When Deathstroke woke up in a daze, a shudder ran through him as he remembered: Bardi had stomped on his chest and driven him down from the fourteenth floor.
The strengthening serum Jenny had developed for him was remarkable. Even with his sternum shattered, he could feel a dull, tingling sensation in his chest, proof that his bones were steadily healing, never ceasing for a moment.
Judging by how his body felt, only a few hours had passed. And at this rate, even such a catastrophic injury would leave no trace once it was fully healed.
"Ugh…"
He groaned through his nose, his eyelid snapping open as his pupil contracted sharply. He woke from the blurry white haze of unconsciousness, and the failure of his earlier battle crashed back into his mind. A heavy grimness settled over his gaze.
Deathstroke realized he was now sitting in a chair, his body slumped in a paralyzed posture, entirely at Bardi's mercy.
He couldn't feel his hands or feet. While he could sense the faint presence of his limbs, he had no control over them—paralyzed.
His hands and feet had been dislocated, and the nervous system carrying signals from his brain to his body was severed. His heart sank as he struggled to move, only to find that he couldn't.
Raising his gaze, his eye locked on Bardi, who stood by the window, now walking toward him.
Even after the brutal battle, there wasn't a single speck of dirt or dust on Bardi's white coat. His figure remained tall, imposing, and exuding a calm elegance that carried an almost detached indifference.
His steps were steady, deliberate, carrying the weight of a mountain—a suffocating, heavy pressure that filled the air.
"You're recovering well. Jenny truly is a genius," Bardi remarked casually as his gaze lingered on Deathstroke's chest. He nodded slightly, as though offering genuine praise.
To understand how to adapt the properties of his sun-powered cells, how to regulate human cells and enhance their ability to absorb and endure stress was a remarkable feat. It allowed human genes to push their limits, strengthening the body.
Of course, it came at a cost.
Even with such enhancements, Deathstroke only had five years left to live.
Deathstroke's single eye gleamed sharply as he stared at Bardi, his lips curling into a sneer. He let out a cold grunt. "Are you trying to get me to tell you whether Jenny is alive or dead?"
Bardi chuckled.
"I already know from your words that Jenny is alive," Bardi replied, his voice calm and devoid of expression.
Deathstroke suddenly laughed, his tone filled with mocking amusement. "Ha… Do you really think everything is within your grasp?"
"When you see Jenny, I wonder how you'll react," he said, his laughter fading into a cryptic tone.
Bardi's brow furrowed slightly.
"It seems Jenny has done something foolish," he said, his voice steady but cold.
"She's a foolish woman. She survived, and yet…"
He paused, his gaze turning distant for a moment.
"Does she hate me?" he murmured, as though speaking more to himself than to Deathstroke.
Then his tone sharpened. "Did she also use her own serum to make herself stronger?"
Deathstroke's single eye closed. He had endured the most brutal forms of torture in his life and had long learned to control his heartbeat and breathing. He wouldn't betray anything with his words or body language.
But some things couldn't be hidden.
Hair follicles, capillaries, subtle shifts in his cellular structure, these were things that Bardi's sun-enhanced vision could see.
Deathstroke's body told the truth.
Bardi nodded slightly to himself, piecing it together. "So that's what happened. Jenny…"
"She used the serum on herself as well. To become stronger."
His expression grew colder. "Driven by hatred for me, no doubt."
"Well, that's fine," he added after a moment, his voice casual, almost indifferent.
Deathstroke's face remained calm, but he knew Bardi had already pieced together the truth. The few sentences they had exchanged were enough for Bardi to deduce Jenny's current state—her hatred, her strength, and her tragically short lifespan.
Deathstroke sneered, his voice laced with venom. "What a pity. The woman you loved, she's in the underground research institute on the first floor. You shot her back then to keep her alive, to make sure she survived."
"But the woman who survived now hates you. She's become a monster, her temperament utterly changed. She loathes you, Bardi. Hates you so much she wants to kill you."
"She doesn't understand or accept the life you gave her," Deathstroke hissed.
Bardi suddenly laughed—a low, cold laugh.
"You're mistaken," he said.
"I gave her a chance to live. That's all. She's nothing more than my slave," Bardi said, his tone calm yet merciless.
"If she wants to challenge me, there's only one ending for her."
His eyes gleamed as he leaned slightly closer.
"How can a slave rebel against her master?"
It seemed these so-called smart people thought he was deeply in love with Jenny.
But they didn't understand. Bardi would only love someone who loved him. If someone didn't love him, they might as well die.
If someone resisted him, refused to follow his will, dared to hold opinions, or even attempted to attack him, he would simply kill them.
Simple.
Plain, unrelenting egoism.
Deathstroke sat slumped in the chair, his heart sinking into an icy abyss. A cold chill consumed him as realization dawned.
He had lost another bargaining chip. One less card to play for his survival against Bardi.
Bardi might not care about Jenny nearly as much as he'd assumed.
"Then we should talk about your identity," Deathstroke said, his voice low but sharp. "An alien. An alien who still hasn't been identified by the upper echelons of America."
He paused, fixing Bardi with his steely gaze. "Let's trade—my life, in exchange for your secret."
Deathstroke braced himself, his mind sharpening.
Before coming to confront Bardi, he had prepared for various scenarios.
He imagined a clean victory.
He imagined an intense, Hollywood-style fight, ending in a loss but with some dignity intact.
But never—not once—had he anticipated the sheer one-sidedness of their battle. Bardi had crushed him in two moves, stomping him into the ground from the fourteenth floor and leaving him broken and unconscious.
Still, even in failure, he had planned for this moment. If it came to it, he would use his knowledge of Bardi's identity as a final weapon.
"My identity? An alien? Go ahead," Bardi said with a smile. His voice was calm, but his eyes were cold, calculating. His right hand rested on his left, and his thumb slowly rubbed against his palm as if deep in thought.
Bardi knew the weight of what Deathstroke had brought to the table.
The truth of his alien origins would always be incompatible with human society.
Once exposed, it would create a tidal wave of chaos.
No matter what facade of normalcy he maintained, the upper echelons of the United States would never allow him to operate unchecked. His gangs, his growing influence, all of it would be crushed.
This wasn't an era filled with superpowered beings. This was a world locked in the Cold War, teetering between the United States and the Soviet Union. It was a dangerous time to draw attention.
The government wouldn't care about his potential to "help" or "protect." They would see him as a threat—a power to be controlled, exploited, or destroyed.
Even if they tried to bring him into the fold, he would be watched, manipulated, and enslaved.
Freedom would become an impossible dream.
The military would not tolerate someone like him existing freely.
And the worst-case scenario? They wouldn't hesitate to use nuclear weapons, sacrificing cities if necessary, just to destroy him.
Especially if they discovered the truth, that he grew stronger with each passing day under the sun.
Deathstroke's sharp, piercing gaze locked onto Bardi, as if peeling away layers of his mind.
"You have a quick way to grow stronger. An invulnerable body. Heat vision. All of it… connected to something."
Deathstroke paused, his voice tightening, his teeth clenched.
"Is it… the sun?"
He spat the words with conviction.
The pieces had fallen into place.
How else could Bardi have grown so much stronger so quickly? At the military base, Bardi had been formidable, but not invincible. Now, his strength far surpassed anything Deathstroke could comprehend.
The sun was the answer.
Deathstroke remembered the underground lab, where Bardi's body had been exposed to sunlight. It was then that Bardi's genes had been fully awakened, his strength surging as he broke free from the paralytic restraints.
It all fit.
From Nevada to Metropolis, Bardi hadn't had time to build, create, or research anything to artificially enhance himself. He didn't have the resources, funds, or tools for such experiments.
It was the sun that empowered him.
Deathstroke's lips twisted into a cruel grin, his voice dark with malice. "So that's it. If the upper echelons of the military knew you were an alien… knew you were this powerful, this dangerous…"
"They would sacrifice every one of the twelve million lives in Metropolis just to destroy you. To obliterate the alien invader who dared set foot on Earth."
His words dripped with venom, his tone mocking.
Bardi didn't flinch. His thumb continued to press against his palm as he listened, his gaze indifferent.
Deathstroke continued, his grin widening. "You're terrifying, Bardi. The kind of being humanity would fear above all else. If they knew you drew power from the sun, they'd wipe you out without hesitation."
The room was silent for a moment, the weight of Deathstroke's words hanging heavy in the air.
Bardi's cold gaze bore into him, unmoved.
"You're very smart," Bardi finally said, his voice calm, almost amused.
***
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