DC: Tyrant

Time flew by. Another six months passed, and Bardi had now spent a total of one year and three months in this underground base, cut off from the light of day.

His life had changed significantly.

For any ordinary person, such a drastic shift in circumstances, whether for better or worse, would inevitably bring a mixture of resistance and reluctant acceptance. Change, after all, is necessary to break the monotony that breeds despair in intelligent life.

For Bardi, even the smallest change was welcome. Though his newfound "freedom" only allowed him to leave the white room, traverse a steel corridor, and arrive at either the large research room where his battered Kryptonian spacecraft was being studied or a few workshops, it was still a step forward.

But he couldn't show his contentment outwardly. The pulse radiofrequency needle embedded in his neck remained firmly lodged in his spinal cord. It wasn't merely a tool to sever the motor reflexes of his limbs but also a device capable of monitoring his vital signs for any indication of deceit or disobedience.

While his limbs showed no response, his autonomic nervous system—controlling vital functions such as heartbeat, breathing, digestion, and blood pressure—remained intact. This allowed the device to detect physiological changes indicative of lies or heightened emotion.

However, Bardi was far from helpless. The Kryptonian meditative techniques he had learned enabled him to maintain composure under any circumstance, even going so far as to control his heart rate. He could feign excitement, joy, or calmness on command, reflecting the emotions they wanted to see from him while concealing his true intentions.

---

A knock at the door of his white room pulled Bardi from his musings.

"Mr. Bardi, Dean Bori requests your presence," one of the two soldiers announced respectfully before opening the door.

Their behavior, though outwardly courteous, carried undertones of command. It was a forced politeness, better than outright disdain but still hollow.

Bardi knew this respect was a recent development, born out of the significant scientific contributions he had made during his time here. He had helped them make substantial progress in several fields: advancing the development of magnetic flux compression for electromagnetic railguns, confirming the existence of only three types of neutrinos in particle physics, and even leading the creation of the world's first optical information mathematical processor.

Without these contributions, Bardi doubted they would bother with the pretense of respect. They would likely treat him as nothing more than a tool to extract knowledge from, squeezing every bit of information out of his mind.

Through the scattered conversations of the researchers, Bardi had learned that many of his contributions had brought them immense benefits, including several Nobel Prize-level achievements.

Bardi, however, found it amusing. He had never given them complete scientific breakthroughs, only fragments and general directions. This approach fit the persona he had carefully constructed: that of a Kryptonian prince, not a scientist.

He remembered the time Bori had greedily asked him to document all the scientific knowledge in his head. The old man's ambition to hoard future technologies was almost laughable.

Bardi had responded with an air of mock incredulity, feigning ignorance and pointing out the absurdity of the request.

"As a prince," he had said, "I don't hold comprehensive knowledge of scientific principles. That's the domain of scientists. I can share ideas and theories, but detailed formulas? I couldn't possibly recall those."

He had intentionally spouted a mix of vague concepts and overly advanced theories, enough to sound impressive but ultimately useless in their current technological state. Ideas like detecting photons or superluminal transmission were well beyond their comprehension.

"Write it down if you want," he had told them. "Perhaps in a few hundred years, you'll be able to verify it."

His explanations often left them baffled and frustrated, but he didn't care. Instead, he provided them with just enough information to guide them in the right direction, future space navigation principles, for example, or fragmented tidbits of unimportant knowledge.

When Bori pushed too far, even General Vic had intervened, slapping the old man on the shoulder in irritation. "We're not ready to leap into interstellar travel! Take it one step at a time, Bori!"

The old man had calmed down after that, realizing that holding advanced knowledge meant little without the foundational technology to support it.

Since then, they only called on Bardi when they encountered specific challenges. His answers, though often vague, were enough to point them in the right direction. This earned him the unofficial title of "scientific consultant."

Bardi nodded at the soldier, a polite smile on his face. "Alright, let's get to work."

His calm and harmless demeanor was something they had all grown accustomed to.

In the early days, Slade himself had been the one to escort Bardi around the base, controlling his wheelchair at every turn. But over time, limited conversations and observations had led Slade to conclude that Bardi was nothing more than a paralyzed man—a relic of Krypton without the ability to pose a threat.

Despite his lingering intuition about Bardi's extraordinary nature, Slade could no longer justify treating him as a significant danger. The pulse radiofrequency needle embedded in Bardi's spine was enough to neutralize him. Even if Bardi had the will of a prince, he lacked the physical capability to act on it.

Eventually, Slade stopped personally monitoring him, delegating the task to soldiers. Bardi's movements were restricted to the base, and as long as he remained within its confines, Slade was content to let him be.

For Bardi, this was a relief. Slade was the only one who seemed to sense the deeper truth beneath his facade, and his scrutiny had been a constant source of tension. Now, with Slade's vigilance diminishing, Bardi's performance as the harmless prince was paying off.

---

The soldiers escorted Bardi to the research room housing his Kryptonian spacecraft. Visits to this room were rare; it was clear they didn't want him near the ship often.

Bori was already waiting for him. As the soldiers handed over control of the wheelchair, the old man smiled thinly and approached.

"Mr. Bardi," Bori began politely, "I've called you here today to ask about the virtual imaging technology used in your spacecraft."

Bardi raised an eyebrow, his smile unchanging. "Are you asking about the use of interference and diffraction principles to project and record 3D radar scans? Or perhaps you're interested in using interference patterns to disable enemy satellites?"

Bori's expression flickered with surprise, Bardi had guessed his intentions perfectly.

"Both," Bori admitted with a chuckle. "But the ship is too damaged for us to extract any usable information."

Bardi's response was calm and measured. "I'm afraid I can't be of much help there. I've only ever used the technology; I don't have an in-depth understanding of how it works. Without artificial intelligence, replicating it would be nearly impossible."

Bori nodded, accepting the explanation. Then, with a glint in his eye, he reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a small object.

It was a long, cylindrical key—the kind used to activate Kryptonian spacecraft. Its shape was identical to the key shown in the Superman movie, though this one lacked the distinctive "S" insignia.

"Mr. Bardi," Bori said, holding the key aloft, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "What can you tell me about this?"