John Adams son of a super villain.dc comic universe

Growing up, I always admired superheroes. Unfortunately, my father was a supervillain who was abusive to both me and my mother. When my mother finally left, I was left alone with my father, and his actions went unchecked due to his superhuman abilities. It was only when he faced off with superheroes in certain cities that he could be stopped. While government-run homes for kids weren't perfect, they were a welcome relief from my father's cruelty.

My resentment towards superheroes stemmed from my father's actions. One day, he tasked me with delivering a package to one of his associates. I had no knowledge of its contents, nor did I care. I followed his instructions, but suddenly, a much larger man tackled me with great ****, subjecting me to a chokehold. I blacked out from the lack of air. It's hard to describe the pain of being tackled by someone twice my size, and losing consciousness felt like facing ****. When I awoke, I found myself being charged for aiding my father, and I was just sixteen. About six months later, my father was apprehended, and I was released after he explained I was unaware of the package's contents. This marked the beginning of my disdain for superheroes.

A few months later, I was working part-time in a Metropolis bar, mostly doing cleaning work. On one occasion, I came across a group of college students assaulting a drunken woman. They were rowdy and unruly, with some of them even trying to strip the woman. I attempted to intervene, but amidst the chaos, it took me some time to reach her. By the time I did, someone had already called the police. In the commotion, I was pushed onto the woman. When the police arrived, I was found lying on top of her. I tried to explain, but then I received a sharp slap to the face. It was Lois Lane, the woman whose voice I'd come to recognize. The police officer, understanding the situation, was willing to let everyone off with a warning. However, Lois intervened, threatening the officer with headlines depicting him as aiding rapists, and we were all arrested. The next day, a photo showing me partially covering the woman made the front page, accompanied by feminist commentary on toxic masculinity. I was furious. It wasn't my fault; I wasn't like those other guys.

Though the charges were eventually dropped, I was enraged. I tried to take legal action against Lois, but she never mentioned my name, and the photo didn't clearly show my face. It focused more on the men around the woman, so the case didn't stick. But the damage was done. Most people assumed the worst of me. Frustrated, I confronted Lois, but things got heated. I attempted to strike her, but my first punch never reached her. Instead, it connected with the Man of Steel's chest, fracturing my wrist and sending me back to Juvenile Hall. I even celebrated my eighteenth birthday there. As much as I loathed it, my father, still incarcerated, made financial arrangements for me, recognizing that I'd struggle to find work. I reluctantly accepted. A few days later, I was released.

As I checked my phone, noticing a few months had passed without it, I discovered an app I didn't remember downloading. It read:

SUBMITION ACCELERATOR.