Walmart – Smallville Branch
The fluorescent lights buzzed above as Steve pushed the rattling shopping cart past stacks of formula cans and diaper shelves. Beside him, Martha Kent eagerly recommended brands.
"So for babies under one year, you want to look at iron-fortified formulas. You also want DHA for brain development and—"
Martha handed him two large containers.
"These two are great. Clark never had a problem with them."
Steve smiled awkwardly and dropped them into the cart. Truthfully, he planned to raise Adam more "free-range," but that didn't sound great out loud—especially when talking to Superman's mom.
Adam and Clark Kent sat together in a double-seat stroller Martha had borrowed from the store. Unfortunately, the shared space quickly turned into a battlefield.
Adam, clearly the stronger of the two, elbowed Clark aside and—without warning—whacked him with a plastic T-Rex.
Clark let out a startled yelp.
But Martha, too focused on explaining formula pricing, didn't notice.
"Outer packaging matters for freshness, but don't be fooled by just that. Always check the ingredients."
Steve leaned down, quietly pried the T-Rex from Adam's hand, and hissed, "Stop it. That kid will grow up to throw you into the sun someday."
Adam blinked, completely unapologetic.
Finally, with two full carts, they headed toward the checkout line.
Martha pushed the stroller while Steve carried Adam in his arms.
Neither of them noticed the man stepping through the front entrance—until it was too late.
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Two minutes later
The doors swished open, and in walked a man wearing dark Ray-Ban sunglasses, a low V-neck shirt, and khaki cargo pants. His walk was too casual, too slow for someone shopping.
Then came the Glock.
Without hesitation, he raised it skyward and fired.
BANG!
The sound echoed through the supermarket like a thunderclap.
For a second, everything went silent.
Then—
Panic.
Screams. Chaos. People ducked, dropped their items, and began stampeding toward the exit.
Steve immediately turned, eyes scanning for Martha—and Clark.
A second gunshot rang out. Another man in a hoodie appeared near the dairy section and began shooting into the air.
The attackers weren't here to steal—they were here to terrorize.
Steve held Adam tightly as a wave of terrified customers rushed past. Bodies shoved him left and right. He ducked behind a display of canned corn, his mind racing.
He didn't have a weapon.
He didn't have a plan.
And worst of all, he was holding a superpowered baby that might start shooting lasers at the ceiling or laughing in the middle of a shootout.
Across the store, Martha ran, clutching Clark, trying to avoid fallen bodies. The air was thick with fear, and the floor slick with spilled milk, broken glass, and—
She nearly tripped over a man lying motionless in the frozen aisle.
Martha gagged.
Tears welled up as she shielded Clark's head against her chest.
Then she saw movement—another shooter.
Thin, with slick hair, sunglasses, and a twitchy right hand. His gun was already raised.
"BANG!"
A bullet shattered the top shelf near her head.
She screamed and ducked.
Then—a hand clamped over her mouth from behind.
She nearly bit it.
"Shhh—it's me!" Steve whispered.
She turned. He was holding Adam in one arm and had a barbecue fork in the other.
"Stay low," he whispered.
They crouched behind a shelf of cereal boxes. Neither baby made a sound.
Even Adam, who had the temperament of a caffeinated ferret, seemed to understand the stakes.
The gunman walked past their aisle, glancing left and right. For a moment, it seemed like they might stay hidden.
Then the man stopped.
He turned.
And raised his gun straight at Martha.
She froze.
Click.
THUNK.
The barbecue fork slammed into his neck before he could pull the trigger.
Steve had moved like a shadow. He slammed his shoulder into the man's chest as blood spurted from the wound like a faucet turned sideways.
The gunman collapsed in a heap, eyes wide.
Steve dropped beside him, panting, adrenaline surging.
"I just... I just murdered someone," he muttered to himself.
He didn't have time to process it.
"BANG!"
A bullet grazed his arm. Another shooter had spotted him reaching for the Glock on the floor.
Steve cursed, dived behind the shelf, and rolled toward Martha.
"Forget the fork," he said, clenching his teeth. "We've got bigger problems."
Martha was staring at him—mouth open.
"You… you killed that guy with a barbecue fork…"
"I mean, in my defense, he was trying to shoot you."
"I'm not complaining," she said breathlessly. "I'm just… holy hell."
Another bullet smashed through the aisle sign above them.
Adam wiggled out of Steve's arms and landed beside Clark.
Martha quickly grabbed him, shielding both babies with her arms.
Then—BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The remaining gunman unloaded into the aisle, shredding cereal boxes, flour bags, and cans.
"Patrick!" Martha shouted, using his cover name. "If I don't make it—please take Clark and run!"
Steve looked at her like she was insane. "No one's dying today. Not on my watch."
That's when he noticed it.
Adam's eyes—glowing red.
Laser eyes.
Like the kind that melted tanks in cartoons.
"Wait—YES! It's happening!"
He scooped up Adam again, ignoring the blood on the floor and the bullets overhead.
"Adam, buddy, now's your moment! Remember that candy trick? Multiply that by ten!"
Adam tilted his head.
Steve whispered into his ear, "Be angry. Someone broke your dinosaur."
He took the plastic T-Rex from Adam's hand... and twisted off its head.
Adam's pupils dilated.
His lip quivered.
His eyes began to glow crimson.
Steve held him up like Simba in The Lion King.
The gunman stopped firing. Confused by the sight of a man holding up a baby like a rocket launcher.
"Uh… what the—?"
"ZZZZZZZZZZ!"
Twin beams of laser energy shot from Adam's eyes, slicing through the air like hot knives through butter.
The gunman screamed as the laser cut him clean in half, mid-torso. His top half landed on a shelf of decorative snow globes.
They shattered on impact.
Red mist filled the air.
Steve lowered Adam slowly, still stunned.
Martha, meanwhile, stared in mute horror.
"I… I…"
She looked at Adam.
The baby yawned.
"I think your baby just committed his first felony," she whispered.
Steve, panting, covered in sweat, blood, and laser residue, just nodd
ed.
"He's a natural."
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