DC: Rise Of The Kryptonian Tyrant

Pamela's face was slightly flushed. She was wearing a fiery red evening dress, reminiscent of the bold designs popular in the 1980s. The thin spaghetti straps replaced the traditional wide-shouldered design, leaving her fair shoulders exposed. Her fiery red hair hung loose, with two softly curled strands resting against her chest, drawing attention to the snow-white skin that peeked out from the curve of her neckline.

The hem of the dress stopped just above her knees, and the vivid red fabric hugged her figure perfectly, accentuating her striking curves.

In this era, such attire was undeniably daring, the very definition of avant-garde.

But Pamela hadn't been able to refuse. For reasons she couldn't quite explain, her head felt hazy, her thoughts muddled.

Bardi had taken her out under the pretense of needing a secretary. Before she could fully grasp the situation, they had arrived at an upscale clothing boutique. The dresses there were worth more than what she could earn in several months of work at the hotel.

Still in a daze, she found herself wearing this stunning red evening dress, her fiery hair left cascading freely. She radiated heat, passion, and vibrancy.

In stark contrast, Bardi was dressed entirely in white—pure and luminous, like light itself, piercing through shadows and striking straight into one's heart.

His gaze swept over Pamela's figure, lingering for a moment on her curves.

"Beautiful," he said simply.

Pamela twirled playfully, her seductive smile lighting up her face. "Beautiful? Where exactly?" she teased.

"I admire your figure," Bardi said, his tone frank and devoid of innuendo, as if merely stating a fact.

Pamela chuckled softly, covering her mouth as her laughter rippled out. "You're quite the unusual man, aren't you?" she said, her voice carrying a hint of intrigue.

She couldn't help but marvel at how striking Bardi looked in his white suit, paired with the long, pristine trench coat that flowed to his heels. The scar on his face didn't detract from his charm. Instead, it added a layer of ruggedness that contrasted with the elegance of his attire, making him all the more magnetic.

Despite her limited life experience, Pamela could tell that Bardi was no ordinary man.

Bardi smiled back, his expression calm yet playful as he observed her radiant demeanor. In her red dress, she was like a flame, and he, cloaked in white, was like a moth drawn to her glow.

But unlike moths that recklessly dive into fire, this moth would let the flame burn itself out.

Pamela slipped her hands around Bardi's arm, leaning into him with a sense of intimacy that felt both natural and daring.

Bardi felt the softness of her grip and caught the faint scent of her fragrance, a mix of sweetness and vitality that was oddly comforting.

Pamela's cheeks burned as her heart pounded wildly. Yet she didn't pull away. Instead, she held his arm even tighter, pressing herself closer as if to test his reaction.

Bardi chuckled lightly. "Exploring Gotham with you today has been… quite rewarding," he said.

Pamela didn't catch the hidden meaning behind his words. She didn't realize that Bardi's so-called "reward" was the resolution to recruit her someday.

For him, securing Pamela as his subordinate was inevitable. Not in some crude, impulsive way, but by ensuring her eventual loyalty and utility.

And naturally, there might be pleasures to enjoy in the future. Bardi's physiology was no secret to himself any intimacy would require a partner who could withstand his overwhelming strength. Without caution, a single moment of carelessness could lead to catastrophic consequences.

Pamela, oblivious to his thoughts, smiled brightly and said, "Anywhere you want to go, I'll lead the way!"

She followed his lead without hesitation, though she couldn't help but feel curious about their destinations.

First, they went to the Gotham Police Department. There, they briefly met Commissioner Gordon. Bardi also inquired about someone named Edward Nygma, but Nygma wasn't present.

Afterward, they strolled through Gotham's bustling streets, growing closer with each passing moment.

Pamela noticed something peculiar about Bardi, he avoided stepping on flowers and plants wherever they went, seemingly out of consideration for her.

"Do you always act this way?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

"No," Bardi replied calmly. "Only when you're around."

Pamela's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. She leaned even closer to him, her body almost brushing against his with every step.

Bardi placed his arm around her slender waist, guiding her through Gotham's landmarks. At the amusement park, they rode the Ferris wheel. As it rose to the top, Pamela found herself sitting on his lap, their lips meeting in a kiss under the sky.

They passed by the Iceberg Lounge but didn't stop for a meal, the atmosphere there wasn't quite to their liking.

Their walk continued past the circus and then to the towering Wayne Building, its twelve gargoyle-like statues standing vigil over Gotham. Inside, Bardi learned that Bruce Wayne's parents were still alive.

Later, they visited Gotham University. Pamela eagerly introduced him to Jonathan Crane, a psychology professor, and Jason Woodrue, the botanist she admired most.

Bardi watched her interactions with a trace of amusement, his smile faint but meaningful.

Finally, they arrived at an unexpected destination—a vast swamp on the outskirts of Gotham.

Pamela hesitated as they approached, covering her nose and mouth with her hand to block the swamp's putrid stench. "What are we doing here?" she asked, frowning.

Bardi's eyes scanned the swamp carefully, his expression unreadable.

"It's nothing," he said at last, withdrawing his gaze.

But inwardly, he felt a sense of puzzlement. Was it supposed to be here? Or… was it gone?

Since he couldn't find what he was looking for, Bardi let it go. Instead, he pulled Pamela Isley closer, wrapping an arm tightly around her slim waist, pressing her against him.

"There are still a few hours left," Bardi said with a charming smile. "Let's go shopping."

Without waiting for a response, he leaned down and captured her lips in a deep kiss. The intensity left Pamela breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her heart raced.

Suddenly, Bardi's expression shifted. His gaze snapped upward, focusing on the skyline of Gotham, toward the direction of the Carmine Hotel.

---

Carmine Hotel, VIP Room No. 8

Inside the room, eight burly men were gathered around a coffee table, their expressions grim. Mike, also known as "Hank," sat at the center of the group, the apparent leader.

"Mike, we've been watching him all night, but we haven't learned anything," one of the men said, his tone edged with frustration.

"We started this shipment from Thailand to rake in dollars and live it up, not to end up as someone's lackeys," another added, his voice bitter.

"But… he's bulletproof," another man interjected nervously. "Bullets can't hurt him, you all saw it yourselves."

"I don't care what he can survive," a fourth man snapped. "He's not here now. Once we leave Gotham, we can get back to enjoying life."

Kneeling before Bardi to beg for their lives had been a bitter pill to swallow, and the man's resentment was clear. "I don't want to be anyone's dog forever."

The group turned toward Mike, waiting for his decision. "Mike, what do you think?"

Mike's face was grave, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a rare intensity. The Russian man's voice was low and resolute as he said, "I want that kind of power."

The image of Bardi standing invulnerable to bullets had seared itself into Mike's mind. No amount of money could buy that kind of strength. For him, this wasn't just about survival, it was about opportunity.

He could see that Bardi wasn't an ordinary man. Bardi had a grand plan, and he needed people to carry it out. This was a chance Mike couldn't afford to waste.

"Fine," one of the men said, breaking the tense silence. "Let's end this here. I'll take my share of the cash and leave Gotham while we still can."

One of the strong men opened the black case beside him, counting out his share of the dollars and stuffing it into a bag. He had no intention of staying under Bardi's thumb any longer. Bulletproof or not, he wouldn't spend his life serving someone else.

Seeing this, the others exchanged glances before following suit. One by one, they retrieved their own shares of the money, each man prepared to leave Gotham and resume their freewheeling lifestyles. The thought of living as someone's subordinate, especially someone who had taken their money was intolerable to them. If not for Bardi's seemingly invincible defense, they would have tried to take him down already.

Mike's expression darkened as he watched the scene unfold. Anger bubbling to the surface, he slammed his fist onto the table with a resounding thud.

"Don't you understand?" he growled. "He let us take the money because he knows we won't escape! If you run like this, you'll only end up dead!"

One of the men scoffed. "Mike, stop trying to scare us. You know as well as we do that we've got plenty of escape routes. Once we're out of Gotham, he won't be able to touch us."

Another chimed in, "We begged for our lives so we could have this chance to run, and now we're taking it."

A third added, "If you want to stay, fine. But I'm not wasting this opportunity. I'm out of here."

"Goodbye."

One by one, the seven men left with their bags of cash, eager to spend it on the pleasures of the world. When the money ran out, they'd simply return to their usual ways—murder, robbery, and chaos to line their pockets once again.

Mike remained seated, his face clouded with fury. He clenched his fists, veins bulging as his mind raced.

"They're already dead," he muttered to himself. Mike had no intention of running. He believed in Bardi's power, and he was certain those seven would regret their decision.