General Vic: a tyrannical and ambitious soldier, ruthless in his pursuit of power.
Dean Bori: the old man heading the research on Bardi, overseeing the underground base and holding the highest authority in studying his body.
Dr. Jenny: a cool and aloof biologist, with the detached demeanor of a scholar. Within the research hierarchy, she is second only to Dean Bori.
Willife: a blonde beauty with piercing blue eyes and an emotionless expression. She serves as General Vic's bodyguard and often stands silently behind him. To Bardi, she doesn't seem entirely human.
Colonel Slade: General Vic's trusted confidant, tasked with overseeing the security and defense of the underground base.
Over the past three months, Bardi had pieced together this information about his captors through their fragmented conversations.
Three long months.
At first, Bardi had raged against his captivity every time he regained consciousness. He would shout, struggle, and display visible frustration at being confined.
Some of it had been an act, but most of it was genuine.
The transition from fighting desperately to gradually resigning himself to his fate was deliberate. He played his role well, at first wildly resisting, then slipping into despair and finally showing a lifeless acceptance of his predicament.
It was a calculated performance.
Bardi knew that if he had remained too calm or defiant, it would have raised alarm bells among his captors. They might have taken extra precautions, increasing security tenfold. That would have made escape nearly impossible. For now, he needed them to believe they had broken him.
The room was stark white, with a single one-way glass panel embedded in the wall. Bardi knew that behind the glass, researchers in white coats were observing him at all times, analyzing his every move.
He hung from the steel wall in a spread-eagle position, his feet dangling above the ground. Heavy-duty shackles bound his wrists and ankles, leaving him no leverage to exert force. Gravity pulled him downward, the steel cuffs digging into his skin. His wrists and ankles were raw and bleeding from the friction caused by his earlier struggles.
Even with his incredible strength—enough to lift ten tons, he couldn't break free.
Bardi hung his head low, his eyes closed. He appeared utterly exhausted, as though the constant torment had drained every ounce of his will. In reality, he was deep in thought, ignoring the searing pain from his bleeding wrists as he tried to devise an escape plan.
This underground base, devoid of sunlight felt like a prison buried within the Earth itself. The limited information he had gleaned about his captors only fueled his frustration.
He had endured so much to reach Earth from Krypton, only to end up like this.
Bardi clenched his teeth, rage simmering beneath his defeated façade. He wasn't someone who would accept such a fate. He had ambitions, visions of conquering the world. He hadn't come to Earth to serve as a biological specimen or a piece of technology for others to study.
No.
He was meant to walk under the sun, feel the earth beneath his feet, hold the stars in his grasp, and wield power that could extinguish even the sun.
But right now, his situation was beyond dire.
Every day, they pumped him full of anesthesia strong enough to immobilize an elephant, followed by muscle relaxants that left his body sore and weak. After three months of this relentless regimen, his once-powerful physique, honed to perfection with explosive muscle and only 5% body fat, had deteriorated into a state of vulnerability.
The Kryptonian physique was formidable, but it required sunlight to activate its full potential. Without it, he was just a shadow of his true self.
The sun.
If he could only bask in its rays, his Kryptonian genes would awaken, enabling him to absorb solar energy. It wouldn't instantly transform him into an unstoppable force like Zod or Faora in the movies, but it would trigger his evolution. His senses—sight, smell, hearing—would sharpen. His reflexes and cognitive speed would accelerate, and his cells would radiate vitality.
Even though he was just a low-grade warrior, a genetic template designed for cannon fodder, and perhaps even incomplete by Kryptonian standards, the core of his Kryptonian physiology remained intact. With sunlight, he could grow stronger, inch by inch.
But that dream seemed impossibly far away.
'What can I use?'
Bardi lowered his head, pretending to be too exhausted to care, as his mind raced.
He couldn't wait for some miraculous accident in the lab to free him. This wasn't a movie where an unexpected explosion or a sudden failure in the base's security systems would give him the chance to escape.
Luck wasn't something he believed in.
If luck existed, his spaceship wouldn't have malfunctioned, and he wouldn't have been knocked unconscious in the crash. If he had been awake when he landed, he could have fought back, using his incredible strength and combat training to escape capture. Instead, his bad luck had landed him here, shackled and helpless.
No, he couldn't rely on luck.
He needed a plan, one that relied entirely on his own efforts, even if it meant betrayal, deception, or manipulation.
'General Vic, Dean Bori, Dr. Jenny, Willife, Colonel Slade…'
Bardi repeated their names in his mind, analyzing each of them. He focused all his mental energy, aided by the meditative techniques he had learned from the Kryptonian Meditation Union. These exercises helped him concentrate, keeping his thoughts sharp despite the haze of pain and exhaustion.
Vic was out of the question. The general's ambition was clear, and he would never let go of the opportunity to exploit Bardi. To Vic, Bardi was a treasure trove of power and knowledge, a stepping stone to greater things.
Willife was equally untouchable. She followed Vic's orders with robotic precision, showing no signs of independent thought or emotion. She was an enigma, and Bardi couldn't risk relying on her.
Colonel Slade was more complex. The name felt familiar, stirring a vague memory. Deathstroke, wasn't he also named Slade Wilson? But whether this Slade was the same person or not didn't matter. As a loyal soldier and confidant of Vic, he was unlikely to help a prisoner.
Bardi turned his thoughts to Dean Bori. The old man was cunning and shrewd, a slippery manipulator. Offering him biological knowledge in exchange for freedom would only result in Bardi being permanently imprisoned, his mind picked clean for every scrap of information.
That left Dr. Jenny.
Bardi's half-lidded eyes flicked toward the floor, his hair casting a shadow over his face as he feigned despair.
Dr. Jenny was young—25 or 26 at most. Despite her age, she had risen to become the second-most authoritative figure in the research institute, just beneath Dean Bori. She was brilliant, clearly, but her youth made her stand out among her older, more jaded colleagues.
Bardi saw a potential flaw in her.
Someone who had achieved so much so quickly was bound to be driven. If he could exploit that ambition or find cracks in her icy demeanor, he might have a chance.
She was his best hope.
Bardi's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, hidden by the shadow of his hair.
If he played his cards right, Dr. Jenny might be the key to seeing the sun again.
'I just hope her emotional intelligence isn't too high,' he thought grimly.