DC: Rise Of The Kryptonian Tyrant

Bori closed the office door behind him and exhaled shakily, a suppressed and frightened breath escaping his throat.

He was terrified of death.

Human beings were fragile, and once they died, everything ended. Right now, he was still alive, still had everything—fame, wealth, admiration. People spoke his name with reverence, associating him with the Nobel Prize in Biology, with groundbreaking contributions to science. The looks of awe and adoration people gave him fed his ego, made him feel invincible.

And even though most of that success was built on Jenny's work, it was his name that was celebrated. That was enough.

The closing of the office door felt like closing himself off from danger, sealing death on the other side.

Of course, he knew this was just an illusion.

Bori's thin face remained taut, his jaw clenched tightly, his pupils trembling as he wrestled with his thoughts. Fear clawed at his mind.

As he began to walk, the acrid stench of blood filled his nose. His eyes caught sight of Wendy lying dead on the floor nearby, her forehead pierced by a bullet. The terrified expression frozen on her face made his stomach churn.

She was the one closest to the office when Bardi had come in.

Even though Bori had hidden under the desk, he had still heard her desperate screams.

"No... you can't kill me! I'm a friend of Jenny's! Jenny invited me to her wedding... no—!"

"The moment I saw the look on your face, your fate was sealed," Bardi had replied coldly.

Bori had heard it all from under the desk, frozen in terror.

Wendy's crime had been treating Bardi not as a sentient being but as a subject, a biological specimen to study, like a frog laid out on a dissection table. Bardi, who cataloged every expression of those around him, had recognized her condescension and marked her for death.

As he stared at her lifeless body now, Bori felt his pores tighten in fear. The image of Bardi's cold, indifferent face as he executed Wendy flashed through his mind.

The blood from Wendy's wound had pooled on the floor, and as his leather shoes stepped into it, Bori felt an icy chill run up his spine.

He had performed dissections before and never flinched at the sight of a corpse. But now, as he passed familiar colleagues, each lying lifeless in a growing sea of red—his sense of detachment crumbled.

The red and white matter spilling from bullet wounds, the eyes frozen wide with terror, he couldn't help but imagine himself lying among them. The thought suffocated him, sending panic racing through his chest.

He continued walking, but everywhere he looked, there were more bodies. The once sterile, white halls of the underground research facility now felt cold and empty, like a morgue.

His footsteps echoed loudly in the silence, the sound of his shoes against the floor sharp and rhythmic in the desolate space. The air felt oppressive, almost suffocating, like walking through a haunted corridor in a horror film.

The eerie atmosphere tightened around him, driving his already frayed nerves to their breaking point. His steps quickened instinctively, sweat dripping from his face as his fear mounted.

Finally, after navigating two forks in the corridor, Bori reached the white room.

He didn't enter the room but instead went to a hidden compartment behind a metal pipe as thick as his arm. With trembling hands, he inserted his fingers behind the pipe, clawing desperately at the hidden panel. His fingers grew raw and red, but he didn't stop.

At last, he retrieved the key.

It was a small object, nondescript, but it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds in his hand. He gripped it tightly, his red-stained fingers trembling as fresh waves of sweat poured down his face.

His breathing grew shallow as doubt clawed its way into his mind.

Would Bardi truly let him live if he handed over the key? Could he believe anything the man had said?

The fear of death surged through him once more, and his lips quivered as his mind raced with indecision.

Subconsciously, his feet began moving on their own.

As he retraced his steps, his body acted before his mind could settle. When he reached a fork in the corridor, his fear overtook him completely, and he made a panicked decision.

Instead of returning to the office, he turned toward the stairs.

He didn't know if escaping was even possible.

But anything seemed better than walking back to face Bardi.

His only thought was to run—run as far as he could, to escape the suffocating grip of death that Bardi had brought into the facility.

...

Inside the office, Bardi sat in silence, his eyes closed.

Suddenly, he opened them, his expression as calm as ever.

He had been listening with his superhuman hearing and could hear everything. He knew that Bori had gone to the white room, retrieved the key, and was now heading toward the stairs instead of coming back.

With a quiet sigh, Bardi rose from his chair, picking up the pistol from the desk. He calmly loaded it, preparing to leave.

But then he stopped.

A faint smirk crossed his lips.

He set the pistol back down, turned, and sank back into the chair.

...

Meanwhile, Bori's panic-driven instincts carried him further from the office. He wasn't thinking rationally anymore; fear had completely consumed him.

When he saw Slade's broken body slumped against a wall, his steps faltered.

The sight of Slade's brutal death jolted him back to reality. He stopped in his tracks, his breath hitching as cold sweat dripped down his back.

Bori realized, with a chill of dread, that he wasn't far from the office.

The research facility wasn't particularly large, and the stairs leading to the surface weren't far away. But as he looked at Slade's mangled corpse, the blood pooling beneath it, he felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him.

Then, as if to snap himself out of his panicked thoughts, he slapped himself hard across the face.

Clap!

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he hissed through gritted teeth, furious at his own foolishness.

He slapped himself again, harder this time, his face stinging from the impact. His fear-addled mind began to clear as his thoughts finally started to align.

An old man like him—what chance did he have of outrunning Bardi? What was he thinking? If Bardi realized he wasn't coming back and decided to follow him, there would be no escape. That would be the end of him.

Two more sharp slaps later, Dean Bori's mind felt sharper, more flexible. He realized the only option he had was to return to Bardi and beg for mercy.

If Bardi had spared Jenny, there was a chance he wouldn't kill him either. Jenny was left alive for a reason, and Bardi had even entrusted her to him. Maybe Bardi's words weren't just lies, maybe there really was a way for him to survive this.

He thought back to the conversation. Bardi had explicitly told him, "I won't kill you."

It began to sink in that his survival wasn't entirely out of the question. Running, on the other hand, was almost certainly a death sentence. If he fled with the key, Bardi wouldn't hesitate to hunt him down, and his death would be swift and absolute.

Bori's thoughts raced. Perhaps there was another way to improve his chances, a bargaining chip. He could offer Bardi information about the gene serum. That knowledge might be valuable enough to spare his life.

Reassured by the possibility, he straightened his back and cast one last glance at Slade's corpse. His trembling steps steadied as he turned back toward the office.

This time, he walked with purpose.

Bori reasoned with himself as he moved. He wasn't like Slade. Slade had actively tried to stop Bardi, setting traps and standing in his way. But he, Dean Bori, had done none of that.

In fact, he began to think of himself as instrumental to Bardi's success. After all, hadn't he played a role in ensuring Bardi could bask in the sun? Hadn't he indirectly brought Bardi and Jenny together?

Jenny had survived, deliberately spared by Bardi. As someone who was like a father figure to her, wasn't he just as important? Bardi had trusted him to take care of Jenny. How could someone so vital to Bardi's life be killed?

Bori's thoughts spiraled further. He began to see himself as a "noble figure" in Bardi's life. Whether it was Bardi's freedom, Jenny's survival, or their connection, his influence was undeniable.

Bardi's words replayed in his mind. "I won't kill you."

Yes, it had to be true. There was no reason to doubt it now.

A faint smirk appeared on Bori's face as he reassured himself, his confidence growing.

Then, just as he opened the office door, a gunshot echoed.

Boom...

***

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