Chapter 196: Technology God And Weird God
Rick Sanchez.
The little punk girl’s words fell into Ian’s ears.
He was the one truly struck as if by thunder from the ninth heaven.
Ian knew that an outer universe invasion would bring many things that the DC universe didn’t have, but he never imagined that one day he would hear this name in his own DC universe.
“No, is this correct?”
Ian Kent instantly turned to stone. All his previous guesses about God, Heaven, Seraphim, Sacred Oracle Seat… collapsed in this moment.
In their place was something even more chaotic, more dangerous, and more uncontrollable. The little punk girl Madison’s neighbor was actually named Rick Sanchez?!
Of course he knew who the person this name represented was.
That was Rick from 《Rick and Morty》, a mad scientist wearing a dirty white coat, with pockets always stuffed full of unidentified liquids.
Also one of the most dangerous and smartest existences in the universe.
How dangerous was he?
This scientist was an incorrigible alcoholic, almost always carrying his signature transparent flask filled with a “strongest alcohol in the universe” that he himself concocted.
Said to be a formula obtained from some destroyed civilization.
And how that civilization was destroyed, most people didn’t dare ask too much about; anyway, it was the kind where those who get it all get it, and out of ten thousand people asked, all ten thousand would sincerely think Rick destroyed it.
This shows.
Just how dangerous Rick was as a character.
He was an extreme mix of genius and bastard, with an unbelievably high IQ, able to easily solve problems that most scientists couldn’t crack in a lifetime.
Rick’s abilities covered almost everything. He was the top tier scientist in the multiverse, proficient in physics, chemistry, biology, engineering, and countless other disciplines.
It could be said that if he wanted, he could arbitrarily define reality; the only ones who could defeat his enemies were himself, a technological version of God in some form.
Having ability isn’t scary.
Having ability plus human emotions and desires.
That was truly terrifying.
Rick could cause a universe-destroying mess over something small, like pranking his grandson; just thinking about it made Ian unable to touch his own scalp.
Ian remembered Rick inventing a love potion that turned an entire universe into the opposite sex; thinking of this, he couldn’t help but ask a question that must be asked.
Can this universe still be stayed in?
Ian finally recovered from the huge shock brought by the name “Rick Sanchez.”
He swallowed hard with difficulty, clinging to the last sliver of faint hope, looking at Madison: “Little punk girl, can you… describe in detail that old stone mason’s appearance?”
“Like his hair? His eyes?”
Ian still had a fluke mentality, hoping it was just a coincidence of names; he even played ostrich again, trying to guide out some features that weren’t so “Rick-like.”
However.
“You know my language organization skills aren’t great. Describing someone handsome or ugly is fine, but that ordinary old man look… I can’t explain it.”
Madison scratched her messy hair. Just as Ian slightly relaxed, thinking the “ordinary old man look” description might have some turnaround.
Suddenly, Madison slapped her forehead.
“But I have a better way to describe it!” Saying this, she pulled out the latest model phone embedded with many sparkling diamonds from her latest Chanel leather bag.
The little punk girl’s manicured nails swiped across it a few times.
“Here! Look! A group photo I took a few days ago when helping him move stone materials!” The 50-megapixel phone camera was very good; she shoved the phone right in front of Ian’s face.
Ian blinked his eyes.
Then he raised his hand and pushed the little punk girl’s palm away a couple times.
Only then could he see the full photo clearly.
The photo background was a messy yard piled with all sorts of oddly shaped stones and metal scraps. Madison grinned with a scissors sign on the left. Next to her was a tall, skinny white-haired old man with exploded hair like he’d been struck by lightning, dazed eyes like he hadn’t slept, and a clear shiny trail of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth!
He wore a dirty white coat stained with all sorts of colors, and in his other hand he even held a half-empty liquor bottle, his face with a smile propped open by some medical chest expander【】.
This image, this vibe, this signature drool… it could only be said that at this moment, the last bit of fluke mentality in Ian’s heart completely collapsed, smashed to pieces by reality.
Rick Sanchez! Really that guy who could casually destroy universes, restart reality, mess everything up, a thorough chaotic neutral technological creator.
Ian’s face showed a trend toward rainbow colors.
Fortunately, it finally settled on white.
Whiter than having eaten ten pounds of bleaching powder.
He had even started rapidly calculating in his super brain how to fool old man Clark, carrying the family in the classic pose to relocate to another parallel universe.
Or simply apply to stay in Batman’s mental hospital on Kepler 186f for refuge?
This isn’t insured enough.
“Ian? What’s wrong with you?” Madison looked at his suddenly changed face, puzzled, “Did you catch some weird disease? Your face looks as white as if you ate melanin.”
Very obviously.
This was the common sense level of a typical American blonde girl.
Melanin is for sleep aid, not bleaching; most people know that, but blonde hotties don’t, and Ian had no mood right now to correct Madison’s outrageous medicine knowledge.
“Little punk girl, this isn’t some ordinary old stone mason; he’s scary, yes, don’t give me that look, I’m way more harmless than him.”
“This is a real troublemaker.”
Ian sighed.
Madison frowned unconvinced upon hearing this.
“Troublemaker? Impossible! If he were a troublemaker, why would he be clanging away at stones at home every night? Shouldn’t troublemakers go cause destruction?”
Madison’s understanding of these terms had a strong stereotypical flavor.
“Maybe he’s not chiseling stones late at night, but tinkering with tech that could turn us into plasticine,” Ian explained listlessly.
The God family’s headaches hadn’t passed, and now a new American horror story appeared that made him feel bad; this really made Ian think he should burn some incense for his future self.
“Though he does always wear that dirty white coat and looks like a failed mad scientist. But!” Madison still firmly believed her judgment.
“He really accepted my stone tablet order! And delivered on time! Doesn’t that prove he’s a skilled old stone mason?”
“The logic is so smooth.”
Madison even admired herself for such perfectly closed loop logic.
“Isn’t there a possibility he thought it was fun…” Ian looked at Madison’s confident “my logic is perfect” expression, feeling the outrageously high-tech stone chair under his butt that was suspiciously Heaven’s model, like sitting on pins and needles, as if on a singularity bomb ready to explode at any time.
“Oh?”
Madison pondered thoughtfully.
“Now that you say it, there really is that possibility. You don’t know, when I mentioned to him it was for carving 【God is dead, Ian shall stand】 stone tablets to fool—oh no, inspire those angels, the old stone mason was so happy! He kept praising me as smart, creative, saying I was an interesting soul!”
Madison, like Ian, had mastered the art of language that could fool even herself, though not skillfully; fortunately, she corrected it in time.
She was radiant, talking eloquently.
“He even said he’d long disliked that old bastard God! New God, he and I both vote for you. See how insightful this old stone mason is!”
At these words.
Ian’s eyeballs nearly popped out.
“No, how does he know about me???” He was like a cat whose tail was stepped on, feeling his soul was about to eagerly float out from the top of his head.
Madison completely didn’t notice Ian’s soul-out-of-body, restart-life state. Instead, she got more excited, as if already seeing the grand scene of Ian’s coronation as new God.
“You taught me! You said ‘the masses are the foundation, can’t lose the public opinion high ground’! So my execution is super strong!” Madison lifted Ian’s hand and slapped it hard on her shoulder.
She had finally gone mad to the point of surpassing her master.
The little punk girl counted her “achievements” on her fingers: “Not only did I promote it to the old stone mason, I also printed tons of flyers! Designed super well, with your handsome photo that I photoshopped with some effects, and that catchy slogan—God is dead, Ian shall stand!”
“Right, and my creative addition: Believe in Ian, get eternal life, Heaven registers VIP directly after death. Um, SVIP I remember you said requires payment.”
Madison was really a doer.
Ian listened with twitching eyelids and soaring blood pressure. Madison continued claiming credit: “I thought Metropolis is your base, so start there! So I gave the first box of flyers to your… um, that somewhat effeminate, always frowning but reasonably priced brother, to distribute first!”
“My second brother?! Jordan?” Ian was stunned; he didn’t expect family involvement, and as the main party he had been kept in the dark.
What side gigs had Jordan been taking behind his back!
“…” Ian didn’t dare imagine second generation Superman hugging a stack of outrageous rebel flyers, being chased by reporters and police on Metropolis streets.
“Jordan? Maybe that’s the name? Anyway, not important.” Madison waved it off carelessly; her brain obviously auto-filtered all details she deemed unimportant. “My brain isn’t great, so I basically don’t remember unimportant names. Anyway, he took the money and promised to help distribute!”
“Once Metropolis is covered, we march on Gotham! Then all America! Global! Let everyone know the new era has come!” The little punk girl was already fantasizing about the future.
Ian had thoroughly become the “king of bewilderment.”
His brain couldn’t process this flood of death-seeking info. Looking at Madison’s excited “I did great for Your Majesty” look, he had only one thought in his mind.
The Middle Ages were gone.
But this girl really seemed to want the stake!
No… damn it, I’d have to go on the fire stake with her!
Religion is something normal people don’t touch; once stirred, it’s endless trouble. Hard to imagine what God’s followers would do seeing those flyers.
As the “stand-in for God” main guy, he’d definitely become kebab with Madison and Jordan! Though warm, Ian still remembered he wanted a simple life.
Just like every superhero’s longing for normalcy.
Of course.
Ian mainly wanted to fulfill his self-set three-year deadline, the Dragon King Returns setting. Can’t go, can’t follow; he’s the most rational superhero of this generation.
“Da da da da~”
Phone keyboard typing sounds rang out continuously. Ian fumbled out his phone frantically, fingers blurring with afterimages, crazily messaging his second brother Jordan.
【Jordan! I don’t care what Madison gave you! Immediately! Right now! Burn them! Burn them all! Not a single one left! If anyone asks, say it’s performance art! Satire! Fake! Forget it, just say you were mind-controlled by aliens! Anyway, absolutely absolutely cannot continue distributing!!!】
Ian messaged Jordan while telling Madison to stop.
“Can’t mess with this, bold one; there really is a God in the world.” Ian grabbed Madison’s head, who was still fantasizing about global promotion plans, and shook it hard a few times.
He longed to shake the water out of it.
However.
It seemed to have little effect.
Madison looked at his anxious state and showed an “I get you” expression, nodding vigorously: “I know there’s a God in the world! But you’re the one everyone expects, right?”
“When all the angels believe that, won’t you become the real God? Then the original one is the fake God? We call this… uh… strategic base stealing!”
Madison talked eloquently, posing like a wise strategist planning the world.
What a base steal!
Stealing God’s base!
Ian’s facial muscles gradually stiffened, feeling like they were about to stiffen into livor mortis; seeing Madison so “resolute” and logically consistent, he knew reasoning with the little punk girl was useless.
The urgent task was to change the topic first; this was a family secret skill.
Ian forced an extremely stiff smile, trying to pull the topic back to that more dangerous but perhaps doubt-inducing source.
“Little punk girl, about these flyers, any slightly normal person seeing them would first think you’re crazy, or it’s some prank show, right?”
Ian tried to make his voice sound guiding and patient.
Madison thought about it and nodded, seeming to agree.
Ian quickly struck while the iron was hot: “But! That bad old man… no, I mean Mr. Rick Sanchez, not only didn’t think you were crazy, but supported it, even wanted to vote for you… don’t you think… that’s weird? Would a normal person do that?”
He tried to guide Madison to discover Rick’s abnormality herself.
Madison fell into serious thought again. Ian held his breath, expecting her to get it.
A few seconds later, Madison slapped her palm, eyes lighting up, reaching a conclusion.
“I get it, turns out the old stone mason is an antic Christ too; that’s great, no wonder he was so excited to carve the stone tablet and even gave you a massage chair.”
“I believe there are many people like the old stone mason in this world, definitely over fifty-one percent.” Madison seemed to interpret this as some kind of public opinion again.
Ian was completely helpless.
His thinking channel was totally mismatched with Madison’s.
Explaining Rick Sanchez’s danger to Madison was like playing the lute to a cow; this cow might even think your music disturbed its grazing.
No way around it.
Ian could only self-soothe.
At least… at least Madison saved Rick’s wife? That means Rick has family, a tiny possible anchor called “humanity”? As long as he doesn’t proactively provoke that madman, stays far away from his house, perhaps… probably… maybe… life can barely go on?
Ian did some mental construction.
At that moment, the class bell rang again.
This class was history.
The history teacher was a middle-aged man named Mr. Wilson wearing gold-rimmed glasses, hair combed impeccably. He walked in holding the lesson plan, his gaze habitually scanning the classroom; upon seeing the stone chair under Ian’s butt and Madison, he obviously paused, corner of his mouth twitching slightly, but quickly resumed his stern, rigid expression.
“Classmates, open textbook page 78.” Mr. Wilson’s voice was steady and flat. “Today we continue the chapter ‘American Colonization and Development,’ focusing on how the thirteen North American colonies, in a barren land, relied on courage, wisdom, and longing for freedom to ultimately break free from British colonial rule and lay the foundation for the great nation’s industry…”
He began reciting from the book, narrating carefully selected and beautified history—like early settlers engaging in friendly, equal trade with local natives, bringing advanced agricultural technology and civilization.
Hearing this, countless images of smallpox blankets, broken treaties, and bloody carnage flashed in Ian’s super brain; he knew such truths were little known in America.
“The War of Independence was a just, great struggle for democracy and freedom; all participants were noble patriots. The Westward Movement embodied the American nation’s spirit of bold exploration and pioneering, an inevitable part of national development.” The history teacher’s eloquent talk was using mortal means to “correct” history.
“Also, remember, we played the crucial ‘arsenal of democracy’ role in World War II, making an indelible contribution to saving world peace.”
Mr. Wilson spoke passionately, trying to implant a singular, glorious national narrative into the students’ minds. The students below reacted variously: most drowsy or secretly playing on phones under desks; a few “good students” diligently taking notes, treating the teacher’s words as gospel.
“What exactly are Ian and that bitch talking about.”
Emily took notes while stealing resentful glances at Ian, as if recording a tragic history of her future husband forced to live with evil forces.
“I’m a merciless answer machine; just remember the answers.” Ian listened to this highly whitewashed history, feeling only calm toward real exam-oriented education.
While listening, he pondered what level of Rick this universe’s Rick belonged to, and why he integrated into the DC universe.
The history class proceeded slowly and methodically amid this mix of reality and absurdity, truth and lies, with worries about cosmic comfort.
……
At a secluded bleacher in another high school in Metropolis, Jordan Kent sat alone. He didn’t join the noisy clubs or chat in groups with classmates, just habitually found an empty corner, as if only that gave him a sense of security.
He wore noise-canceling headphones, but no music played inside. He just used the equipment to justify his reluctance to communicate. His gaze stretched far, across the city, precisely landing on the running, vibrant figure on the distant American football field—his eldest brother, Jonathan Kent.
Jonathan was sweating it out on the field, every tackle and pass full of power, drawing constant cheers from the stands. Jordan watched quietly, a trace of imperceptible envy in his eyes, but more a habitual pride for his brother.
At that moment, his pocket phone vibrated.
Jordan frowned slightly, reluctantly pulling out the phone. He disliked interruptions, especially when immersed in his own world. The screen showed sender—Ian.
“Ian?” Jordan was a bit surprised. His quirky, jumpy-thinking little brother rarely contacted him proactively, unless he’d caused some disaster needing big brothers to clean up.
He clicked the message with slight apprehension, preparing for mental pollution or emergency rescue.
However, the message content completely exceeded his expectations:
【Dear second brother Jordan:】
【When you see this message, perhaps I’m striving for some distant and great goal. But no matter when, I’ve never forgotten family is my strongest support. Thank you for your silent support and understanding all along; your kindness and sensitivity are this family’s gentlest wealth.】
【Please believe everything I do is ultimately for this family to be better, more shining. And please continue believing in me, as I believe in you.】
【Your loving little brother, Ian.】
Jordan: “……?”
He was stunned, reading the message three times over.
No pranks, no weird requests, no vague madness. Just… sincere thanks, warm recognition, even a bit of poetic expression?
This… really from Ian?
Jordan’s heart was gently bumped by something. A warm current with surprise and emotion slowly spread through his body.
He knew this was about the flyers; turns out his little brother cared so much! Turns out his seemingly small help was so important in his brother’s grand plan!
An unprecedented sense of responsibility and hot blood rushed to Jordan’s head!
His cheeks also flushed slightly from excitement.
Family! For family!
Ian was striving for the family to be “better, more shining”! Even challenging… that supreme existence? And he, how could he just simply distribute flyers? Too superficial! Too low-tech! He must do more! Better! To match his little brother’s heavy trust and recognition!
“Money! I’m not doing it for money!”
Jordan gripped the phone tightly, eyes becoming extremely determined. He immediately opened his phone notes, fingers flying as literary inspiration surged, to add fuel to Madison’s flyers.
Ian had writer talent.
All raised in the same family.
How could he not?
《Stocking Superman in Heaven: From Base Angel to Supreme God’s Glorious Reversal》. With Jordan’s finalization, the flyer content became even richer.
Beginning: Fallen superhero.
Perhaps borrowing from plagiarist Ian’s unpublished work, Jordan’s first act story was a trump card.
