto that glowing screen.

His brain was racing, performing all sorts of complex deductions and risk assessments, while also casually making some predictions about God. He was sure that he had the potential to be among the top five in the America's Daring Challenge.

"Click~"

Just then, the heavy alloy door of the Bat Cave, disguised as a rock wall, began to shake and quietly slid open with an almost inaudible hydraulic sound.

The footsteps that began outside the gate approached steadily and rhythmically.

He possessed a composure characteristic of an old-fashioned gentleman.

“Alfred, it’s not time yet.” Bruce didn’t turn around, still staring at the screen, and simply spoke, using that unique nickname in Gotham. Yes, the person who came was Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce’s loyal butler, mentor, and strongest supporter.

He was dressed in an impeccably tailored black butler's uniform, carrying a heavy-looking, silver-gray metal sealed case. As this butler, who had single-handedly increased the average lifespan of superheroes, approached and saw Bruce sitting in a wheelchair, a hint of undisguised heartache flashed in his weathered yet still clear eyes.

"Master, are you okay?"

He could tell Bruce wasn't in good shape. Bruce's face was unusually pale, as if he had just recovered from a serious illness, and there was still cold sweat on his forehead.

The Gotham King's right hand, resting on the armrest of his wheelchair, still trembled slightly but uncontrollably at the fingertips—all of this did not escape Alfred's eyes.

Alfred gently placed the box beside the workbench, not opening it immediately, but sighing first, his tone filled with helplessness and his usual earnest advice: "Mr. Bruce, please forgive my bluntness, but the frequency at which you have been using quantum neural connection technology to manipulate the clones lately... is just too high."

“Even for your enhanced nerves, this level of conscious projection and sensory synchronization is an enormous burden. I fear you are going further and further down a… wrong path.” Only Alfred could advise Batman like this; he knew at least ten percent of Batman’s secrets.

Compared to the Justice League, where each member only knows 0.1% of Batman's secrets, this person is definitely one of the most trusted by Batman on Earth.

“I’m fine.” Bruce finally looked up from the screen, turned to look at the old butler, his face expressionless, and calmly retorted.

“My brain is doing well, Afu. I’ve been closely monitoring and recording the relevant neural activity indicators and various physiological activity levels. The risks are within a controllable range.” He pointed to the computer. “The data after each use is entered into the archive, which is itself a form of monitoring.”

As he spoke, he steered his wheelchair toward the metal box. The box required both retinal and fingerprint authentication to open. The lid slid open silently, revealing rows of specially made low-temperature test tubes neatly arranged inside. The tubes contained liquids of different colors that shimmered with a faint light, and there were matching needle-free injectors beside them.

"Crack!"

Bruce skillfully retrieved a vial of eerie, icy-blue reagent, inserted it into a syringe, and without hesitation, pushed the reagent into his vein by lifting the arm of his combat suit.

As the cold liquid flowed into his body, he frowned slightly, as if he could feel a strange sensation of some kind of energy being forcibly restrained and suppressed within his body.

Surprisingly, as the reagent was injected, a trace of color seemed to return to his excessively pale face, and his slightly trembling hand visibly stabilized. It was as if some violent force about to burst forth had been shackled again.

The slight resurgence of psychic energy instantly fell silent—yes, Batman's hands were trembling because the psychic energy within him had shown signs of resurgence due to his intense emotions earlier.

now.

This power was suppressed once again.

Batman, a being who stands at the pinnacle of humanity, is actively rejecting the extraordinary gifts that countless people crave, and that serum is a drug that suppresses "superpowers".

"Thank you, I feel much better now."

After putting down the empty syringe, Bruce seemed to be going to continue using the computer to carry out some surveillance work. Perhaps these methods would be meaningless when facing Darkseid, but they couldn't be ignored.

“Actually.” Alfred frowned even more as he watched Batman’s actions. He sighed again, his tone becoming even more somber.

“Sir, what I’m worried about… isn’t just your health.”

His words were filled with deep concern.

Bruce's fingers, poised to strike the keyboard, froze in mid-air, a bizarre expression on his face.

“Alfred…you didn’t believe those little essays about me that Ian wrote and circulated online, did you? You should know he’s just trying to gain attention and draw some kind of spiritual influence, right?” Bruce looked Alfred up and down and asked him two questions in a row.

Alfred's expression instantly turned somewhat awkward. He coughed lightly and straightened his bow tie. "Of course not, sir. I have never doubted that you are a... uh... hero with a unique pattern of behavior. I am merely an old man who has watched you grow up, raising some concerns based on common sense."

He cleverly avoided the word "mental illness".

"That's good." Bruce was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly twitched the corners of his mouth, revealing an expression that was almost a "smile," although it looked a little stiff.

Alfred looked directly into the eyes of the Gotham King and said slowly, “What I’m worried about is your psychology. The death of the clones may be tactically insignificant.”

"However... what if you get used to this kind of death?"

"What if, after repeatedly experiencing death remotely, your reverence for life itself and your awareness of your own existence gradually become numb?"

He didn't spell it out explicitly, but his concerns were clear.

"Relax, Afu. If one day my mental defenses collapse and I become a monster who sees death as nothing, then there will be a plan to end my life."

Bruce fell silent again in response to the question. After sighing, his expression changed again as he tried to lighten the heavy topic with a joke.

"As for if I'm used to death and think that the original body is also a clone, and accidentally kill myself, then maybe you can use the legacy I left behind to pull some strings."

"Getting professionals to pull me out of hell doesn't seem like a big deal now—I think you know who does this kind of work."

Batman's joke was clearly an attempt to change the subject. The joke wasn't funny at all, especially coming from him; it felt forced and unfunny.

"..." Alfred looked at Bruce's eyes, which were trying to hide but only seemed more distant. Knowing his personality, he knew that further persuasion would be futile.

He could only suppress his deep worry, turning it into another helpless sigh, and as Batman changed the subject, his tone returned to its usual calm.

“Alright, sir. Now, can you tell me what happened? The Justice League’s communications are practically exploding. Princess Diana and Barry are extremely anxious. They want to know what happened and why everyone needs to be prepared to sacrifice themselves.”

Upon hearing "Justice League" and "preparation for sacrifice," the slight forced smile on Bruce's face vanished instantly, replaced by a cold seriousness.

“Actually, it was originally all of us who were supposed to ensure that Barry could choose to go back in time and restart the universe under any circumstances, but he seems to have lost sight of his ability.” He raised his head, his gaze seemingly piercing through the walls of the Batcave and seeing into a corner of deep space.

“It’s that threat.” Bruce’s voice was deep and clear. “One of the greatest threats that has been hanging over our Earth and the entire universe—it’s about to erupt.”

Alfred paused for a moment, then almost instantly realized who Bruce was referring to. His expression immediately turned extremely serious, and he asked tentatively.

Darkseid?

He does indeed know a lot of Justice League secrets.

"Ah."

Bruce nodded slowly, confirming this worst-case scenario.

Alfred gasped; even he couldn't remain completely calm upon hearing that name. He immediately thought of the most practical question and quickened his pace: "So... should we activate the 'Ark' Protocol immediately? Should I contact the young masters right away?"

"Perhaps we should send young master Damian onto the pre-designated refugee ship first. If I remember correctly, he went to Metropolis to play with the Kent children today."

In Alfred's view, ensuring the continuation of the Wayne family bloodline was the top priority at the moment.

However, Bruce shook his head.

"No need, Afu."

He sighed as he spoke.

"Why?" Alfred asked, puzzled. "At least the children should be given a chance..."

"Because of Apokolips," Bruce interrupted him, revealing this earth-shattering news, "Darkseid's lair has been completely destroyed by some unknown person or force. Not even a trace remains."

Alfred's eyes widened in shock; this news was even more unbelievable than Darkseid's impending attack. Apokolips…the core of that dark empire!

Just like that... gone?
Bruce continued his analysis in his flat tone, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself: "This means that Darkseid has lost his foundation, his army's source, everything. He is now a truly unbridled loner. Anger and destructive desires will consume all his reason."

"If... if we ultimately fail to stop him, then given his character, he will never be satisfied with mere conquest. He will eliminate all threats, using every means to hunt them down to every corner of the universe, ensuring that no potential threat survives."

"In this situation, do you think that the hundreds of weak, easily visible Vault ships we built would have any chance of surviving in the face of a raging Dark Lord? They would only delay the arrival of despair, and might even become tools for Darkseid to torture us."

"The human flame can no longer be preserved in this way." Batman's eyes were frighteningly calm, even carrying a hint of cruelty at having seen through the end.

Alfred fell silent. He knew Bruce was right.

When destruction is all-encompassing and indiscriminate, escape becomes meaningless. This is no longer a conventional war, but an ultimate judgment where victory or utter annihilation is the only outcome.

Bruce turned his gaze back to the workbench, but his eyes seemed unfocused again. He leaned back in his wheelchair, tilted his head back, and looked up at the simulated, vast, and artificial starry sky on the Batcave ceiling. His voice became soft, carrying a hint of imperceptible weariness, yet with an undeniable decisiveness.

"I've done what I could... cut off his wings and confined the battlefield to him as much as possible." He was referring to the destruction of the secret arms factory.

"Next..."

He paused slightly, as if gazing into the real, fiercely contested depths of space.

"It all depends on whether Clark can hold on."

As the words fell silent, the Batcave fell silent once more. Only the hum of the computers continued, as if silently annotating the fate of a world.

"Ah."

Alfred stood to the side, watching Bruce in his wheelchair, his heart heavy with an indescribable sorrow. He knew that this crisis facing Earth might far surpass any previous one. And hope seemed to rest on that figure beneath the starry sky, on the one in the blue bodysuit and red cape.

As always. Speaking of trust.

As Bruce grew older, he always trusted Clark. Even this paranoid man had to admit that Superman truly possessed the divinity that humanity could hope for.

"but……"

Alfred stood silently to the side.

The voice sounded somewhat hesitant.

His graying eyebrows furrowed tightly. He knew all too well the terror of Darkseid, a true dark god whose power far surpassed any threat Earth had ever faced. To place all hope in Superman alone, even if he were Superman, seemed far too risky and… a desperate gamble.

There was a brief pause.

Butler Xia finally couldn't resist.

"Sir, what if... I mean, what if Mr. Kent ultimately... can't hold on any longer? Do you... have any other backup plans?"

He couldn't help but step forward, his voice filled with unprecedented worry.

The ever-gentlemanly and emotionally intelligent butler didn't utter words like "defeat" or "death," but his meaning was all too clear: he wanted to gain some confidence.

Alfred wasn't worried about the other person shaking their head.

After all, in Alfred's mind, Batman always has a Plan B, or even a Plan Z. This man can't put all his eggs in one basket.

Especially baskets that are related to the survival of the Earth.

"This one……"

Bruce did not answer immediately upon hearing this.

He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing something, his fingers unconsciously tapping lightly on the armrest of his wheelchair. In the dim light, the profile of his face appeared particularly hard and cold.

A few seconds later, he slowly spoke, his voice calm and even: "In the past... there were indeed some similar contingency plans. These included activating the 'Doomsday Protocol,' uniting all remaining forces for a final resistance, or attempting a dangerous deal with some more ancient being..."

Alfred listened quietly. He knew more or less about these contingency plans, each of which was accompanied by huge risks and uncertainties.

However, Bruce changed the subject: "But now, I've found a... better solution."

"A better solution?" Alfred's curiosity was piqued. A solution that Bruce had described as "better," and which seemed to have replaced all the previous complex contingency plans?

What would this be?
"Ah."

Bruce had no intention of hiding anything from his closest friends and family.

He turned to look at Alfred, his blue eyes gleaming with an almost cold, rational light in the dim light of the screen.

"The implementation of this plan," Bruce stated clearly, "depends on whether Clark dies in battle."

Alfred paused for a moment: "What...is there a difference?"

He doesn't quite understand.

Why is the activation condition of this plan linked to Superman's life or death? Is it a Superman cloning project, or perhaps using Superman's corpse to resurrect him as some kind of zombie?

Just as Alfred was making connections along the lines of thought...

“Not much difference.” Bruce’s tone remained calm, as if discussing what to have for dinner. “However, there will be a slight difference in the operational process.”

He paused, then said something that almost made Alfred doubt his ears: "If Superman dies in battle, I will find Ian Kent immediately."

"Then I would tell him—Superman was brutally murdered by Darkseid, suffering unimaginable pain before his death, and may not even have been left with a complete body."

“I’ve already rendered quite a few AI videos on this topic.” Bruce’s plan was indeed unexpected; perhaps only the Joker could resonate with him.

That's why they're called soulmates.

"..."

Even Alfred didn't quite understand this development.

The old butler's eyes began to twitch uncontrollably. He opened his mouth, but found himself speechless, completely unsure how to respond to this... this bizarre "solution".

A deathly silence fell over the bat cave for several seconds. Alfred struggled to process the information, trying to grasp its deeper meaning, but found his logical thinking struggling to keep up.

After a long silence, he finally found his voice, which was dry and incredulous, and asked, "Then... what if Superman hadn't died in outer space?"

Upon hearing this, Bruce lowered his voice slightly, as if he were about to share a secret, but what he said only made Alfred even more devastated.

"This is what I was just saying, there will be one more step—"

Alfred held his breath.

"You can understand this extra step by understanding it. In the end, I will still tell Ian Kent how Superman was brutally tortured and killed by Darkseid and how painful his death was."

Batman became a broken record.

Meaningful.

"??????"

Alfred was completely stunned. This time, it wasn't just his eyes that twitched; the old butler felt his entire facial muscles begin to spasm uncontrollably.

Looking at Bruce's still expressionless face, a huge sense of absurdity and powerlessness swept over him.

So... the difference is... there's no difference?! Whether Superman is dead or alive, the message Batman ultimately wants to convey to Ian Kent is the same?!
Is Ian Kent the so-called backup plan? Then what exactly is this "one more step"? Does it mean finding a way to kill the surviving Superman first and then sending a message?
Butler Xia dared not think too much about it.

Bruce's personal trust in Clark Kent may be heartwarming and solid, but Batman's attitude towards "Superman" as a combat resource is clearly a little... hard to explain.

“The three children the Kent family raised are no ordinary children, especially the last one.” Bruce seemed completely oblivious to the butler’s inner turmoil.

He turned his gaze back to the computer screen.

The tone is flat.

It was as if we had just discussed a very ordinary tactical arrangement.

Meanwhile, the metropolis.

Ian's once tidy new home is now a ruin.

but.

The trouble did not lie with him.

Broken walls and scattered furniture fragments indicated that the area had experienced some kind of violent impact, and the culprit was the Batmobile, which remained unscathed in the ruins.

now.

It has been used as compensation, and a large photo of Ian himself has been pasted on it, replacing the previous bat symbols. Ian, meanwhile, is busy digging for refrigerators with his bare hands in the ruins.

"Ah!"

Sudden.

Ian suddenly sneezed loudly.

The hands, which had been mimicking an entrenching tool, almost reverted to their original form.

He rubbed his nose, then turned to the side with a serious expression and said to the raven, who was leaning against a tree bent by the shockwave with its arms crossed, "There must be some unknown person secretly admiring me at night. It's just my irresistible charm, don't worry about me catching your cold."

Ian remained as gentle and considerate as ever.

However, very few people can understand it.

The raven wore a dark blue hooded robe, maintaining a mysterious tranquility even in this environment.

Upon hearing this, she first raised an eyebrow in suspicion, and then, looking at Ian's serious expression, she couldn't help but ask a question in a strange tone.

"you sure?"

Raven felt that Ian's narcissism had become several levels more severe than when they last met at school, and she didn't dare to think too much about what kind of person would secretly admire someone who wasn't in front of her in the dead of night—the image was slightly erotic, but very educational.

In this regard.

Ian had already realized that Raven had misunderstood his thoughts.

"You really have to believe me. Although I would never do that kind of thing and have always kept myself pure, I did ask around. The mold for Superman in stockings not only uses more material, but people have also started crowdfunding on some websites. Many manufacturers are offering much higher prices than the mold for Homelander!"

"Oh, by the way, do you know who Pantyhose Superman is?"

talking.

Ian was practically counting on himself.

Raven was truly speechless. She didn't sense even a hint of lewdness from Ian; all she felt was pure boasting.

"No, I don't have that thing either. What are you showing off to me for?!" Raven's forehead instantly creased with a few black lines. Of course, she knew what Ian was referring to.

“It’s okay, we’re all buddies. You give me the Trigon, and I’ll give you a hot-swappable one. You can hang it on your pants, your hand, or even your forehead—Anyway, America is all about freedom, and this will make it easier for you to infiltrate the Titans’ LGBT group—I have a lot of angels, you can choose whichever one you like, I’ll unplug it for you.” Ian wasn’t very good at flattering people.

However, he knew that in order to possess the Three Palace Demons exclusively, he had to learn to please the woman in front of him.

"Hurry up and dig!"

The helpless raven, unable to enjoy Ian's enthusiasm, could only change the subject.

"Oh right! Business comes first!" Ian nodded, as if he had just remembered his purpose. But instead of immediately bending down to continue digging, he turned and looked at the raven with an expectant gaze.

A few more black lines instantly appeared on the raven's forehead.

He saw that Ian was staring at him with his eyes.

There was nothing she could do.

I had no choice but to start singing again.

"Invincible Ian, dig and dig and dig, he's in... a little garden... dig and dig and dig..." Raven had been repeating this operation for a while.

Now she began to hum the song again, much to her great reluctance.

Hearing this accompaniment.

Ian was finally satisfied, and accompanied by the raven's lullaby, which sounded like a demon's curse, he continued to happily dig through the ruins of the Kent house to find the refrigerator buried deep inside.

He could already hear Baal snoring in the refrigerator.

(End of this chapter)