Today.
The sun was shining brightly.
The weather was beautiful.
However.
The Minotaur demon felt that its entire existence had never been so precarious.
True Hell.
It was nothing compared to this.
It was possible the place it had been before was a fake Hell.
"Let go of me, let go of me." The attempt to struggle with its facial muscles was futile. Ian skillfully aimed the demon's head at the gas tank opening, squeezing it like a tube of toothpaste.
"I don't have Hell blood! Please... don't do this." Why else would all demons be liars? Its mouth was dishonest, but the "flash flood" bursting from the fractured neck could not deceive Ian's eyes.
Amidst the demon's screams.
A "glug glug glug" sound of swallowing came from the gas tank.
No one knew the principle behind this. Neither the demon nor the car were scientific, but that didn't stop both from being perfectly reasonable. At least, Ian felt no surprise whatsoever.
The book Unsolved Mysteries of the World held a high status in his heart.
Therefore.
Things that couldn't be explained simply needed to be categorized there, and everything would have a reasonable origin. Ian had dealt with things he didn't understand this way since childhood.
Oil is valuable, but human plasma is more so.
If for the sake of demon blood, both can be thrown away.
In Ian's view, his newly acquired Hellcat's unique taste was not a problem, but a cost-effective choice. The demon's head was magically like a sponge.
No matter how hard he squeezed, there still seemed to be residue. The demon's descendants might not be endless, but Hell blood obviously was available in unlimited quantities.
"I have nothing left!"
The demon's wailing was still incredibly strong.
"Yes, you do. MacArthur... uh, anyway, I heard someone say that demon blood, take half, and it will never be exhausted for ten thousand generations." Ian naturally wouldn't believe the demon's lies.
When fueling a car, old and new drivers alike knew they had to fill the tank completely. Otherwise, the Mexicans next door would surely mock the people of Free America for not being able to afford gas.
"I decide what fuel I use. That is fuel freedom in the free democratic world." Ian found solid legal support for his actions.
A world was achieved where only the inhabitants of Hell were harmed.
Merely exploiting a demon.
Since the demon was not a legal citizen of America, but an undocumented runaway from Hell who stowed away to America, Ian's exploitation of it was just conforming to the mainstream narrative.
"I've always said I'm great at adapting to the environment. My nickname should be Dr. Darwin." Ian filled the tank, casually tossing the wrinkled, life-weary demon head back into his backpack.
Of course.
Although he had cleaned the demon's Route 66 fuel nozzle, its wail was too mournful. For the cleanliness and hygiene of the backpack, a few feminine hygiene pads were definitely needed underneath.
It was just a quick stop at the convenience store on the street corner.
"What's crying?"
The cashier had sharp ears.
"Nothing, I'm listening to music."
Ian's expression was calm and composed. He wasn't met with any suspicion, nor did he worry about encountering animal rights organizations. He had checked his phone; demons were not on the protection list of animal rights organizations.
Such was the national condition of America.
Animal rights organizations generally wouldn't spare a glance for projects with no profit potential.
Even if the demon's head rolled to the doorstep of an animal rights association, it would have no chance of successfully filing a complaint. It was only fit to be lumped together with the undocumented immigrant representative.
When it came to social rules, Ian had everything under control since he was eight. Just as he said, setting aside the threat to his life, he was actually quite good at adapting to the environment.
"Are you buying sanitary pads for your girlfriend? Good boys like you are rare these days." The convenience store guy liked to chat, but Ian, as a millionaire, felt he should maintain the demeanor of a rich person.
"No, I'm buying them as a contingency for my brother's 'fun cup'." Ian tried to be as concise as possible, raising his hand like the elites, but he didn't have a watch to check the time on his wrist.
But that didn't stump him.
It was just a matter of borrowing a pen and drawing one.
"The song you were playing stopped... did the player run out of battery?" Taking back the pen he lent Ian, the cashier wasn't very quick-witted and couldn't figure out what Ian was talking about.
Fun cups are usually paired with tissues, aren't they?
To need equipment like sanitary pads.
Does this world really have a gifted "Spray Fighter"?
The cashier looked thoughtful.
He seemed to recall plots from some bizarre movies he secretly watched late at night.
"It didn't run out of battery. My player was just a little scared by me." Ian achieved the desired effect and stopped there, not continuing to intimidate the demon head.
He was a kind-hearted good person, after all.
"Oh, oh."
The cashier was impressed but confused.
Ian stuffed the sanitary pads into his backpack, left the store, and walked back to the empty lot where his test drive car was parked—he definitely made a profit. The Dodge Hellcat was the name for high-performance models under the American Dodge brand.
It was famous worldwide for its violent power and its embodiment of American muscle car culture.
Ian's model was the more extreme Demon version. True to its name, it was large-displacement, rear-wheel drive, and strong in straight-line acceleration—a typical representative of "horsepower is justice."
"I'm a little car from Hell~ I'm a little car that kills~"
"The killing little car drives wildly~"
"All nine people deserved it. I'm not an ordinary little car; I'm an Avenger~"
...
By the time Ian approached the Hellcat, the little car's radio was singing a song, and its exhaust pipe was full of rhythm, continuously spitting out blue flames that smelled of sulfur.
The lyrics were hype.
It was hype too.
Clearly, the blood of the Hell demon was greatly beneficial to it.
It clearly hadn't tasted anything so exquisite before.
"Nine Soul Rings. You collected the Seven Deadly Sins. The remaining two Soul Rings were for someone who disrespected you by extinguishing a cigarette on your steering wheel, and another who filled your gas tank with soybean oil?"
Why else would songs touch people's hearts?
Ian understood the emotion the car was trying to convey.
"Listen, buddy," Ian began, adopting the tone of a life coach on TV. "Killing is wrong. Even if they offend you, you can only send them to prison."
"You can only send people to Hell after I've finished building the prison there... that's the non-killing principle, understand? I've met Batman, you definitely haven't."
Ian knew he was facing a little car with skewed values, evil thoughts, and a ruthless heart, but he also firmly believed that he could one day reform it and make it a decent car again.
"Amen~"
The Hellcat's radio suddenly switched to a Christian station.
As if it had been somewhat reformed.
"That's more like it!"
Ian nodded with satisfaction. "When you're good enough, and kind enough, and worthy of my secondary pure soul, I'll ask my Tony to teach me how to evolve you into a Transformer."
He made a promise.
A mature millionaire knew from a young age how to be a capitalist who casually drew a big picture.
And now.
"Thank you~~"
The Hellcat switched to a comedic artist thanking the audience on the radio.
The car body shook with excitement.
It clearly had good aesthetic taste and was experiencing its first instance of PUA. The Hellcat's four doors opened automatically. Ian chose to sit down in the passenger seat.
"This is Ian's dedicated seat from now on." Ian fastened his seatbelt, and the seat automatically adjusted to the most comfortable angle. A line of carved-like script slowly emerged on the dashboard in front of the passenger seat.
[IAN'S EXCLUSIVE USE]
The letter-formed calligraphy was quite elegant.
Ian was extremely satisfied.
This was the ideal ride he had heard about in the poems of Ezra Pound in his dreams.
"Let's go! Time to cruise the streets!"
Ian gave the command.
The Hellcat shot out like an arrow leaving the bow.
What was smart driving? This was smart driving! The Hellcat weaved through traffic like a Black Mamba snake. Ian even felt like he heard the echoes of "man" from the past.
"Vroom vroom vroom~"
The engine roared.
Although it was a wild car, it clearly also had a gentle side. Even as speed and fury overflowed, it still obeyed traffic rules and knew not to run red lights.
"That's right, that's right. Start obeying traffic rules with yourself."
Ian felt that his killing little car might truly still have hope and could receive God's forgiveness—he had to believe in God here, because if he believed in his Godfather, his beloved car would likely be sent to the scrapyard.
Ian was enjoying the superior experience brought by smart driving. Outside the window, the harmonious society of Metropolis during the day constantly flashed by. There was always so much tension between the homeless and the urban elites.
"Give me back my bag!"
"Help! Let go, or I'll call Superman!"
"Damn it! Even so, I'll take this bag, a gift from nature—I'm a gambler, so I bet Superman's life isn't as valuable as mine!"
"I'm going to win!"
...
It was a beautiful sight.
This was always the daily routine of Metropolis.
Ian appreciated the scenery.
He had no intention of getting out of the car to intervene. In a society where the weak were prey to the strong, the one with less strength couldn't hold onto their bag. The law of nature was fully embodied in this country.
He could save one.
He couldn't save everyone.
As the second-generation Superman, Ian could not stop this market rule. Hayek's great hand would know how to regulate itself.
"Stop!"
Not until the sound of a police siren broke this moment of "epiphany" did Ian withdraw his gaze from the scenery. Facing the police, the Hellcat also chose to be law-abiding.
It was perhaps just as fond of being law-abiding as Ian.
"It's you again! Stan Lee, right?" The familiar traffic cop walked over with a stern face, tapping on the car window. Through the empty driver's seat window, he saw Ian seated firmly in the passenger seat.
Ian remembered this face—the culprit of the fire hydrant incident last time.
"License."
The traffic cop looked at Ian's new car with some envy.
His voice was serious.
"It was revoked."
Ian often blinked when he lied.
Hearing this.
The traffic cop showed an "I knew it" expression. Ian's driving performance before was still fresh in his mind. "Very well. I regret to inform you that you may have to be arrested by me."
He said this and took out his handcuffs, signaling Ian to get out of the car.
"I wasn't even driving. The car was driving itself. Why would I need a license?" Ian sat steadily in the passenger seat, looking confused. He just felt that the IQ of American traffic police needed improvement.
"Stop playing tricks!"
The traffic cop immediately sneered.
"You definitely saw me and secretly moved over. I've seen too many people like you!" The traffic cop's hand touched his pistol, a warning gesture to Ian.
"I don't believe it. Someone like me is one of a kind on Earth. How could you possibly meet a second?" Ian retorted while patting the Hellcat's dashboard.
The Hellcat understood.
It immediately performed a parallel parking maneuver for the traffic cop, followed by a lateral parking, and finally bounced up and down like it was dancing to show off its new powerful features.
"!!??"
The traffic cop was dumbfounded.
This incident truly touched a professional blind spot for him. He didn't know whether he should still issue the ticket. The handcuffs he had taken out seemed to be restrained by professional ethics and were put back.
"Oh, the traffic light at the intersection ahead has turned green."
Ian stared straight ahead.
The next moment, the Hellcat zoomed away with a "swoosh," leaving the traffic cop in place to doubt his life, wondering if this was some kind of autonomous driving test being conducted by a large technology company.
"Are taxi drivers going to be unemployed?"
The traffic cop rubbed his eyes. He noticed that the license plate on the Hellcat's rear kept changing—a Hellcat was still a cat, so it naturally had a Schrodinger-like license plate number.
"Did I see things?"
The traffic cop initially reached for his walkie-talkie, wanting to ask his colleagues, but at this moment, he felt insecure. After much hesitation, he put down the communication device.
"Maybe I'm still in bed right now? But why would I dream that I'm still at work? That's not right... Maybe, just maybe, I'm just a brain in a jar."
The traffic cop became an abstract philosopher.
He doubted his life so much.
In addition to not being able to believe what he saw.
It also had to do with the unique characteristics of Free America. When police officers searched for illegal leaves, most of the time, those leaves would eventually disappear without a trace.
As for where they flew off to.
That was a question that couldn't be brought up.
God definitely knew, anyway.
...
Saying goodbye to the traffic cop.
The Hellcat's engine emitted a cheerful roar.
The blue flames spat from the exhaust pipe left scorch marks on the asphalt road.
A sunny day.
Naturally required some sufficiently sunny activities.
"I want to go to a place with lots of military-controlled chemical trading, preferably where their legal awareness is weak, they haven't paid taxes, and even the IRS won't protect them." Ian, who was looking forward to leveling up during the holidays and had tasted the benefits of [Perfect Divinity], immediately gave his navigation instructions.
A smart person believed that his smart little car would surely understand.
And the facts proved that it did.
"You hate the sin~"
"You hate the temptress in the bottle~"
...
A mature little car would switch songs by itself.
It roared the engine and headed towards an abandoned factory in the suburbs. As the tires rolled over the "No Entry" sign, Ian noticed that the odometer on the dashboard was even going in reverse.
This car had a heart that yearned to return to its youth.
"Titled Douluo Princess?"
Ian was quite surprised.
However.
He couldn't bother to judge the gender of his twelve-hand car, because the Hellcat, which seemed to be able to track criminal activity, had already led him into the scene of a crime.
Inside the abandoned factory.
A bald man in a military uniform was making a deal with several burly men from the Bear Country, along with his own subordinates.
It was a very classic scene.
"Here's the goods."
Ten blue vials were neatly arranged in the military bald man's silver briefcase.
The label was prominently printed with the words [Simulated Superman Serum (Kryptonian genes not included)]. Clearly, there was no Superman inside, but there might genuinely be some serum.
The advertising law was respected here like never before.
Of course.
This was still an illegal activity.
And an illegal activity meant it was not protected by law.
Which meant Ian could choose his own method of transaction. Ian didn't even need to use an inequality for this. He assessed the situation slightly and solved the problem instantly.
"Five hundred thousand. No negotiation." The military man wiped his sweat, looking around nervously, extremely alert. "Although the success rate is only 1%, it's still more reliable than your 'Project God' program."
His words made the burly men from the Bear Country frown.
"Our project is not for you Americans to comment on!" The burly man from the Bear Country's eyes were filled with anger, and the military bald man, who was intent on making the deal, shrugged helplessly.
"Fine, I don't care about that either."
Saying this, the military bald man was about to have his subordinate inspect the goods.
And just at this moment.
"Vroom vroom vroom~"
The loud crash of the Hellcat breaking through the iron door interrupted the transaction. Amidst the dust, Ian, wearing a flesh-colored stocking mask, stepped out of the car. Unable to find a leather jacket, he pretended he had one.
"I smell the scent of sin!"
In a deep voice.
Ian had just taken out a lighter, ready to cross-world possess the Ghost Rider.
"Rat-a-tat-tat-tat~"
The villains, men of few words but fierce action, didn't intend to give him the chance. The men from the Bear Country immediately pulled out their guns and opened fire. A storm of bullets instantly enveloped Ian's entire body.
[You attempt to learn to catch bullets by hand. [Student] Profession Experience +1]
[You attempt to learn to catch bullets by hand. [Student] Profession Experience +1]
[You attempt to learn to catch bullets by hand. [Student] Profession Experience +1]
...
Ian merely sneered at this.
His hands moved in a blur in the air. The Student Profession experience was skyrocketing. When the military man's team also started shooting, Ian's hands were moving so fast they were practically afterimages.
[You attempt to learn to catch bullets by hand. [Student] Profession Experience +1]
[You attempt to learn to catch bullets by hand. [Student] Profession Experience +1]
...
It was a very successful leveling session.
"I knew I could do it." Ian opened his palms. Two handfuls of deformed bullets clattered onto the ground. The first taste of success made him particularly happy.
"Hot weapons, nothing special."
Ian attempted to replicate the Dragon King's twisted-mouth smile.
The air was very quiet.
The few illegal villains were dumbfounded and speechless. The military bald man's crew and the burly men from the Bear Country were all thoroughly terrified. Every single one of them was trembling, their faces pale.
The wind blew gently.
The sound of swallowing saliva rose one after another.
"Is he a man or a ghost?"
The burly man from the Bear Country's expression was terrified.
"I... I don't know..." The military bald man's voice was also trembling. He tried to retreat behind the burly men from the Bear Country, but they pushed him back to the front.
No choice.
The military bald man could only put down his weapon, which had an empty magazine.
"How... are you not dead yet?"
The military bald man spoke to Ian, shaking.
He was considered knowledgeable and had even witnessed Superman's power. However, even witnessing Superman's steel body had not caused such a violent upheaval in his heart as this moment.
"Heroes don't die by bare hands, so of course, I won't die." Ian followed their gaze and looked down at his body, then quickly turned around, adopting the strategy of having his back to the masses.
"I caught all your bullets. I'm not dying at all." Ian said this while stealthily and frantically pulling out the bullet fragments. About seven or eight hundred bullets were embedded in his muscles.
There was a little blood flowing.
But the bullets had only penetrated the skin layer.
[Berserker Experience +1]
Such a small gain was the best proof that the injury was too minor.
The facts still proved that Ian was just a hair's breadth away from being truly bulletproof—the low-level [Iron Body] only granted Ian cold-weapon invulnerability from the medieval era.
Forty times the average person's physical fitness was far from invincible.
It was not enough, as many people assumed, for Ian to completely ignore the spray of high-caliber rifles and submachine guns. The technological crystallization created by humans still required a little respect.
"Actually, it's just a tiny bit more needed. My capillaries aren't tough enough yet." Ian didn't feel any pain just now, so he believed he still had a bright future ahead.
"It only looked scary just now. Try again, and I guarantee I'll perform even better this time." Ian used an unused sanitary pad to wipe the blood from his face.
He tried to repeat the mob grind.
However, not all bad guys were fools.
"Run!"
The military bald man reacted with exceptional speed.
He had already realized.
This was far more complicated than simply encountering a metahuman. Everyone came to their senses and scattered like birds. The burly man from the Bear Country even threw away his weapon, attempting to reduce his load.
However.
Everything was in vain. They were indeed quick-witted, but Ian was quicker. Purely relying on his physical fitness to forcefully activate super speed, he knocked every single person to the ground with one punch each.
The military bald man, who was running the fastest, even took a ferocious tiger pounce from Ian.
He instantly fell into a face-plant.
And was dragged back to the transaction site by Ian, holding onto his thigh.
"Done. Time to clock out. This batch of performance counts toward my family." Ian didn't like killing people to silence them, because he didn't need to look up to know there were two suns in the sky over Metropolis.
Therefore.
After a moment of consideration.
Ian decided to add a little more leverage to his academic career.
He had truly hoped since childhood that his maternal grandfather would work harder and be promoted wildly before he graduated from college, giving him the qualifications to write the monumental work My Five-Star General Grandfather.
"Hello? Is this General Lane?" While tying up all the unconscious villains, Ian pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
"I am a superhero who wishes to remain anonymous and likes to deliver good fortune to others. Well, your good fortune has arrived. I accidentally captured a group of people stealing military supplies and illegally entering the country."
"Who am I? How do I know your private number? That's not important. I said I wish to remain anonymous—yes, I'm drinking something. I'm afraid if I don't drink now, I won't have any left later."
Ian tried his best to use his extremely skilled voice modification technique.
[Savage Tyrant Experience +3]
[Savage Tyrant Experience +2]
...
[Savage Tyrant Lv3 (1/40)]
He frantically drank the enhancement serum.
He finally leveled up again.
[Strength: 22.1 — 23]
[Constitution: 41.5 — 44]
[Intelligence: 3.2 — 3.3]
[Spirit: 7.7 — 7.9]
His attributes were also boosted.
Perhaps with one more attempt.
Ian could genuinely catch more bullets. He didn't use the new skill point but decided to save two to upgrade his [Iron Body].
"Evolving into a Steel Body will definitely stop bullets."
Ian was full of anticipation.
He had gained another wave of strength enhancement.
This was a good thing.
However.
According to the Law of Conservation of Energy.
Bad things would show up from time to time, like a shadow.
On the other end of the phone.
His grandfather's suspicion came through.
Ian immediately became extremely alert.
"No, there's nothing wrong with my voice. This isn't a prank either..."
"Trust me, I'm really a superhero, but I have a secret that can't be revealed to the public—huh? What are you saying? Who is Ian? How does my tone sound like Ian's?"
"Fine, fine. Since you're slandering people like this, I'll confess. I'm Batman!! Check the origin of this phone, and you'll know!"
"No! What do you mean 'now you're even more certain'? Huh? Mom told you everything? What did she say? That I'm a cross-dresser? Why doesn't she go be a re—..."
"Ptooey ptooey ptooey! Mom definitely wasn't liked by her classmates when she was in school!" Ian, who felt he had clearly made a lot of progress, was met with another round of exasperation.
This was what happened.
After drinking the serum.
"Don't bother coming if you don't want to! I'm going to tell Dad! You're secretly researching Superman serum! You're so evil!" He angrily hung up the phone. His frustrated mood compelled him to kick each of the villains one more time.
This scene.
Made a stray ginger cat watch in stunned silence.
It seemed to sense the anger that was halfway maxed out in Ian's bottom right corner.
It bristled fiercely at Ian.
"Go away! Your level of Hachimi has no right to 'Ha' me!" Ian was genuinely cursing even the passing cat. This might be the true definition of being triggered.
"Meow~"
The stray cat still bristled at Ian.
Its eyes briefly turned red.
However.
Before anything could happen, Ian grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and stuffed it directly into his tattered backpack. Ian also conveniently covered the demon head's mouth.
This was to prevent the demon from eating the cat.
"Nice-looking, put you in a gift box, and you'll be my apology gift when I get home." Ian's calculations were loud and clear. He held down the struggling ginger cat in the backpack with force.
"What strong paws."
Ian sensed something was off.
But he had important business to attend to, which was to take out $300, wipe his fingerprints, and stuff the money into the military bald man's pocket. He knew the real market price of the enhancement potion perfectly well.
He had bought it outside a gym before.
"Done. Time to clock out."
After paying.
Ian jumped into the Hellcat and drove away.
"We shall overcome evil"
"for the Lord is always on the side of victory"
The little car also played a new song for Ian.
The blue flame spat from the exhaust pipe formed the shape of a middle finger in the rear.
People with personality.
Drove cars that also had personality.
"He even knew to call. Speaking of which, the number he called was indeed an official one." It was all relative. When Ian was happy, someone was always going to feel complicated.
After Ian left.
In the sky.
Metropolis's second sun, hidden among the clouds, slowly descended. Seeing the criminals tied up in a human centipede formation, his red cape looked slightly messy in the wind.
"At least, he has the heart to be a hero. That's not wrong." The aging father, who didn't know how to evaluate Ian's actions, could only give himself this psychological affirmation. Hmm, the world might misunderstand this man a lot. Who says he won't use his super brain?
He's using his super brain right now!
Perhaps.
Superman shouldn't have become a reporter, he should have become a lawyer.
"This is quite a mess..."
The old father sighed.
Suddenly.
"Hiss~"
A sound of someone gasping sharply was heard.
It was the burly man from the Bear Country.
Their physical fitness was indeed strong enough.
"Bang~"
However, before the person could wake up, Superman stepped forward and used a neck chop maneuver only seen in TV dramas—perhaps, the tendency to knock people out shouldn't really be blamed on Ian.
It was a family tradition.
It was just how it was.
Ian was merely surpassing his teacher.
***
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