In American comics, drawing cards reveals wave-particle duality

Winters in East Berlin were always exceptionally cold.

Little Luther huddled in the corner of the shabby apartment, trembling all over.

Through the window, you can see heavy snow falling outside and a few people walking hurriedly on the street.

This old building, built in the 1950s, has long lost its former glory, and its mottled walls are covered with cracks.

"Little bastard!"

A roar came from the kitchen.

Luther subconsciously shrank his body tighter, trying to make himself smaller.

That damn devil is here again.

George Luthor was a large man, but at this moment his eyes were filled with twisted hatred.

He was holding a thick wooden stick in his hand and walking towards his son who was curled up in the corner.

"look at you!"

George growled.

"You don't even have a decent job! You will always be a piece of crap!"

Luther closed his eyes tightly, letting the tears fall silently. He didn't want to see his father's hateful face, nor did he want to hear those hurtful words.

"boom!"

The wooden stick hit Luther hard, and the severe pain made him groan, but George did not stop and continued to swing the stick in his hand.

"You think you can be better than me?"

George's voice was hoarse with anger.

"You'll never amount to anything!"

Luther clenched his teeth and forced himself not to make any sound.

He has become accustomed to such scenes and has such "tutoring" at least once a week.

Every Saturday, George would take Luther out to the streets.

At that time, thousands of people would gather on the streets of East Berlin, holding red flags and singing hymns.

George would hold Luther's hand and stand among the crowd with a fake smile on his face.

"Look over there!"

George pointed to the high platform in the distance and said to Luther.

"That's our leader! The great savior!"

Luther looked up and saw a man in gorgeous clothes standing on a high platform waving to the crowd. The sunlight shining on his face seemed to give him a layer of sacred light.

"One day you will understand what a great cause this is."

George said softly, his tone full of reverence.

But when he gets home, George's attitude changes 180 degrees.

He would lock Luther in a room and force him to learn all kinds of knowledge, from mathematics to physics, from chemistry to engineering. George required Luther to be proficient in everything.

"You have to remember,"

George said as he handed him a heavy book.

“This world is unfair. Only when you are strong enough will others respect you.”

Little Luther took the book silently, but his heart was full of confusion.

Why does my father act so pious outside but so irritable when he gets home?

Whenever night falls, Luther always sneaks onto the roof.

There, he could stay away from his father's roar and look up at the stars quietly.

Although life has given him many painful memories, he always believes that there must be some power in the world that can save him.

"Dear God, please hear my prayer."

Luther would pray silently in his heart.

"Please help me get rid of all this pain."

However, the miracle he expected never happened.

As time went on, Luther gradually understood why his father showed such devotion to the Leader.

It turns out that the so-called "great leader" is nothing more than a hypocritical tyrant.

That night, when his father raised the stick again, Luther finally had enough.

"enough!"

he shouted.

"I've had enough!"

George, who was drunk, was stunned for a moment, obviously not expecting his son to resist.

"Do you think the so-called 'savior' you believe in really exists?"

Luther's voice trembled with excitement.

"Don't you see that he has brought us nothing but more suffering?"

"Heretic, bastard!"

After hearing this, George's face instantly became ferocious:

"You traitor! How dare you question our great leader?"

He seemed to have made up his mind.

It is better not to have such rebellious people.

At this moment, Luther, who read his father's crazy eyes, saw an opportunity.

He rushed to the kitchen and found a fruit knife in the drawer.

The next morning, George Luther was found dead in his study.

The police quickly identified the suspect - Lex Luthor.

However, during the interrogation, all the evidence pointed to a shocking fact:

This was a carefully planned murder.

But Luther, who has a very high IQ, not only successfully forged an alibi, but also cleverly took advantage of his father's habits.

In the end, without any solid evidence, the police had no choice but to end the investigation.

Luther successfully inherited his father's business and received a considerable insurance money.

After the funeral.

Standing in his father's study, Luther looked at the yellowed photo on the wall.

The photo shows a young George posing with their leader.

"It seems that he still didn't get to wait for the so-called 'savior' after all."

Luther whispered to himself.

From that day on, he completely gave up any illusions about religious beliefs.

In his view, the destiny of mankind should be in its own hands.

But until that day——

Superman and Jonathan show up.

"Ha ha……"

The lights of Metropolis cast mottled reflections on the glass, illuminating Luther's pale face.

There was a faint sneer on the corner of his mouth and his knuckles tapped an inexplicable rhythm on the window frame.

Newspapers from all over the world were scattered on his desk, and the front page of every one of them was hysterically praising the so-called "God".

The front page of the Daily Planet was the most eye-catching - Clark was suspended above the devastated metropolis, the sunlight cast a halo around him, and the ground was littered with uncleaned ruins and bloodstains.

"They are the incarnation of God!"

The article avoided mentioning the civilian casualties caused by the fighting and made no mention of the destroyed buildings and infrastructure.

The cries of those who lost their loved ones in the ruins, the injured waiting for treatment in the hospital corridors, and the displaced victims were all glorified as a backdrop to the "miracle."

Fanatical worshippers of Superman have now begun to appear all over the country, and some people are even planning to build temples for him.

Superman-logo merchandise can be seen on the streets, with people scrambling to buy T-shirts, badges and posters with his portrait printed on them.

How ironic...these so-called symbols of civilization are nothing more than altars for the ignorant masses to worship false gods.

Although Superman's popularity has declined due to the hearing, most fools still feel that this damn uninvited guest is saving the world.

ridiculous.

They prostrated themselves at the feet of the alien in blue tights, thinking they had found a savior, but they didn't know that they were destroying the dignity of mankind with their own hands.

Luther's fingers suddenly paused, and he saw his pale and distorted reflection in the glass.

Those so-called psychiatrists always say that he suffers from delusions.

Ridiculous, really ridiculous.

When the whole world is madly worshipping an alien, who is the real lunatic?

"soon,"

He whispered softly, with a certain sick tenderness in his voice.

"You will soon learn that even gods bleed."

His palms were pressed against the cold glass, as if he wanted to hold the entire city in his palms. In his eyes, those lights had turned into phosphorescent flames in countless tombs.

"Doctor, how is the experiment going?"

In the laboratory, a group of scientists in white coats are busy operating various instruments.

Their faces were filled with excitement and anticipation, as if they were about to witness a miracle that would change the world.

"Mr. Luther," a middle-aged man wearing thick glasses walked up to him.

"According to the latest data analysis, Zod's body tissues have begun to show signs of activity with the help of Mr. Mysterious."

"Mr. Mysterious..."

Hearing the man's words, Luther's mind flashed to a mysterious English gentleman wearing a hat and holding a cane.

I hope the world won't be in chaos...

Then he showed a meaningful smile:

"Very good, show me."

Luther glanced away.

The brown culture fluid glowed with a sickly luster under the dim laboratory lights, and Zod's body was like a wooden statue, quietly suspended in it.

Something seemed to be wriggling beneath Zod's pale skin, like countless tiny snakes moving through his blood vessels, weaving horrific patterns beneath his dead texture.

Suddenly, there was a horrifying sound of cracking, and Zod's bones began to twist and protrude from under his skin, forming hideous spikes.

His spine expanded like a lava eruption, and each vertebra pierced the skin and formed a row of sharp bone blades on his back.

Flesh and blood squirmed and grew between the bone blades like boiling wax, covering the protruding bones and condensing into a hard shell on the surface.

The once heroic face was undergoing the most horrifying transformation. The eye sockets became sunken and then rapidly expanded, and the eyeballs melted and reshaped like boiling mercury, turning into two burning red flames.

The skull continued to grow, the frontal bone protruded outward, and turned into a sharp bone crown. The mandible broke and reorganized, and the teeth grew, broke, and grew again, eventually forming rows of fangs as sharp as knives.

His arms and legs twitched and twisted in the culture medium, his muscle tissue was torn and reorganized layer by layer, and his bones were reshaped like molten metal.

The most chilling thing is that this mutating body begins to emanate a strange vitality.

The culture fluid rippled, as if resonating with the primitive power awakening in the body.

Those protruding bone spurs and shells are no longer deathly gray, but have a metallic luster, like a piece of armor made for killing.

Luther looked at the hideous creature in the incubator, a twisted smile appearing on the corner of his mouth.

This creation, which he named "Doomsday", will allow the whole world to witness that even "God" can bleed and die.

"do you know?"

Luther said softly.

"If it weren't for the damn dismemberment protocol of the military, Zod would have been a perfect test subject."

He reached out and touched the glass surface of the incubator, his eyes filled with greed:

"But now... isn't this also an opportunity?"

Meanwhile, in Gotham City, the Batcave.

Bruce Wayne is standing in front of a holographic projection, studying the latest satellite imagery.

His face was filled with gloom, and the black bat costume made him look particularly solemn.

"System, retrieve the post-war casualty statistics for the metropolis." His voice was as cold as ice.

A series of shocking data immediately appeared on the holographic screen:

More than two thousand people died, thousands were injured, and direct economic losses amounted to $90 billion.

Bruce clenched his fists.

He thought of the phone call he received that morning -

His best friend was killed in the explosion. The sound of that phone call still rings in his ears.

"Master..."

Alfred's voice came from behind.

Bruce didn't look back:

"Tell me, what's the latest news?"

"Luther Luther has been frequently in and out of his private laboratory recently. According to informants, he is secretly carrying out some large-scale project."

Bruce's eyes narrowed.

"Continue surveillance."

"By the way, did Jonathan get through to Diana?"

"I can't get through, Master. I've called no less than three hundred times."

"Keep fighting."

Bruce narrowed his eyes and walked to the tactical equipment cabinet, taking out a special device -

This is an improved version of the armor that he spent three full months developing.

Compared with the previous version, the destructive power and defense of this black armor are increased tenfold.

"If Superman is really God..."

Bruce whispered to himself.

"Then let us be the one to break the altar."