Bardi's expression shifted from stunned to serious in an instant.
When Bardi wasn't smiling, his serious demeanor created an almost oppressive atmosphere. Standing before him felt like watching a massive mountain looming closer, its peak hidden in the clouds, its sheer size overwhelming. The weight of that pressure made it feel as though the ground beneath you might swallow you whole.
It wasn't physical, it was an intangible force, an aura of willpower that pressed down on anyone near him, making it impossible to remain at ease in his presence.
Lex felt it keenly. The moment Bardi's expression hardened, Lex's chest tightened, as though the very air in the room had become heavier. His breath grew shallow, his heart pounding faster.
"The room is off-limits. Without my explicit permission, no one is allowed to enter," Bardi said, his voice calm and devoid of any emotion. "As for the researchers who try to leave, they can be sent directly to the underground lab on the first floor."
Lex hesitated. The cold indifference in Bardi's tone sent a chill down his spine, but he couldn't quite place why Bardi seemed so unbothered by the mention of Deathstroke. Instead, there was a sense of looming conflict in the air, an anticipation that made the room feel heavy and stifling.
He didn't ask questions. Without a word, Lex left the computer room and went to carry out Bardi's orders.
Bardi's seriousness wasn't because of the name "Deathstroke." He wasn't surprised to hear it.
In fact, it wasn't shocking to Bardi that Deathstroke was actually Slade. It didn't matter. What truly weighed on his mind wasn't Slade himself but rather a troubling realization that had crept into his thoughts.
Things had been going too smoothly lately.
Everything in his environment, from the Suicide Slum to his growing influence in Metropolis, had progressed almost without resistance, as though it were preordained.
And that… was dangerous.
Bardi understood better than anyone that raw power alone didn't guarantee victory. That's why he had built himself into a figure of hope and direction for the Suicide Slum, providing its people with not just protection but a vision for the future.
Still, he couldn't ignore the broader movements around him.
Sam Lane had traveled to Nevada to dig up evidence that could destroy General Vic. Meanwhile, General Vic had begun arming himself with powerful weaponry in the southern suburbs of Metropolis, preparing for a decisive strike against Bardi.
On the surface, none of these events seemed connected. They were like ripples on the surface of a still pond, inconsequential at first glance.
But Bardi knew better.
All of it revolved around him.
It always came back to his identity, an alien living in secret among humans.
From the moment he learned Deathstroke was after him, Bardi knew his alien origins were at the heart of this conflict.
His alien identity hadn't been exposed yet, but Bardi's mind worked at a speed that no human could match, thanks to the computational power of his sun-enhanced brain. He quickly pieced together the underlying truth.
Deathstroke, or Slade, didn't just appear out of nowhere. And he couldn't have become Deathstroke without help, help that only a genius-level biological expert like Jenny could provide.
"Jenny…" Bardi muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing as his thoughts deepened.
The issue wasn't Deathstroke. Slade wasn't important.
What mattered was what Deathstroke's sudden appearance implied.
If Deathstroke was coming after him, it meant General Vic hadn't reported his alien identity to the U.S. government or the military's higher-ups.
That was significant.
If Bardi's alien origins had been exposed, the upper echelons of humanity would have acted swiftly and mercilessly. History had shown time and time again how humans reacted to perceived threats, even among their own kind, wars had been fought over race and skin color, with genocides carried out in the name of superiority.
If humans were willing to destroy each other over such differences, how could they possibly tolerate the existence of an alien, a being with powers that could rival a god?
Bardi knew the answer: they wouldn't.
The fact that only Deathstroke was pursuing him indicated that General Vic hadn't shared his secret. Vic was keeping it to himself, hoping to exploit Bardi's power for his own gain.
That knowledge brought a faint smile to Bardi's face.
"Good," he murmured.
His thumb unconsciously rubbed against the palm of his other hand as his thoughts coalesced.
Bardi had been making high-profile appearances in Gotham and Metropolis, as if deliberately announcing to the world: I'm here.
He simply wanted to gauge their reaction.
Bardi had imagined countless possible scenarios, but he hadn't anticipated the current situation, one that worked in his favor.
Whenever he stayed in a hotel, he always chose the highest floor, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows and gazing at the stars.
Whenever he looked up at the sun, his sharp eyes would pierce through the blue sky and clouds, his mind constantly active, listening to every movement in all directions.
Anyone observing might think he simply enjoyed standing in high places, basking in the sunlight, ready to declare something profound, like a devil in the guise of a god.
But that wasn't it.
In truth, Bardi wasn't basking in power; he was watching.
He was watching for the only thing that could end him, a nuclear bomb.
The sword of Damocles that humans could drop at any moment, the singular weapon capable of killing him today.
It was a constant watchfulness, bold yet cautious. A vigilance born of necessity.
Since arriving in Gotham nearly three months ago, Bardi hadn't slept a single night. Even when he closed his eyes, he could see through his eyelids and his vision could pierce great distances. He never stopped scanning the sky.
If a nuclear bomb were to come, he had already calculated what to do. He would evade the epicenter, ensuring that even if he were seriously injured, he could still recover in the sunlight and rise again.
This level of caution had become second nature to him, an instinctive response to even the faintest rustling in the wind.
Because, deep down, Bardi wasn't entirely sure how much General Vic knew about him.
If Vic still had backups of his cells or research data, he could release that information to the upper echelons of the U.S. government. The resulting storm would be catastrophic.
Human ingenuity was not something Bardi underestimated. This world was full of geniuses, brilliant minds who could deduce his weaknesses and devise strategies against him.
If they discovered that he was becoming invulnerable, steadily absorbing the sun's energy and growing stronger each day, they might not hesitate to use nuclear bombs in a desperate attempt to annihilate him.
Even if the probability was small, it couldn't be ignored.
Fear of the unknown would drive humanity to act. They wouldn't even need to understand Bardi fully, just the thought of his power would terrify them enough to want him dead.
This was why Bardi had maintained such a public presence.
His high-profile actions were tests.
Yet, to his surprise, no one had taken the bait. No government forces had mobilized, no official had attempted to contact him. The silence was deafening.
It was suspicious, and it made him more cautious, though his boldness hadn't wavered.
The truth only became clear when Deathstroke appeared.
General Vic had kept Bardi's secret.
Vic still viewed Bardi as a resource to be exploited, something to be controlled and used. He hadn't reported Bardi's alien identity to the U.S. government.
This realization brought a faint smile to Bardi's face.
"Good."
The longer his alien origins remained hidden, the safer he would be. Every year that passed without exposure brought him closer to invulnerability. With time on his side, Bardi could prepare for anything.
As for the long term?
The future of Earth… would inevitably belong to him.
But for now, there was a more immediate concern.
He needed to deal with the people who already knew his secret.
Bardi's eyes narrowed slightly, his hand tapping the massive computer mainframe beside him.
"I wanted to see you soon, Hera," he murmured with a faint smile. "But it seems we'll have to wait a little longer."
With that, Bardi turned and left the room, his expression calm yet purposeful.
The mainframe was located on the fourteenth floor. As Bardi stepped into the corridor, the light of the setting sun poured through the glass windows, casting a warm, golden glow. The orange hues reflected off the walls, creating an atmosphere that was both serene and foreboding.
The silence was shattered suddenly.
Bang… crash!
A green-bladed saber burst through the glass, shattering it into shards.
Bardi's expression didn't falter. Smiling faintly, he extended his hands and caught the blade mid-air with practiced ease.
It was… amusing. And… delightful.
A tall figure stepped into view, perched on the windowsill. The two-toned mask covering his face gave him an ominous presence, like a ghostly specter come to life.
The fading sunlight framed his broad, imposing frame, casting his long shadow across the corridor. His silhouette stretched over Bardi, the ribbon at his waist fluttering slightly in the breeze.
"This blade," Deathstroke said, his voice low and filled with menace, "once took my eye."
***
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