DC: Rise Of The Kryptonian Tyrant

General Vic emerged from the shadows of the giant sequoia forest, his figure illuminated by pale moonlight as he approached the alien spacecraft. The black smoke rising from the crash was gradually dissipating, while sporadic sparks flickered faintly on the damp, green leaves. Despite the potential for disaster, there had been no secondary explosions or forest fires.

Vic's sharp eyes gleamed with ambition, his hooked nose casting a shadow over his thin, angular face. Though not physically imposing, his presence carried the weight of someone accustomed to power.

Standing nearby, Slade nodded to signal that the area was secure. Vic's gaze swept over the wreckage, lingering on the unconscious alien. He raised his hand slightly, gesturing for Slade to move closer and investigate.

Slade approached the figure, now visible in the fading firelight. As he took in the alien's face—its sharp, symmetrical features, broad forehead, and prominent scar, an unsettling feeling stirred in him.

Something about this man didn't sit right. His scarred face and cold expression carried an air of danger, reminding Slade of the elite warriors he'd fought alongside in countless battles.

'He might be a soldier too,' Slade thought grimly.

Kneeling beside the alien, Slade gripped his arm, intending to lift him from the wreckage. The moment his fingers tightened around the man's limb, Slade's expression shifted. The alien's arm was unnaturally solid, as if forged from steel.

Slade adjusted his stance and heaved with both arms, his muscles straining. Veins bulged along his forearms, and a sheen of sweat formed on his brow as the alien moved only slightly under his efforts.

"He's… heavy," Slade muttered through gritted teeth, finally managing to pull the alien free with a loud shout of effort.

Exhaling sharply, he laid the man on the ground and straightened, reporting to Vic.

"General, he's definitely not human. His weight is around 400 kilograms."

The soldiers nearby exchanged startled glances. The alien, who appeared to be roughly the same size as Slade, was impossibly dense. It was as though his body were made of pure steel, with blood that flowed like molten iron.

Vic's ambitious gaze sharpened. The unusual nature of this alien was better than anything he could have hoped for. He barely bothered to hide the wild gleam in his eyes.

"Good," he said curtly. He gestured toward the soldiers with a wave of his hand. "Take him with us."

The other figure accompanying him, a female colonel with blonde hair and striking blue eyes, stepped forward. Her features were cold, almost doll-like, as she carried out her orders without a word.

Without hesitation, she bent down, sliding her arms beneath the alien's knees and around his back, preparing to lift him in a princess carry.

Slade's head snapped toward her, disbelief written across his face.

"What are you—" he started, but stopped short.

There was no way a woman could lift 400 kilograms. Even for him, a man at peak physical condition, hauling the alien had been a grueling task. Yet here she was, calmly attempting something impossible.

Slade clenched his jaw. He knew little about Colonel Willief, despite working alongside her for some time. She had appeared abruptly at the end of the Vietnam War, swiftly becoming one of Vic's most trusted subordinates. Silent and unapproachable, she ignored any attempts at conversation.

Now, watching her with growing unease, Slade began to question everything he thought he knew.

Willief straightened her back and, with surprising ease, lifted the alien off the ground. The soil beneath her boots compacted under the strain, yet her expression remained cold and impassive as she carried the man toward Vic.

Slade's jaw slackened. The scene unfolding before him was incomprehensible.

She carried the alien as if his weight was nothing, her steps steady and deliberate. To achieve such a feat, she would need strength far beyond human limits, closer to 1,000 kilograms of force, at the very least.

Slade felt his understanding of the world fracture. The colleague he'd dismissed as lifeless and detached was clearly something far more extraordinary, possibly even monstrous.

For a moment, he couldn't decide what shocked him more: the alien or Willief.

Vic's voice snapped him from his thoughts.

"Slade, take care of the wreckage. Transport it to the underground base, then report to me once everything is secure."

Slade nodded stiffly, setting aside his confusion for the time being. He instructed the team to secure the crash site, watching as they hauled the damaged spaceship piece by piece onto transport vehicles.

As for Mike's camera, Slade hesitated for a moment before smashing it under his boot. However, he discreetly pocketed the film, unsure why he chose to keep it.

By the time the cleanup was complete, Slade descended to the underground base, an ultra-secure facility buried deep below the surface, accessible only to a select few.

The laboratory was cold and sterile, its steel walls glinting under harsh fluorescent lights. Inside, a 40-square-meter observation chamber sat behind reinforced, one-way tempered glass.

The alien was bound to the wall in a cruciform position, his wrists and ankles shackled with high-grade steel restraints. The scene resembled something out of a science fiction movie.

Vic stood before the glass, his attention fixed on the alien. Slade entered the room, but Vic raised a hand to silence him.

An elderly scientist, Dean Bori, was delivering his findings. Despite his age, Bori's eyes sparkled with youthful energy as he spoke, his excitement palpable.

"It's incredible," Bori began. "Our attempts to draw blood initially failed. Standard needles couldn't pierce his skin, they bent on impact. We had to use reinforced steel needles to extract a sample."

He gestured toward a clipboard filled with data.

"We conducted a preliminary analysis of his physiology—muscle density, bone strength, cellular activity, and heart function."

Bori adjusted his glasses, his voice trembling with awe.

"Our conclusion is this: the gravity index on his home planet must be at least ten times that of Earth."

Vic's expression darkened as he processed the implications.

"How strong does that make him?" he asked.

Bori hesitated, then answered, "Under Earth's gravity, his strength would be extraordinary. Based on our calculations, he could easily exert 10,000 kilograms of force, roughly ten tons."

Vic and Slade exchanged stunned glances.

"That's ten times stronger than Willief," Bori added, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Slade's mind reeled. Ten tons. The alien was effectively a human-shaped weapon, capable of devastating anything in his path.

Vic's shock quickly gave way to cold ambition. The possibilities were endless.

"This changes everything," Vic murmured. "A force like this could reshape warfare as we know it."

The thought of mass-producing super-soldiers capable of wielding such strength filled him with exhilaration.

…

Seventeen hours later.

Bardi felt like he was burning with fever. His body ached, his limbs felt heavy, and even opening his eyes required effort.

When he finally managed it, the harsh white light around him made him wince. He glanced at his reflection in the one-way glass, his mind racing.

He was restrained, bound in shackles.

His heart sank as the reality of his situation set in.

Captured. Studied by humans.

This was the worst possible start.