Chapter 3
Nevada, the town of Stonetown.
The town of Stonetown was as ordinary as they come, indistinguishable from countless others. It had no remarkable architecture, no scenic vistas, and no historical landmarks worth mentioning.
In the distance, however, stood the giant sequoia forest—a rare and striking feature.
Giant sequoias are the thickest trees in existence, some even growing to over 110 meters tall. While the ones in this forest weren't quite as towering, many reached heights of 60 to 70 meters, standing like ancient sentinels among the other trees.
Most of the homes in Stonetown were constructed from the wood of these sequoias, their strength a point of local pride. Logging had always been a part of the town's rhythm, a tradition that never really waned. Whenever someone needed firewood, a new fence, or reinforcements for their home, groups of middle-aged men would head out to fell trees together.
The sight of these men cutting down a massive, 60-meter tree—trunks so large they required four or five people to encircle them was almost theatrical. The thunderous crash as the giant fell, the spray of dirt from the impact, and the trembling ground beneath their feet filled them with pride.
What they didn't realize, however, was that giant sequoia wood, while resistant to decay, was brittle and prone to cracking, making it less than ideal for construction.
From his window, Mike watched as sawn timber was hauled past his house. He silently scoffed at what he saw as the ignorance of these country folk. Even though his own house had been built with their help, it didn't stop him from looking down on them in private.
Of course, what Mike didn't understand was that the locals often crushed sequoia wood into pulp, using it to create stronger, decay-resistant materials.
When the last of the wood passed his door, Mike stepped outside, breathing a sigh of relief.
He found the townsfolk's enthusiasm for logging tiresome. Whenever they ran into him, they'd invariably say things like, "Mike's grown up so well," or, "Mike's got such a bright future." Their praise was inevitably followed by suggestions like, "Mike, you should write a story about small-town life. There's warmth in simplicity."
Mike didn't want to greet them, let alone entertain their naïve notions about his profession. To him, there was nothing worth writing about in this uneventful little town.
If not for the holidays, and the obligation to visit his family, Mike would never have set foot in Stonetown again. The place had no news value.
In his mind, he belonged in National City, interviewing high-profile business magnates, celebrity musicians, or writing profiles on Pulitzer Prize winners. He had graduated from National City University and joined the National Daily Newspapers as a full-time journalist. He was a rising star in his field, and he clung tightly to his aspirations for success.
One day, he thought, he would be there. He would be one of the greats.
And it seemed, perhaps, that the universe agreed.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, twilight gave way to darkness, and stars began to shimmer in the vast sky.
Then, a streak of light blazed across the heavens.
"A meteor?" Mike muttered, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black sweatshirt. He tilted his head back to watch the fiery streak, noting how close it seemed. The object's outline, though faint, was visible, surrounded by a red-hot glow as it tore through the atmosphere.
Suddenly, the "meteor" erupted in an explosion that shook the air around him. Mike staggered back, startled by the deafening sound. His heart pounded as a plume of thick black smoke trailed from the object, which hurtled toward the forest on the town's outskirts.
His wide eyes followed its descent. The fiery projectile crashed into the sequoia forest, splintering trees as it struck the ground. The impact was so fierce that Mike imagined the reverberation down to his teeth.
The explosion woke the sleeping town.
"It's a meteor!" someone shouted.
"It hit the sequoia forest!"
"Call the fire department! Notify the police!"
"Tell everyone in town to prepare for an evacuation, there might be a wildfire!"
Experienced voices rang out, shouting orders as the townsfolk poured into the streets. The threat of a fire spreading from the forest to their wooden homes was enough to send everyone into action.
Although sequoias are naturally resistant to flames, the plants and debris surrounding them often served as kindling, turning small sparks into raging infernos.
The rising smoke set the town on edge.
But Mike stood frozen, his gaze fixed on the plume rising from the forest.
That wasn't a meteor. He was certain of it.
His instincts as a budding journalist told him this was something new, something monumental.
The Pulitzer Prize was calling to him.
Mike's body tingled with excitement, his skin breaking out in goosebumps. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he spun on his heel, running back toward his house. He ignored the crowd preparing to evacuate and the man who shouted for him to help alert others.
The smoke wasn't from burning vegetation. It was thick, mechanical, the byproduct of some kind of explosion.
Bursting through his front door, Mike dashed to his room, panting. He grabbed his beloved Pentax K1000 camera from the closet, quickly loaded it with film, and slung it around his neck. Without so much as a goodbye to his parents, he flew down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and wheeled his mountain bike out of the garage.
Ignoring the burning in his legs, Mike pedaled furiously toward the forest, the town fading behind him. His breath came in heavy gasps, his face flushed with exhilaration.
The closer he got, the more certain he became. There was no wildfire, the smoke was from an explosion, just as he'd thought.
Reaching the forest's edge, Mike abandoned his bike on a steep hill. Fueled by adrenaline, he clambered up the slope on all fours, ignoring the scrapes and bruises forming on his hands and knees. His muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed on, his excitement an unstoppable force.
Finally, he broke through the treeline.
His breath hitched.
The crash site was everything he'd hoped for and more.
Massive gashes marred the trunks of nearby sequoias, their bark peeled back to expose the pale wood beneath. At the center of the devastation, billowing thick black smoke, was a white spaceship.
The vessel's design was sleek, futuristic, almost otherworldly in its elegance. But it was heavily damaged, half of its hull charred and sparking faintly.
Leaning against the wreckage was a man, unconscious. His features gave him an arresting, almost ethereal appearance, while the deep scar on his left cheek lent him a cold, unyielding air.
Stepping closer, Mike instinctively moved to help the man. But the thick smoke drove him back, and he coughed violently, tears streaming from his eyes.
Then his fingers brushed against the camera hanging from his neck, snapping him back to reality.
"Who cares about saving him? Get the shot first," he muttered to himself.
Mike raised the camera, pressing it to his eye. The sound of the shutter and the whir of the film advancing sent a thrill through him. Each click of the camera brought him closer to his dreams of winning the Pulitzer.
By the time the roll of film was used up, Mike was grinning ear to ear, licking his dry lips in satisfaction.
Only then did he remember the man.
As the smoke began to thin, Mike edged closer to the ship. He fanned the lingering fumes away with his hands and tried to pull the man free.
"He's… so heavy," Mike muttered, straining.
It wasn't that the man was stuck. His body was unnaturally dense, as if he were made of solid iron.
Mike's breath caught as the realization hit him.
"This isn't human… He's not from Earth."
Before he could process the thought further, movement stirred in the shadows of the forest.
Dark figures emerged silently, surrounding the crash site.
Mike froze.
From the group stepped a tall, imposing man in a military colonel's uniform.
Relief flooded Mike. "Soldiers!" he exclaimed. "Thank God! Help me—he's too heavy, and I'm telling you, he's not human—"
Before Mike could finish, the man in uniform, Colonel Slade, moved.
In an instant, he closed the distance between them. His right hand blurred, striking Mike in the throat with pinpoint precision.
Mike crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Chapter 4
General Vic emerged from the shadows of the giant sequoia forest, his figure illuminated by pale moonlight as he approached the alien spacecraft. The black smoke rising from the crash was gradually dissipating, while sporadic sparks flickered faintly on the damp, green leaves. Despite the potential for disaster, there had been no secondary explosions or forest fires.
Vic's sharp eyes gleamed with ambition, his hooked nose casting a shadow over his thin, angular face. Though not physically imposing, his presence carried the weight of someone accustomed to power.
Standing nearby, Slade nodded to signal that the area was secure. Vic's gaze swept over the wreckage, lingering on the unconscious alien. He raised his hand slightly, gesturing for Slade to move closer and investigate.
Slade approached the figure, now visible in the fading firelight. As he took in the alien's face—its sharp, symmetrical features, broad forehead, and prominent scar, an unsettling feeling stirred in him.
Something about this man didn't sit right. His scarred face and cold expression carried an air of danger, reminding Slade of the elite warriors he'd fought alongside in countless battles.
'He might be a soldier too,' Slade thought grimly.
Kneeling beside the alien, Slade gripped his arm, intending to lift him from the wreckage. The moment his fingers tightened around the man's limb, Slade's expression shifted. The alien's arm was unnaturally solid, as if forged from steel.
Slade adjusted his stance and heaved with both arms, his muscles straining. Veins bulged along his forearms, and a sheen of sweat formed on his brow as the alien moved only slightly under his efforts.
"He's… heavy," Slade muttered through gritted teeth, finally managing to pull the alien free with a loud shout of effort.
Exhaling sharply, he laid the man on the ground and straightened, reporting to Vic.
"General, he's definitely not human. His weight is around 400 kilograms."
The soldiers nearby exchanged startled glances. The alien, who appeared to be roughly the same size as Slade, was impossibly dense. It was as though his body were made of pure steel, with blood that flowed like molten iron.
Vic's ambitious gaze sharpened. The unusual nature of this alien was better than anything he could have hoped for. He barely bothered to hide the wild gleam in his eyes.
"Good," he said curtly. He gestured toward the soldiers with a wave of his hand. "Take him with us."
The other figure accompanying him, a female colonel with blonde hair and striking blue eyes, stepped forward. Her features were cold, almost doll-like, as she carried out her orders without a word.
Without hesitation, she bent down, sliding her arms beneath the alien's knees and around his back, preparing to lift him in a princess carry.
Slade's head snapped toward her, disbelief written across his face.
"What are you—" he started, but stopped short.
There was no way a woman could lift 400 kilograms. Even for him, a man at peak physical condition, hauling the alien had been a grueling task. Yet here she was, calmly attempting something impossible.
Slade clenched his jaw. He knew little about Colonel Willief, despite working alongside her for some time. She had appeared abruptly at the end of the Vietnam War, swiftly becoming one of Vic's most trusted subordinates. Silent and unapproachable, she ignored any attempts at conversation.
Now, watching her with growing unease, Slade began to question everything he thought he knew.
Willief straightened her back and, with surprising ease, lifted the alien off the ground. The soil beneath her boots compacted under the strain, yet her expression remained cold and impassive as she carried the man toward Vic.
Slade's jaw slackened. The scene unfolding before him was incomprehensible.
She carried the alien as if his weight was nothing, her steps steady and deliberate. To achieve such a feat, she would need strength far beyond human limits, closer to 1,000 kilograms of force, at the very least.
Slade felt his understanding of the world fracture. The colleague he'd dismissed as lifeless and detached was clearly something far more extraordinary, possibly even monstrous.
For a moment, he couldn't decide what shocked him more: the alien or Willief.
Vic's voice snapped him from his thoughts.
"Slade, take care of the wreckage. Transport it to the underground base, then report to me once everything is secure."
Slade nodded stiffly, setting aside his confusion for the time being. He instructed the team to secure the crash site, watching as they hauled the damaged spaceship piece by piece onto transport vehicles.
As for Mike's camera, Slade hesitated for a moment before smashing it under his boot. However, he discreetly pocketed the film, unsure why he chose to keep it.
By the time the cleanup was complete, Slade descended to the underground base, an ultra-secure facility buried deep below the surface, accessible only to a select few.
The laboratory was cold and sterile, its steel walls glinting under harsh fluorescent lights. Inside, a 40-square-meter observation chamber sat behind reinforced, one-way tempered glass.
The alien was bound to the wall in a cruciform position, his wrists and ankles shackled with high-grade steel restraints. The scene resembled something out of a science fiction movie.
Vic stood before the glass, his attention fixed on the alien. Slade entered the room, but Vic raised a hand to silence him.
An elderly scientist, Dean Bori, was delivering his findings. Despite his age, Bori's eyes sparkled with youthful energy as he spoke, his excitement palpable.
"It's incredible," Bori began. "Our attempts to draw blood initially failed. Standard needles couldn't pierce his skin, they bent on impact. We had to use reinforced steel needles to extract a sample."
He gestured toward a clipboard filled with data.
"We conducted a preliminary analysis of his physiology—muscle density, bone strength, cellular activity, and heart function."
Bori adjusted his glasses, his voice trembling with awe.
"Our conclusion is this: the gravity index on his home planet must be at least ten times that of Earth."
Vic's expression darkened as he processed the implications.
"How strong does that make him?" he asked.
Bori hesitated, then answered, "Under Earth's gravity, his strength would be extraordinary. Based on our calculations, he could easily exert 10,000 kilograms of force, roughly ten tons."
Vic and Slade exchanged stunned glances.
"That's ten times stronger than Willief," Bori added, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Slade's mind reeled. Ten tons. The alien was effectively a human-shaped weapon, capable of devastating anything in his path.
Vic's shock quickly gave way to cold ambition. The possibilities were endless.
"This changes everything," Vic murmured. "A force like this could reshape warfare as we know it."
The thought of mass-producing super-soldiers capable of wielding such strength filled him with exhilaration.
…
Seventeen hours later.
Bardi felt like he was burning with fever. His body ached, his limbs felt heavy, and even opening his eyes required effort.
When he finally managed it, the harsh white light around him made him wince. He glanced at his reflection in the one-way glass, his mind racing.
He was restrained, bound in shackles.
His heart sank as the reality of his situation set in.
Captured. Studied by humans.
This was the worst possible start.
Chapter 5
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.
Chapter 6
Everything was unfolding just as Bardi had anticipated. The underground research base had reached an impasse in its studies.
Without his guidance, the scientists were floundering. The technology aboard the Kryptonian spaceship was so far beyond anything available in 1980 that they had no idea where to begin.
This was a world where personal computers like the IBM 5150 had only just been introduced in 1981. In 1984, the Motorola DynaTAC 8000X—the first mobile phone—was an unwieldy, bulky contraption. Windows wouldn't even exist until 1985.
Even the research base, with its advanced military-grade technology, couldn't make sense of a spacecraft capable of interstellar travel. The damage to the ship had only made things worse, leaving them with little to work with.
This was why General Vic had shifted his focus. He left the spacecraft's mysteries to Area 51, where other experts were working on technological advancements. Meanwhile, at this underground facility, he instructed Bori to study the alien himself, to uncover the secrets hidden in Bardi's genes.
After all, biological enhancements could make Vic stronger.
Of course, Vic hadn't abandoned the spaceship entirely. He intended to pursue both avenues, hoping for unexpected breakthroughs along the way.
But if someone knowledgeable about Kryptonian technology were to guide them, someone who could reveal future applications and explain the basics, their research would advance at an exponential rate.
Bardi was well aware of this. He knew exactly why he was being kept alive.
And so, the real performance began.
As long as he had contact with others, there would be opportunities. All he needed was patience.
Now, after months of waiting, an opportunity had finally appeared.
In the fourth month of Bardi's imprisonment, the research base selected a middle-aged woman to teach him English. She was a teacher with a qualification certificate, chosen specifically to help bridge the language barrier.
The scientists wanted Bardi to learn English so they could communicate with him, hoping to extract valuable knowledge.
But Bardi gave her nothing.
Whenever the woman came to teach, he kept his head down, his eyes dull and lifeless. He refused to engage, ignored her lessons, and acted as though he couldn't care less about communication. His performance left the old Bori visibly frustrated.
Bardi knew exactly what he was doing.
The teacher they had chosen—a middle-aged woman with thick calves, a stable career, a husband, and children—was of no use to him. Her life was secure and predictable; she had no reason to take risks or act impulsively.
What Bardi needed was someone who could sympathize with his carefully crafted persona, someone who could be swayed by his words, and perhaps even fall for him.
Although he wasn't a prince, he could play the part. He could weave a tragic tale and craft lies as easily as breathing.
But not with this woman. She wasn't the type to be manipulated.
He needed someone young, someone emotional, someone who could be ensnared by his story. If this woman had been twenty years younger, perhaps he could have used her. But as she was now? Useless.
Bardi had already constructed the perfect plan in his mind. He knew the words to say and the emotions to evoke. His target was clear: Dr. Jenny, the twenty-five-year-old biologist with a sharp intellect and a reserved demeanor.
He endured the middle-aged teacher's lessons for a month, biding his time. And finally, his patience paid off.
At the beginning of the fifth month, Bardi's target appeared.
Dr. Jenny replaced the researcher who administered his daily injections of muscle relaxants.
"Wendy, Bori wants you to start teaching him scientific terminology," Dr. Jenny said as she removed the needle from Bardi's arm. A small red dot marked where the needle had pierced his skin. It had taken effort to penetrate his dense muscle. Jenny placed the used needle on a tray, her face calm and composed.
Wendy, the middle-aged teacher, sighed, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat. "Bori! That old man keeps dumping his problems on me. I haven't taught students in twenty years, and now he wants me to teach an alien? He just sits in his lab while I get stuck dealing with this brick wall of a student."
She paused mid-complaint, her eyes widening in disbelief.
For the first time, Bardi raised his head.
The moment Jenny spoke, he lifted his heavy gaze, his dark eyes meeting hers. His expression carried a whirlwind of emotions—surprise, grief, sorrow, and a glimmer of hope. His pupils seemed to hold a story too deep to express in words, as though seeing her had awakened something long-buried within him.
It was a masterful performance.
Even the Oscars wouldn't have been worthy of him.
Jenny froze, caught in the intensity of his gaze. For several seconds, she was utterly still, as if those dark eyes had reached into her very soul.
"Jenny, did the alien just fall in love with you at first sight?" Wendy teased, breaking the silence.
Her tone was light, but she was genuinely surprised. After spending over a month teaching Bardi, she had never seen him react to anything—or anyone. Yet here he was, transfixed by Jenny after hearing her speak a single sentence.
"Middle-aged women just don't have the same appeal as young girls, huh? Even aliens can't resist," Wendy joked.
Jenny rolled her eyes but didn't reply. She seemed flustered, though she quickly masked it. She and Wendy were clearly on good terms, but even friendly teasing couldn't quite shake the strange moment that had just passed.
Wendy eventually left, still chuckling at her own remarks, while Bardi lowered his head again. His expression shifted to one of quiet sorrow, adding a layer of melancholy to the sterile white room.
Wendy threw him a curious glance before resuming her lessons. But no matter what she said, Bardi remained unresponsive.
Her annoyance grew. "Oh, sure, ignore me, but you'll stare at the young doctor like she's the only person in the world. Back in my day, I was quite the looker too, you know!"
Bardi's indifference only irritated her further.
"Well, Mr. Alien, how about this? You learn English with me, and I'll help you woo Jenny. How does that sound?" Wendy said sarcastically, her tone lightening as she teased him.
"She's a D, you know."
Bardi resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't care about Jenny's looks, nor did it matter if she was a "D" or an "E." All he cared about was using her to escape.
For now, he could only hope her emotional intelligence was low enough to fall for his act.
Wendy eventually realized that Bardi couldn't understand a word she was saying. She muttered something under her breath about how Bori always stuck her with the worst tasks, then continued her one-sided lesson.
Chapter 7
Several days passed, and the monotony of the underground research continued. Wendy, the middle-aged woman tasked with teaching Bardi English, persisted in her futile attempts. She would hold up cards with English letters, shaking them in front of his face, her slightly raspy voice droning as she read them aloud.
Both Wendy and Bardi were growing increasingly frustrated.
Bardi understood why they were pushing so hard for him to learn English. They wanted him to explain the operations of the damaged spacecraft, to unlock the knowledge stored in his mind. Their eagerness betrayed their desperation, they were hopelessly out of their depth. The technology of the Kryptonian spacecraft was far beyond what their primitive systems could comprehend, and they were now turning to him for answers.
Being treated as a prisoner, while also expected to share his knowledge, ignited a deep fury within him.
One day, he swore silently, I'll be free. And when that day comes, everyone in this base will die.
But for now, he buried that fire deep within himself. He relied on the meditation techniques he had learned on Krypton, forcing his emotions into submission.
He couldn't afford to show any signs of anger or resistance. If they suspected he could communicate with anyone other than Jenny, it would ruin his plan to make her uniquely important. The connection he was trying to establish with her would fade, and she would lose interest.
In matters of persuasion—whether love or manipulation—Bardi knew the golden rule: showing too much interest, caring too deeply, was the fastest way to fail.
He had learned this lesson in his previous life and perfected it in this one.
Still, as days turned into more than a week, Bardi grew uneasy. Jenny hadn't appeared since their brief encounter. He began to question whether his initial performance had been effective.
Perhaps she wasn't as emotional as he had hoped. Maybe her position as the second-highest authority in the base meant she relied more on logic than emotion. Bardi couldn't rule out the possibility that his calculated display had failed to leave an impression.
He thought carefully, dissecting every detail of their last meeting. He analyzed what had gone wrong and considered how to refine his approach if given another chance.
Bardi hated failure, but he was pragmatic. If one method didn't work, he would pivot to another.
Finally, after more than seven days, Jenny returned to the white room.
She stepped inside, her heels clicking against the floor with a crisp da-da-da. As before, she carried a tray with a syringe containing his daily dose of "muscle relaxants."
The injection served a dual purpose: it eased the tension in his muscles for cellular analysis, while also keeping him weak and compliant. Kryptonian genes, even without exposure to sunlight, gave him an extraordinary capacity for recovery, so the researchers used the relaxants to ensure they could continue their experiments without interference.
Jenny was tall and graceful, her demeanor cool and detached. She glanced briefly at Bardi before turning her attention to the syringe.
Despite her reserved nature, Bardi noticed a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, an echo of their previous encounter.
Since the last time he had looked at her, with all the emotion he could summon, she had felt a subtle unease. Something about the alien's reaction to her voice lingered in her mind. His response had been so visceral, so human.
For someone like Jenny, who lived and breathed the study of biology, it was hard to ignore. What kind of experiences had shaped this alien? What memories were tied to her voice?
Men with untold stories often fascinated women, and Jenny was no exception.
Bardi kept his head bowed as she approached, his heart steady despite the faint stirrings of anticipation. He couldn't allow himself to look up yet; his reactions had to be precise and controlled.
After briefly greeting Wendy, Jenny prepared the injection. The moment Bardi heard her voice, his body stiffened, as though struck by an involuntary memory. Slowly, he raised his head, his dark eyes meeting hers.
In that instant, he let every emotion he could muster pour into his gaze—love, sorrow, longing, and regret. It was as though her voice had brought back a flood of memories, each one tinged with pain and sadness. His eyes carried the weight of someone who had mistaken her for a lost lover, only to realize she wasn't who he hoped she would be.
Jenny froze, caught off guard by the intensity of his expression. For a moment, she felt as though his sorrow was being communicated directly to her heart.
Wendy's voice broke the spell. "Jenny, are you okay?"
Startled, Jenny blinked and tore her gaze away. She fumbled slightly as she administered the injection, her hands trembling just enough to make her grip unsteady.
Afterward, she placed the syringe on the tray and stood still for a moment, her mind racing. What kind of past could evoke such raw emotion?
As she turned to leave, Bardi's voice cut through the air.
"Can I hear more of your voice?"
He spoke in Kryptonian, his deep, resonant tone laced with an otherworldly quality. Neither Jenny nor Wendy could understand his words, but the mysterious cadence sent a shiver down their spines.
The sentence was clearly directed at Jenny, and it struck her like a whisper carried on the wind, impossible to ignore.
Wendy looked at him with wide-eyed curiosity, more intrigued by the discovery that he could speak than by the content of his words. "He can talk!" she exclaimed. "We've been going about this all wrong. This alien actually has a voice!"
But Bardi didn't acknowledge her. His expression shifted into one of deep sadness, as though Jenny's presence reminded him of something irretrievably lost. He lowered his head, his entire demeanor radiating disappointment.
For any normal woman, the combination of his excellent appearance, emotional depth, and obvious sorrow would spark a sense of intrigue. Questions would arise, along with the desire to uncover his story.
Jenny wasn't immune to the effect. She left the room with a faintly dazed expression, her thoughts swirling.
As the door closed behind her, Bardi maintained his somber act, though his mind was racing with analysis. If this approach failed, he would need to pivot—perhaps offer the scientists technical assistance in exchange for small freedoms. His ultimate goal remained the same: to get out of this facility and into the sun.
He had to keep them unaware of how sunlight could transform him. As long as they focused on his knowledge rather than his potential strength, the situation could still be salvaged.
When Jenny reported to Bori, the old man's eyes gleamed with excitement as he gazed through the one-way glass at Bardi's slumped figure.
"Jenny, starting tomorrow, you'll take over teaching the alien English," Bori said, his tone resolute. "From what I've observed, he reacts only to you. Your voice reminds him of something—or someone—familiar. Through you, we can unlock his past, his culture, and perhaps even his technology."
Jenny hesitated, conflicted by the idea of manipulating someone so… soulful.
Chapter 8
The next day, when Bardi saw Jenny step in to replace Wendy as his English instructor, he knew he was inching closer to freedom. Inside, he smirked coldly.
Even in confinement, the hearts of people were easy to manipulate.
As long as human desires existed—ambition, curiosity, attachment—no prison, no matter how advanced, could truly hold him.
They craved the alien technology aboard his ship. Bardi had no doubt that their ultimate goal was to extract every fragment of knowledge from him. They were desperate, trapped in a technological bottleneck, and he would use their desperation against them.
He would feed them breadcrumbs, small pieces of knowledge, just enough to keep them hopeful but never enough to make them independent of him. He wanted them to cling to him, to depend on him for every step forward in their pursuit of advanced technology.
At first, Jenny treated her teaching sessions with the same detached professionalism Wendy had shown. She brought in cards with English words and phrases, holding them up for him to see while reading them aloud in her cool, emotionless tone.
But unlike Wendy, Jenny quickly noticed something different about her alien pupil.
Every time she spoke, Bardi would respond, not with words, but with subtle changes in his expression. His eyes would soften, glimmering with emotions like gentleness, grief, or wistful nostalgia.
Of course, it was all an act.
But it was a masterful one. Bardi's expressions drew from genuine experiences—his past loves, his betrayals, his regrets. These memories were like tools in his arsenal, enabling him to construct a performance so convincing that it seemed to touch Jenny's very soul.
Initially, she maintained her cold demeanor. But as the days passed, her curiosity grew. What were these emotions she was witnessing? What had this alien experienced to evoke such depth of feeling?
Jenny had spent her life immersed in science. Since childhood, she'd been fascinated by biology, devoting herself entirely to the study of Earth's most extraordinary creatures. Her single-minded passion had carried her through high school, college, and beyond, but it had also left her isolated. She had never experienced romance, earning her the teasing nickname of "The Virgin Doctor" among her university peers.
Now, faced with Bardi, Jenny felt herself drawn in. She had never encountered anything—or anyone—like him before. He was a puzzle, one that seemed to promise endless discovery, not just scientifically but emotionally.
What she didn't realize was that Bardi had constructed this entire narrative for her benefit. He had crafted every look, every gesture, every moment of supposed vulnerability to weave a web that would ensnare her.
Through the one-way glass, Bori observed the interactions with growing satisfaction. Standing beside him, Slade watched silently, his expression hard.
Bori, wearing his usual white lab coat, smiled faintly as he observed Jenny and Bardi. "She's making excellent progress," he remarked. "The alien is finally cooperating. In another month or two, he'll know enough English for us to communicate directly."
Slade, however, wasn't as optimistic. His sharp instincts, honed through countless battles, told him something was off. Bardi's expressions, his reactions—they felt too deliberate, too controlled.
"He's dangerous," Slade said bluntly, his gaze fixed on the alien.
Bori chuckled. "Of course he's dangerous. That's why we have you, Colonel. We trust you to keep the situation under control."
Slade's jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He continued to watch as Jenny's lessons unfolded, noting the subtle changes in her demeanor.
Jenny, who had always been reserved and distant with her colleagues, was now visibly engaged. She smiled faintly when Bardi responded to her lessons and seemed genuinely pleased when he mimicked a word correctly. Her interactions with the alien were far warmer than Slade was comfortable with.
"She's too attached," Slade muttered under his breath.
Bori shrugged. "Attachment is a tool. If it fosters cooperation, why not use it? It serves multiple purposes."
Slade's eyes narrowed as he glanced at the old scientist. "And if things go wrong? What then?"
Bori's smile didn't falter. "That's why we have protocols, Colonel. Nothing will go wrong as long as everyone does their job."
Slade didn't respond, but a flicker of unease settled in his chest.
Meanwhile, Bardi's plan was proceeding perfectly. Over the course of their interactions, Jenny began to open up, sharing small details about her life, her work, and even the base itself.
From her, Bardi learned about the semi-functional magnetic field devices salvaged from his ship, as well as the progress—or lack thereof—in their genetic research. He pieced together the timeline, confirming that it was 1980, just a few years before Superman would arrive on Earth.
But unlike Superman, Bardi had no intention of being a hero.
He cultivated a careful image for Jenny, presenting himself as someone who longed for a peaceful life, a man who dreamed of walking under the moonlight, holding hands, and basking in the sun. He hinted that he was willing to share knowledge with the base, but only if it meant gaining greater freedom.
Jenny, swayed by his words and emotions, brought this information to Bori. The scientist was elated.
"Finally!" Bori exclaimed. "The alien is cooperating. We'll gain more from him than we ever imagined."
But not everyone shared his enthusiasm.
Nine months into his imprisonment, Jenny rushed into the white room with tears in her eyes. She looked distraught, her high heels clicking loudly against the floor as she approached Bardi.
"Bardi…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
He watched her carefully, his expression calm but his mind racing. Her presence, her tone, it all felt wrong. Something had changed.
Jenny gripped his hand tightly, her slender fingers trembling. She leaned against his shoulder, her voice hoarse with emotion.
"I won't let them treat you like this," she said, tears streaming down her face. "I'll protect you. I promise."
Her tears soaked into his thin, white clothing, cold against his skin.
Bardi's heart sank. Something was very wrong.
"What happened, Jenny?" he asked softly, his tone laced with feigned concern.
Jenny sobbed quietly before gritting her teeth. "Slade… Slade wants to sever your tendons before letting you leave this room."
For a moment, Bardi's face remained still. But inside, his anger erupted like a volcano.
Sever my tendons?
The sheer audacity of their plan sent a wave of fury coursing through him. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched against the restraints. His eyes burned with a cold, quiet rage.
Chapter 9
Bardi had promised Jenny he would help them advance their research and share his technological knowledge. In exchange, he had hoped for a semblance of freedom, perhaps even the opportunity to leave his cell. But not at the cost of his own body being mutilated.
The price they proposed was far too high.
It wasn't freedom they wanted for him; they sought only to bleed him dry, to extract every ounce of knowledge he possessed. His ability to act, his autonomy—they sought to strip it all away. It was calculated, cold, and ruthless.
And Bardi had to admit, it was an effective strategy.
The "tendons and hamstrings" Slade wanted to sever were vital to human movement. They connected muscles to bones, enabling contraction and motion. Without them, walking or even basic movement was impossible. Severing them would render him a prisoner in his own body, incapable of resistance.
Once severed, the tendons and hamstrings would retract and heal in their broken state, leaving the muscles permanently atrophied. Even exposure to the sun's yellow rays, which would otherwise allow him to tap into the full power of his Kryptonian genes, would not regenerate tendons that had already scarred over.
He could see it clearly: they wanted to ensure that no matter how strong he became, he would remain helpless.
Bardi could imagine the reasoning behind Slade's cruel plan. As his body adapted to the drugs they were using, the muscle relaxants were gradually losing their effectiveness. Even after months of confinement and repeated doses, his Kryptonian physiology, ten times stronger than an Earth human's made him a potential threat.
Even if they bound his legs and restricted his movements with shackles, the sheer force of his shoulders alone could dent the walls of this base. He was a living weapon—a humanoid Tyrannosaurus Rex.
To Slade, Bardi's story about being Krypton's last surviving prince was nothing more than a fabrication to manipulate Jenny.
Slade didn't believe a word of it.
How could a prince, especially one from an advanced civilization capable of interstellar travel bear the hardened scars of a warrior? How could someone bred for nobility possess the battle-worn physique of a soldier? The deep scar on his face alone told a tale of countless life-and-death struggles.
No prince, Slade reasoned, would have endured what Bardi clearly had.
Even when Bardi adjusted his story to include the idea that Krypton valued personal bravery as a tradition, that their princes were expected to lead by example, Slade wasn't convinced. His sharp instincts, honed on countless battlefields, screamed that Bardi was far more dangerous than he let on.
Slade had made up his mind. Bardi wouldn't leave this cell unless his tendons and hamstrings were severed.
General Vic, ever pragmatic, had already given the order: "Do whatever's necessary, as long as he doesn't die. There's always value in research."
The warning had been delivered, and Bardi felt the full weight of its implications.
He suppressed the rage building within him, a volcanic fury threatening to erupt. He couldn't afford to lose control, not now.
Instead, he turned his attention to Jenny, who was still leaning on his shoulder, sobbing softly. Gently, he tilted his head toward hers, brushing his face against her tear-streaked cheek. His voice was calm, even tender, as he spoke:
"Jenny, I understand their fear. I understand the precautions they want to take. As long as you're by my side, I'm willing to endure anything."
The words were laced with sorrow, delivered with a faint, bittersweet smile.
The effect was immediate. Jenny's grip on his hand tightened, her heart aching at the weight of his words.
"How can they do this to you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Bardi continued, his tone soft and filled with regret. "I only want to live in peace on this planet. To walk under the moon with you, to feel the warmth of the sun on my face."
He paused, his gaze distant, as if lost in a dream. "On Krypton, when two people were truly in love, they would marry under the sun. It was a promise, a vow that would bind them for life."
Jenny's tears fell harder, her heart breaking at the thought of Bardi's suffering.
She couldn't bear the idea of him being crippled, of his freedom and dreams being destroyed. In her mind, she had already begun to picture a future with him. The idea of walking hand in hand, of sharing a life together, had become a part of her.
Bardi's voice broke the silence again, low and wistful. "I wanted to visit the Harvard library with you. To walk through the Museum of Comparative Zoology. To share the places you hold dear, the stadiums you dislike, the specimens you cherish…"
He trailed off, his words hanging in the air.
Jenny's breath hitched, her body trembling as her tears soaked into his white prison uniform.
"I won't let them do this to you," she whispered fiercely, her voice trembling with resolve.
Jenny's love for Bardi, her first love, consumed her entirely. The rational, scientific part of her mind was overwhelmed by her emotions. She could think of nothing but protecting him.
Bardi sighed, his voice filled with quiet longing. "If only there were another way. Perhaps if they could block my spinal nerve…"
Jenny froze.
Spinal nerves controlled movement and sensation. If the impulses from the brain to the limbs were blocked, Bardi would be paralyzed, unable to move. But the rest of his body would remain functional.
It was dangerous, yes, but far less permanent than severing tendons. With the right technology, the block could be reversed, allowing for full recovery.
Of course, Bardi knew this. He had studied Kryptonian genetics extensively and understood his own physiology better than anyone. If he could just bask in the sun's rays, his body would regenerate and override the nerve block entirely.
But Jenny didn't know that.
To her, the idea of paralyzing Bardi temporarily seemed like a compromise, a way to keep him safe without permanently crippling him.
Bardi could see the conflict in her eyes as she processed his suggestion.
"Honey, wait for me," she said finally, her voice shaking but resolute. "I won't let them turn you into a cripple."
She kissed him tenderly, her lips brushing against his, before stepping back. Her heels clicked against the floor as she hurried from the room, determination etched into every line of her face.
As the door closed behind her, Bardi lowered his head, his expression calm.
But in his heart, the cold fury remained.
If I am free, you will die.
Chapter 10
The underground base laboratory.
In Bori's office, the atmosphere was tense. The transparent glass display cases were filled with meticulously arranged files, and the desk, though tidy, still had stacks of neatly organized documents.
Bori sat behind his desk, wearing a pair of round glasses perched on his nose. Deep wrinkles lined his forehead as he studied the room with a calm yet thoughtful expression. The blinds were partially drawn, casting a diffused light across the space, lending it a quiet stillness, like the calm before a storm.
And then the storm arrived.
Bang!
Jenny's palm slammed against the desk with a force that sent the neat stacks of documents trembling. Her face was flushed with fury, her usually cool and composed demeanor replaced by a blazing intensity.
"Enough! Slade, you have no right to block my actions!" she snapped, her voice echoing through the room like a whip.
She was livid. She had just proposed her plan to implant a magnetic field pulse device at the back of Bardi's neck. This device would temporarily block his spinal nerve signals, rendering his limbs immobile. It was a compromise that ensured both safety and humanity, it would allow Bardi to live without being mutilated while removing any immediate threat he posed.
But Slade, the base's defense director, had flatly refused. He insisted on a more barbaric method: severing Bardi's tendons and hamstrings to ensure his complete incapacitation.
Slade, sitting in a chair with his spine straight as a rod, didn't flinch at her anger. His face was a mask of stern professionalism, his tone steady as he replied, "I am the defense director here, and I have full authority to ensure the security of this base. My decision stands."
Jenny glared at him, her anger simmering beneath the surface.
Slade remained unmoved. To him, Bardi wasn't just an alien, he was a predator. Even imprisoned, he exuded a quiet menace that Slade couldn't ignore.
Every time Slade observed Bardi, whether the alien was asleep or awake, he felt the same gut-wrenching tension. It was as if he were staring at a caged beast, one that radiated power and defiance even in its stillness.
Bardi didn't have to roar or struggle to make his presence known. The way he held himself, the faint traces of scars that marked his body, the deep, unreadable look in his eyes, it all spoke of someone who would not submit, no matter how dire the circumstances.
To Slade, Bardi was a threat unlike any other.
"I've seen men like him before," Slade said coldly. "They pretend to cooperate, but the moment you let your guard down, they'll destroy everything."
His voice dropped, each word deliberate and sharp. "I won't let that happen."
Bori, who had been quietly observing the argument, finally spoke up. Adjusting his glasses, he addressed Slade with measured calm. "Dr. Jenny isn't proposing this lightly, Colonel. Her intention is to bridge the gap between us and the alien. By treating him humanely, we can gain his trust and with it, his knowledge. Cutting his tendons will only breed resentment and resistance."
Bori's tone softened as he glanced at Jenny. "She's advocating for a future where Bardi can coexist with us. Where he might even become part of our society."
Jenny's clenched fists relaxed slightly at Bori's words. His calm demeanor and support helped temper her fury, but her face remained resolute.
Slade, however, was unimpressed. He let out a derisive snort, his lips curling into a sneer.
"Let me get this straight," Slade said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're in love with this alien, and now you want to play house with him? You think he's going to live peacefully among us?"
Jenny's eyes flared with anger.
Slade leaned forward, his tone turning harsh. "He's not human, Dr. Jenny. He's a monster. A dangerous, unpredictable monster. And you're so blinded by whatever fantasy you've built in your head that you can't even see it."
Jenny's hand shot out, grabbing a file from Bori's desk. Without hesitation, she slammed the folder against Slade's chest.
"General Vic has already approved my plan!" she snapped. "The magnetic pulse device will be implanted, and Bardi will remain under control without being mutilated."
Her voice cracked slightly as she continued, her anger and sorrow intertwining. "He doesn't deserve this. He just wants to live. He's willing to help us, to share knowledge that could change the world. And you—" She pointed a trembling finger at Slade. "You want to destroy him for no reason other than your own paranoia."
Slade didn't respond immediately, his cold, calculating gaze fixed on her.
Jenny's voice rose, trembling with passion. "Bardi can advance our technology by centuries! He can help us understand the universe, unlock secrets we've never dreamed of. He's a treasure, and you would rather cripple him, destroy him, because you're too small-minded to see the bigger picture!"
She stepped closer, her face inches from his, and spat her final words like venom. "Compared to him, you're nothing, Slade. You're just a parasite clinging to your outdated ideals, trying to stifle progress out of fear."
Slade's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Jenny straightened, her chest heaving with emotion. "I've reported everything to General Vic, and he agrees with me. The operation will proceed as planned. You don't have the authority to override this."
"You. Will. Comply."
Her words were like a final blow, silencing the room.
Slade's expression remained stoic, but his jaw tightened as he picked up the document that had fallen onto his lap. His eyes scanned the contents quickly, his fingers gripping the paper tightly. He read for a few moments before his knuckles turned white, the paper crumpling slightly under the pressure of his grip.
There was no denying it. The operation was approved. He had no choice but to comply.
Jenny shot him one last glare before turning on her heel and leaving the office. The sound of her high heels echoed down the hallway as she made her way to the white room where Bardi was held. She wanted to tell him the news herself.
As the door closed behind her, Slade's grip on the document finally loosened. He set the paper down on the desk, his face returning to its usual stoic mask.
Straightening his posture, he glanced at Bori. "I'll leave the rest to you, Dean," he said quietly, his tone unreadable.