DC: I Became A Godfather

Adam could hardly be blamed for his reaction. The man Lois had just called "farm boy" wasn't just some Midwestern nobody—he was the icon of Metropolis, the single most legendary hero in American comics, and possibly the entire world: Superman, a.k.a. Clark Kent.

An alien born on the doomed planet Krypton, rocketed to Earth as a baby, and raised by Kansas farmers, Clark Kent grew up with powers that could rewrite the laws of physics. And yet here he stood, a polite, unassuming journalist, somehow both ordinary and larger than life.

To Adam, it felt surreal. He wasn't just seeing Superman—he was standing next to him.

"Sir, are you all right?" Clark's voice broke through Adam's daze, warm and tinged with concern. "You look a little pale. Feeling unwell?"

Adam's stomach dropped.

'Oh, crap.'

He'd just remembered something crucial. Superman didn't just have x-ray vision, he could hear heartbeats.

'And mine's currently thundering like a rave party.'

In the Injustice comics, Superman had read Batman's intentions just by his heartbeat. And now here Adam was, practically broadcasting his nerves to the most powerful being on Earth.

'Smooth, Adam. Real smooth.'

'Pull yourself together,' he scolded himself. 'You're not some starry-eyed kid meeting their first superhero… okay, maybe you are. But still.'

"You… you're Clark Kent?!" Adam blurted out, acting like an overexcited fanboy. "The Clark Kent from The Daily Planet? Hahaha! I… I'm a huge fan! This is amazing!"

Before Clark could respond, Adam grabbed his hand and shook it enthusiastically, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. If nothing else, it masked his nervous heartbeat perfectly, no one could stay calm when they were acting like a lunatic.

"Uh… what?" Clark blinked, looking both stunned and slightly embarrassed. "Wait, are you saying you… read my articles?"

The irony wasn't lost on anyone. Superman could stare down cosmic warlords without blinking, but one guy gushing about his journalism? That threw him completely off.

Adam nodded with all the sincerity he could muster. "Absolutely! Your piece on environmental reform? Brilliant! And that article on global trade barriers—man, it was like a breath of fresh air in this cynical world. I actually drove to Metropolis last week just to buy the paper!"

Even Lois Lane—queen of scoops, constant damsel-in-distress, and certified attention magnet—was momentarily stunned. Her lips curled into a half-smile as she teased, "Ha! Well, what do you know? Gotham finally produces someone who prefers Clark Kent over Batman. Miracles do happen."

Clark's ears flushed a little. "I… uh… thank you. I don't usually get that kind of feedback," he said, scratching the back of his neck, almost bashful.

Adam, of course, wasn't telling the full truth. Yes, he had collected Clark's articles, but not out of fandom. In this DC world, information was power, and knowing every detail about potential "big players" like Superman or Batman was just smart survival strategy.

Superman was a god in all but name. And gods were unpredictable.

"Okay, okay, enough bromance. Tell me this," Norton interrupted with his usual gruffness. "Where the hell did you get that iced Coke? I've been dying of thirst here. I didn't even see a vending machine nearby!"

Adam snapped out of his thoughts. Deadshot was right—there wasn't a single working fridge or cooler in sight. This place was practically a sweatbox. Yet Clark Kent waltzed in with drinks colder than the Arctic.

"Oh, these?" Clark said with that Midwestern politeness that made him impossible to dislike. He pulled out four bottles of Coke from his bag, and handed them out like it was nothing. "I wasn't sure which one Lois liked, so I bought a few extras. Please, help yourselves."

Adam took a bottle but didn't open it right away. Something felt… off.

The Coke was so cold it burned his palm. He quickly pulled out his phone and checked the news feed.

'There it was.'

Barely 90 seconds ago, Superman had rescued a collapsing oil rig near the Bering Strait—the Bering Strait.

Which meant that while waiting here at customs, Clark had casually flown halfway across the world, saved hundreds of lives, and picked up a six-pack of Russian Coke on the way back like it was just another errand.

Adam swallowed. 'God help me, this guy is terrifying.'

Meanwhile, Deadshot downed half the bottle in one gulp and grimaced. "What the hell? Why does this Coke taste like Soviet nostalgia? No wonder the local rebels are so cranky. If this is what they're drinking, I'd riot too."

Adam nearly choked trying not to laugh. Lois, on the other hand, just rolled her eyes.