DC: Rise Of The Kryptonian Tyrant

In the pristine white room, now repurposed into an operating room, Jenny and Bori were clad in light green sterile surgical gowns, latex gloves, disposable hats, and masks. Two assistants stood nearby, ready to help, while several tall soldiers waited on standby not far away.

Bardi lay anesthetized on the operating table, his broad shoulders, thick back, and imposing figure making him seem formidable even while unconscious. His muscular outline exuded an aura of strength that made it clear why Slade instinctively considered him dangerous.

Jenny's figure, elegant and slender, was accentuated by the close-fitting surgical gown. However, her bloodshot eyes and the tense expression on her face betrayed her exhaustion and stress. She hadn't slept in two days. Every nerve in her body was taut, her mind constantly replaying scenarios from the operation that would soon determine Bardi's fate.

This surgery wasn't just a procedure to her, it was everything. Jenny was determined to ensure that Bardi wouldn't spend his life confined to a wheelchair. She wanted to walk alongside him, hand in hand, for the rest of their days. The future Bardi had painted for them had completely enraptured her, filling her heart with hope and unshakable determination.

Biting her lower lip hard to keep herself grounded, Jenny focused her thoughts. Bardi lay before her, trusting her completely. She couldn't fail him.

"Jenny, are you alright?" Bori asked, his tone feigning concern. He could see how deeply invested she was in the operation.

But his false sympathy masked the reality of the situation. The outcome of this operation had already been decided by Slade and Bori. In their eyes, Jenny was nothing more than a pawn, playing her role in a meticulously crafted plan.

What Bori didn't know, however, was that Bardi wasn't just a pawn, he was a player. Quietly biding his time, he waited for the perfect moment to turn the tables.

Even Slade, with his natural wariness, suspected Bardi's cunning, which was why he remained on edge.

As Bardi lay motionless, Jenny took a scalpel in her hand, steadying her breath. Her movements were precise as she made the first incision in his powerful back. The blade cut through his muscle fibers with difficulty, like slicing through thick leather, revealing layers of flesh and finally exposing the white glint of his spine.

Jenny's exhaustion vanished as her focus sharpened. With the precision of a surgeon and the determination of someone deeply invested, she reached the spinal column and took the steel needle from Bori. The needle, designed to stabilize the nerve fibers near the spine and interface with the bone marrow, was passed to her without comment.

More than half an hour of meticulous adjustments followed. Jenny's concentration never wavered. Finally, she stitched the incision closed.

When it was done, a needle now protruded from the back of Bardi's neck, connected to a long guide wire that fed into a sleek, metallic wheelchair. The wheelchair was outfitted with a control screen capable of monitoring Bardi's heart rate and even functioning as a lie detector.

Unbeknownst to Jenny, the wheelchair also housed hidden mechanisms to shock or poison Bardi at the press of a button. The pulse radiofrequency needle embedded in his spine could sever his neural signals, leaving him unable to control his limbs, effectively rendering him a prisoner within his own body.

With the operation complete, Dean Bori instructed the soldiers to move Bardi to the wheelchair. They connected the guide wire to the chair's interface, securing him in place with metal restraints around his legs, waist, and wrists.

Jenny, her forehead glistening with sweat, removed her mask and exhaled deeply. For the first time in hours, she allowed herself a moment of relief, a small, warm smile lighting up her tired face.

But her work wasn't finished yet. The final step would come when Bardi awoke, and she would have to adjust the pulse radiofrequency settings carefully. Too much or too little could leave him permanently paralyzed. Though she had taken every precaution and measured everything meticulously, doubt still gnawed at her.

Her legs felt weak beneath her as she leaned on the wheelchair for support. Despite her fatigue, she looked at Bardi's face, her thoughts drifting to the scar etched deeply into his features and the stories behind it. She envisioned the future they had dreamed of together and drew strength from that vision.

When everyone else had left the room, Jenny bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to Bardi's cheek. She ran her fingers through his hair, lingering as if reluctant to leave. Finally, she switched off the lights, leaving the room in darkness as she left to rest, waiting for Bardi to wake the next day.

---

In the dead of night, a shadow slipped into the room unnoticed. The intruder approached Bardi's wheelchair, fingers working deftly at the controls. Subtle adjustments were made, concealing the true pulse signals beneath the settings Jenny had programmed.

"Tsk…" A faint, disdainful sound broke the silence before the figure vanished into the night, their footsteps fading away.

On the operating table, Bardi's eyelids twitched briefly before settling again.

---

The next morning, Bardi's eyes fluttered open. His body, still heavy from the lingering effects of anesthesia, struggled to respond. But he could feel it—the sensation of his body, though faint, was still there. He registered the cold, metallic intrusion of the needle embedded in his spine and the restrictive embrace of the wheelchair.

Despite everything, his mind remained calm. He understood what this meant. The wheelchair would monitor his every heartbeat, track his lies, and serve as a constant reminder of the control others held over him. But it also signified something else, an opportunity. He wasn't locked away in a white room anymore. Though his freedom was tethered, it was a step toward reclaiming his agency.

Jenny had been waiting for this moment. The relief on her face was immediate as she smiled and said softly, "You're awake."

Bardi managed a small smile in return but didn't speak. Before he could respond, Slade, standing nearby in his military uniform, cut in coldly. "Let's get on with it. The anesthetic is wearing off."

Soldiers armed with rifles stood behind Slade, while others guarded the perimeter outside. The security measures were exhaustive—Slade's paranoia evident.

Bori had already confirmed Bardi's inability to move, but Slade's distrust ran deeper. He would take no chances.

Jenny ignored Slade entirely. To her, he was nothing but a cruel, overbearing man who seemed to delight in making things difficult for Bardi. She hated him. Her attention was solely on Bardi, her gaze tender and filled with concern.

When Bardi gave her a faint nod, silently assuring her, Jenny drew strength from it. Releasing his hand, she moved behind the wheelchair to begin adjusting the pulse radiofrequency settings.