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

Page 341

After all, the other person had recently become very interested in his life on social media, so Ian had reason to suspect that Officer Kate Beckett must have a crush on him.

“Officer Beckett, it’s me, Ian.”

When the call connected, his tone suddenly became relaxed, as if the murderous intent from before had never existed. "Yes, it's me again... This time I'm not asking you how to kill someone without anyone noticing, that was just for my literary work. I've really encountered a murder case, and I was even attacked by the criminal's accomplices."

"Well, the criminal's accomplice got away. You know, I'm just a little boy who's almost fifteen. A fifteen-year-old's long legs can't outrun a thirty or forty-year-old's old legs."

"The texture of the muscles is different when you bite into them..."

Ian was calling the police a second time, essentially using his limited connections. The policewoman on the other end of the line, Kate Beckett, sighed, seemingly used to Ian's calling style.

Ian reported the location.

The sniper, who had heard that his comrades had escaped, tried to shout, but Ian simply stuffed a mop he had picked up from the ground into his mouth, while Ian's bloodied face was still dripping with sweat.

The sniper doubted he would survive the night.

……

have to say.

It's not easy to find responsible police officers in America.

Fortunately, Officer Kate Beckett is one of these rare individuals.

More than ten minutes later.

The sirens grew louder as Kate Beckett's police car screeched to a halt in front of the clinic, the screeching of tires startling pigeons flying from under the eaves. Ian watched through the bloodstained window as the blond NYPD officer strode in, accompanied by her two sidekicks.

Javier Esposito and Kevin Ryan.

One black and one white, a classic color scheme.

The former was a retired soldier from a special task force, while the latter was a former anti-drug police officer from a gang. Both were capable police officers, and the group rushed upstairs.

"Oh! Thank God! Someone has finally come to save me!" Ian greeted the officer at the elevator door and began frantically telling him about his ordeal.

after a while.

"You mean you walked in and saw the body, then called the police and the operator treated you like a black person, so you tried to solve the case yourself, and then you were attacked in a mysterious way. The bullets didn't want to hurt your stunning beauty, so they took a detour and shattered the vase next to you?" Kate Beckett's expression was unusually strange after hearing Ian's story.

"Uh-huh!"

Ian glanced at the sniper in his extra dimension, whom he had stripped naked and left on a deserted island to begin "wilderness survival," and then nodded vigorously.

He was now sitting obediently on the sofa in the reception area, holding a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold—a Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee that he had taken from Hannibal's private collection cabinet.

"Are you kidding me, Bu Ruo? I think this vase looks like it was smashed. How could a sniper bullet be in the shards? It should have gone through the vase and into the wall."

Black detective Javier Esposito crouches in front of a broken vase. As a former professional soldier, he has never doubted the power of a sniper rifle.

Of course, Javier Esposito did not refute Ian's point about being treated as a Black person; he was also aware of the attitudes some police officers had towards Black people.

"If a bullet could be moved by my stunning beauty, it would naturally lose all its power and become limp," Ian said, launching into his nonsensical rant without batting an eye.

He didn't want to reveal his superhuman abilities, and he knew his expertise was definitely inferior to that of a real detective, so playing it safe was the best course of action.

"You didn't take any of the controlled substances this clinic has in stock, did you?" Detective Kevin Ryan leaned closer suspiciously, noticing some particles stuck to Ian's teeth.

"of course not!"

Ian quickly denied it.

“But what you’re saying sounds like madness,” Javier Esposito said bluntly, as he and his partner were gathering information from the scene.

"Huh? Nonsense? Guess why I'm here?" The young man smiled disdainfully and pointed confidently to the "Psychological Clinic" sign on the wall.

The "mental illness" card is really useful.

"what!?"

Immediately, the detectives felt that everything made sense, and no one questioned why Ian, who was powerless, was not injured, or why the sniper did not shoot Ian a second time.

"Feel sorry."

They even apologized to Ian out of remorse.

"Ah."

Ian readily accepted.

“Well, Kate, I think you should send this child home first, so that what happened today doesn’t worsen his condition.” The female medical examiner even showed pity for Ian.

"Ah."

Officer Kate Beckett nodded in agreement.

“I have legs! My legs know how to get home. All I want now is to find Dr. Hannibal and ask him why he killed people—my psychiatrist is definitely the prime suspect.” Ian was determined to solve the case. He even had a pseudonym in the superhero popularity center, named Exorcist Detective Moriarty Holmes.

“Look, there are no signs of struggle, and there are pinholes here. It’s obvious that he was attacked at close range. The victim was completely unprepared before that, so it must have been an inside job.”

“The fact that everything in the office was taken away means the killer was prepared.” Ian tried to touch the body again, but his hand was tapped a few times by the female forensic doctor with her gloved hand.

No pain.

But Ian also understands what rejection means.

"Your reasoning is good. It's clear you're really into perfect crimes." Beckett nodded after listening, looking at Ian with a calm expression.

"I already said it was for literary creation."

Ian rolled his eyes.

“You really should go home. Crime scenes aren’t places for kids—I believe you haven’t started committing crimes yet.” Beckett showed his trust in Ian.

"Don't leave the metropolis. I'll let you know if there's any news."

People with high emotional intelligence know that this is a way of asking them to leave.

"alright."

Ian walked toward the elevator, glancing back every few steps. Even after he entered the elevator, he could still hear the whispers outside, targeting him as the person who had filed the report.

"So this kid is also a suspect?"

"Have you ever seen a serial killer call the police and wait three hours after committing murder? Let alone arranging the body like a Renaissance sculpture. Unless he's completely twisted to the core."

“A child doesn’t have that much strength.”

……

"Why aren't we discussing the case? Why are we still talking about my literary works?" Even as we walked towards the parking lot, Ian could still hear Beckett giving the other officers his "Ian's Science Lesson."

From her mouth.

Ian is a highly intelligent boy obsessed with committing perfect crimes. Kate and the others had no idea that every word they discussed was clearly transmitted to the ears of this seemingly powerless "mentally ill" patient.

"They say I'm highly intelligent, but I'm definitely a die-hard fan." Ian sat on the Hellcat, not going home, but continuing to eavesdrop with his super hearing for a long time, until the crime scene was sealed off and the police took the body back to the police station for an autopsy. Only then did he pat the Hellcat and let it drive onto the highway.

along the way.

Ian was pondering why Dr. Hannibal had suddenly gone mad.

The phone suddenly started vibrating wildly, and the name of the young delinquent Madison flashed on the screen. The moment Ian pressed the answer button, the other person's loud voice immediately filled the carriage.

“Ian! Michael is throwing a tantrum on the assembly line again!” Madison’s tone was full of helplessness, with the sounds of metal clanging and angels rushing forward coming from the background.

"Ten angels couldn't stop him! I banged my streetlight on his head, but he didn't seem to care at all!" Madison looked utterly helpless.

“I’m coming right away.” Ian sighed, spun the steering wheel sharply, and the Hellcat drifted around, leaving two scorch marks on the asphalt.

He temporarily put aside his thoughts and drove to the new factory he had bought overnight.

The newly acquired factory is located on the edge of the metropolitan industrial area. It was originally a processing plant for a gang, but the gang was wiped out by the superheroes, which allowed Ian to pick up a pretty good bargain.

The former sweatshop has now been transformed by Ian into the "Angel Re-employment Training Center," with a neon sign at the entrance flashing the words "Ian's Greatest Technology Manufacturing Group."

Below, written in fluorescent chalk, was today's KPI: 500000 screaming food cans. As soon as Ian pushed open the factory door, he saw a chaotic scene on the assembly line. Ordinary angels were diligently labeling the canned black bean dace that would praise Ian, reciting "In the name of the Father, this is a superior product" with each label.

On another production line.

Michael was standing on the assembly line with one foot, holding a twisted and deformed microwave oven in his hand.

"I created the universe with such ease! So simple!" The archangel's roar shook the ceiling, causing dust to fall in a flurry. "Why can't I handle this damned metal box!"

"A conspiracy! There must be a conspiracy here!" The microwave oven made a dying "ding" sound in his hand, and the turntable flew out and hit an ordinary angel passing by on the head.

The ordinary angels dared not speak out in anger, but secretly made a mental note that the next time the messengers of the savior angels wanted to deal with Michael, they would definitely rush up with their spiked clubs at the first opportunity.

He's going to secretly make a spiked club when he gets home tonight.

“It’s alright, Michael. It’s nice to see you. I don’t think it’s entirely your fault that you couldn’t assemble the microwave. Maybe such a simple job isn’t suitable for someone as versatile as you.”

Ian walked past with his hands in his pockets.

His tone was as gentle as if he were coaxing a cat with its fur standing on end.

He secretly hid the "Parenting Bible" back in his extra dimension.

“It’s you, Ian Kent.”

Upon hearing this, Michael immediately turned his head sharply, his golden pupils gleaming with a star-like light.

"it's me."

Ian gave a business-like smile and uttered a phrase reminiscent of Gu Long's famous tales of nonsense.

"Tell me what exactly happened." Michael was still resentful about being banished to the mortal realm, and he could already see the increasingly intense glory emanating from Ian.

This only made him more hesitant.

"Want to know? Use your points to get the answer." Ian chuckled, his tone light and cheerful. He magically produced a gold-embossed "Employee Performance Redemption Manual" and handed it to Michael.

Michael's expression was as if he had swallowed something indescribable. He looked around—the ordinary angels, on the other hand, seemed to be having a much easier time here than he was.

Even the youngest Cupid angel can operate the coffee machine independently.

This was extremely frustrating for the archangel.

"I can't handle this!"

The archangel's chest heaved violently, and the microwave oven in his hand dented again.

“Then I’ll arrange a live stream for you.” Ian snapped his fingers, his tone still light and cheerful. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to sing or dance, just chat with ordinary people.”

He started his own PUA (Pick-Up Artist) practices.

Upon hearing this, Michael's wings all popped open.