Super Puppy Attack!

Translated by 枫炀

This is an English Translation of Super Puppy Attack! written by Lacer, beta'd by AcesPippi.



Two years ago, mankind's cognition of the world was overturned by the hidden visitor from another planet.



Bruce Wayne could still recall the afternoon vividly: he got off a plane, opened the door to the car, sped through the turmoil within the streets, consequently breaking every traffic law. At last, he was forced to stop merely a block away from the Wayne building. Streets were flooded with some sort of fluffy, soft hair, which brought traffic to a complete standstill. Streams of moaning and groaning passengers were retreating from the section, grumbling furiously about their ruined day. 

He picked up a little girl who cheerfully regarded the disaster scene as a swimming pool, and looked over her shoulder to the Wayne building—The employees unable to wade through the obstructed emergency exits were all acclaiming the scene of bustle in front of glasses, utterly unaware of the danger they were trapped in. The alien machine had broken down and ceased to attack the Earth with infinite hairballs. However, it did not mean that the crisis was over…

He looked up at the battlefield in the midair. A downy butt suddenly came into his view.




Two years later

A gloomy Bruce was watching the news, which was, unsurprisingly, all about Superdog—an extraterrestrial being that had nothing whatsoever to do with canine species, despite being a fluffy, plump and four-legged creature that faintly resembled a Corgi hybrid with a better-than-nothing tail…Though no Corgi ever saved the world with a remarkable cape and a gigantic S round the neck.

The news spent one minute on the saving of reporter Lois Lane by Superdog in Africa, and then proceeded with a full five-minute video of Superdog rolling about on the grass.

…Humans are incurable.



“Alfred, the thing will one day threaten mankind.”

“Look me in the eye and say it again, Master Wayne.”

“…The craze, and ignorance, turn good men into...idiots.”

“Why, it can’t be questioned that people have been spending too much time on the social network accounts of Superdog.” Alfred worriedly pulled up Superdog’s newest Facebook post(it was flying off a tree with a cat between its teeth, which was awfully against the law of nature), and hearted it.

“I presume your prejudices won't bother it that much—Dogs generally hold bats in disfavour, after all.”

It’s not funny at all, Alfred.



Batman detested balls, especially charity balls, but he was tracking Lex Luthor. 

When Bruce Wayne walked into the hall, he was mildly surprised to find that the attention normally due solely to him from the press and socialites was paid, curiously, on something else in the corner. Among the masses producing giggling and strange noises, a small and adorable puppy was shivering behind the reporter, Lois Lane.

“I appreciate your attention, everyone, but very sorry, Clark is a bit shy,” she said, brushing them off in a gentle manner. Her eyes lit up at the moment she spotted Bruce Wayne, and it didn't take long before she stepped up to him. After exchanging insincere pleasantries for a while, Lane brought up quite a few sharp questions on Batman.

Bruce replied unmindfully, sizing up the Corgi behind Lane…it seemed like a hybrid, with a tie around its neck, attired in even more proper and formal fashion than its master with the exception of the slightly unkempt capilli.

“Clark is not my dog.” Lane explained considerately, “I am his…guardian. He’s cute. You can pet him.”

Cheerfully, Clark raised a front paw, put it down gingerly on top of Bruce’s leather shoes, and barked towards him.

“Sorry,” he rejected half-heartedly, “I don’t like dogs.”

He was shocked by the evidently crestfallen look on the puppy’s face.

…It must be a coincidence. No way could the dogs born and bred on Planet Earth understand English.

Lex Luthor did not occupy much of Batman’s time. The rich hypocrite could not tear himself away from Clark. Clark was undoubtedly intimidated. When Bruce was leaving on Alfred’s command, the scared puppy had already fled towards under the table.



As Bruce was through the kitchen, fully prepared to rejoin the cream of the society and begin hobnobbing, he spotted a ball of fur at the corner.

It was Clark.

“Come here, Clark. Are you lost?” The little thing regarded him warily. The shy and endearing aura it aired moments ago were completely lost on it now. Bruce couldn’t help but suspect it was still brooding because he hadn't pet it earlier…Come to think of it, its legs were even shorter than the stairs, weren’t them? No wonder it was stuck here.

He kneeled down, spreading his hands out gently, and waited for Clark to squirm to his feet inch by inch. He seized the opportunity to give it a head-to-tail stroke. It turned out that Batman’d got a way with animals: the huffing puppy soon surrendered to his tickling and purred in a satisfactory manner.

He held it in the arms and brought it back. A thoughtful expression was plastered on its face (Don’t ask how he knew it. He just knew). It stared at him for so long, that Bruce nearly failed to resist the temptation to start asking questions (now that would be silly)—but then it shook its fluffy ears, turned around, and went away.

Maybe it heard Lane calling.

Bruce stood amused, admiring the sight of a silk flower—the one he tied to its tail during petting—jiggling up and down with its movement. 

Later, he went back to retrieve the drive but failed miserably. A mysterious lady had beat him there and already taken hold of it.

A not-so-happy Batman was watching the news. Once again, Superdog was in action, routinely rescuing a little girl from a fire in Mexico. He threw absent-minded glances at the screen time and again. The alien creature was carrying a human being times larger than its own body on the back, probably with magic or alien technology or whatsoever, and was heading for the weeping mother from aloft.

The fire touched on it tail. Something burnt to ashes.

He wound back, paused, and caught sight of a familiar silk flower.



It turned out that Clark Kent, mascot of the Daily Planet, also owned a Facebook account.

Hits of its photos were not as high as Superdog's, with comments coming chiefly from the staff. The photographs were exceptionally low quality—Considering the photographers being professionals, it was, as a matter of fact, quite suspicious.

The minutiae of its daily life was pretty run-of-the-mill. It accompanied Lane to work wearing a little tie every day. It possessed a double-decked trolley with necessities on the upper and itself on the lower. Its jobs were simple: to eat, to play, to be petted by the staff, and to help pass the newspapers occasionally.

An ordinary, adorable pet.

And it was Superdog.

Bruce glared at the results submitted by the system. The two were identical.

“Well, it seems you are not the only man with a secret identity, Master Wayne…or are you?”

“…How could it even be possible that no one has found out they are the same dog?”

“Possibly in cause of the changed collars and different directions of hair?”

Seriously, Alfred?



Superdog was in headline again the next day. Its rescue mission had disturbed the local people’s lives in Africa, bringing upon them the damage equal to the cost of three chicken farms.

The International Superdog Fan Club paid for all the bills in record time, and moreover, they donated a batch of stationery to local poor children, all stamped with Superdog patterns.

The world is fraught with unreasonable crazies.

Batman decided to act.



The Batmobile was attacking the enemies with utterly non-fatal gunfire, tailing the truck carrying Luthor’s secret weapon tight. The tumbler swerved sharply—

Under its dazzling headlights, a dog stood firm in the way, red cape rustling behind its back.

Out of pure reflexes, Batman spun the wheel sharply aiming at the wall.

Sparks of crash flew off in all directions.

At the last second, the goddamned alien creature rushed over, standing absolutely still between him and the wall and withstood the Batmobile till all the engines shut down.

It was literally the Dog of Steel. Batman opened the door, his heart still fluttering with fear, and gazed at Superdog who was posing on the hood at a loss.

“Clark,” Superdog turned pale with horror, and Bruce continued, “do you bleed?”

Superdog shook its head.

“…or moult, then?”

Clark bristled, stamped a paw print on his face forcefully and launched into the sky without looking back.



At long last, Batman failed to get the piece of Kryptonite.

Be that as it may, he did figure out the effects and origins of Kryptonite, retrieve the files from that mysterious lady and generously share the cracked version with her through e-mail. There were more metahumans on earth than he could ever imagine. But thank God, at least they looked like...humans.

He arrived at Luthor’s parking apron at the last minute. The nutcase with a pointed chin was threatening a dog by brandishing a Kryptonite collar: “Be obedient. Wear this! And I will release your mother!”

Well, it should be “its Madam” in accurate conditions, shouldn’t it.

Batman knocked him down with a swift kick beyond endurance and move Superdog, who was then lying on the ground weakly, aside from the collar. 

“I will go save your…foster mother.”

Clark shook its tail and whined.

He wanted to comfort it a word more. Just a single word more. But clearly, Luthor had wreaked some greater hassle—The paw-shaped alien ship from Krypton split in two halves. A gigantic, four-legged creature, which was ugly beyond human’s farthest imaginations, heaved in sight and howled.

…Wait, it was the old enemy of Superdog two years ago, wasn’t it?

“Will all Kryptonian dogs turn into…”

In response to that question, Clark bit into his gloves infuriatingly.



The arduous, epic battle had come to an end.

Superdog, Batman, and tremendously helpful Wonder Woman stood on the ruins, exhausted, and basked in the enjoyment of surviving.

Clark whined, slumping onto the ground. It cried out as Bruce picked him up, which was a comfort, Bruce understood.

“He needs treatment,” he nodded at Wonder Woman.


The demigod strode by with a mysterious smile. She stroked Superdog’s back, where the fur, to some extent, had lost its glorious lustres.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a lifetime.”

Her lips quirked contentedly.



Bruce opened his eyes.

It was the same old Gotham morning, gray as ever, with mists on the windows. The house was dead indoors. On the outside, a dog flew over the grass and caught a frisbee.


“My beloved Master Wayne, you and your friend are both in fantastic conditions. Nothing more can I pray for.” Alfred sliced the bacon in two pieces light-heartedly. He then gave the bigger part to Superdog, which made Bruce shoot a glare at it. Clark winced, nudging the plate towards him reluctantly


Bruce coughed, in the condemning look of Alfred. “You deserved it. Serve yourself.”

The fluffy ears stood up cheerfully.

After a nice, long breakfast, they watched the morning news together. The news, of course, was about battle last night. A notice scrolled by on the bottom right, ‘Lost Dog’, which was from Lois Lane. 

With a thump, Superdog rolled down from Bruce’s lap to the ground.

“Are you leaving?”


“You should bring some Alfred’s cookies along. They are real tasty.”


It turned out Batmen disliked being licked on the face.

Even by Superdog.





The earth was still turning around as nothing had ever happened.

Proceedings were brought against Luthor,who was charged with illegal animal testing, animal abuse and etc. Wayne Enterprises seized the chance of a lifetime and robbed Lexcorp happily.

The lost and then found mascot of the Daily Planet received a thorough petting from the staff.

The Justice League Project was officially on the agenda—Proof by facts, communication was incredibly easy with Superdog along. Metahumans are incurable, similarly and unsurprisingly.

In a common afternoon, Bruce Wayne was enjoying every single moment of peace that rarely came to him. Out of the blue, a Kryptonian dog dropped by, fell into his lap and rolled over, urging him to tickle its tummy.

"You've gained weight, Clark."


"So how many meals had you already had, before the one you got every time you visited Gotham?"

So, it still stands.

No alien can be trusted, ever.





Lacer is an amazing writer! The stories she wrote in the series are hilarious, imaginative and sometimes so touching I almost cried while reading. If this one seems not good to you, you should blame my English, not the story itself.

Great Thanks to AcesPippi! She is the most helpful beta. She (and her equally helpful boyfriend) corrected tons of grammar mistakes, misuses of words and slangs, and also awkward language. However, as my English writing is practically fraught with mistakes, there might still be some hidden despite her great efforts. If you find any, you are welcome to point it out to me.

Thank you.

BTW, two more fics featuring Superdog are on the way.