Chris didn’t need anybody to hold his hand. You couldn’t tell Lois that though. Having a mother who cared was nice, but sometimes he wanted to do what he knew he was capable of doing. Since she wasn’t here he was planning on doing all the things that she wouldn’t let him do, and that didn’t include getting drunk and running around with gang members who prowled the bad parts of the city with guns and pockets full of cocaine. If Chris was ever going to be anything important he wanted to be a hero like Clark Kent. He wanted to be the opposite of his biological father, so that if he ever returned, he could look at him and know that although he had helped to create him and although had donated his genes to the cause, he was not his son.
He was Superman’s son.
A healthy dose of adrenaline traveled through him and Chris wondered if that was a good thing or… something that was wrong, something that was bad, something that he had inherited from Zod and Ursa. He didn’t know if crushing something to dust with his hand was supposed to make him feel disgusted and terrible, or proud of himself. The creatures were bad. They had been planning on killing the woman, so that had to be enough reason to be happy with destroying them, right? He thought so.
“We didn’t have them where I come from.” They had villains with bad intentions and murderous appetites. They had Lex Luthor, but no vampires who turned to dust when you squeezed too hard. “”I guess. I don’t really get to use them a lot. At least not on anything like that. I’m Chris”
He watched the woman drive off and hoped she had enough common sense to go home. Being out by yourself at night in any city wasn’t the smartest thing you could do. He shrugged and stopped looking. “Maybe she forgot?” He was making an excuse for her. She probably was stupid. “I got here yesterday. I was walking to the bathroom, at the Daily Planet, and ended up here instead.”