DC: Rise Of The Kryptonian Tyrant

The sea breeze howled across the harbor, carrying with it the eerie creaks of the dented black oil drum rolling and bumping along the concrete. The silence among the gathered men was thick, oppressive, broken only by the sound of the wind.

"I need some dogs to run errands for me." Bardi said, his voice cold and emotionless, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

His sharp, piercing gaze swept over the crowd and settled on Hank.

In that moment, his demonstration of invulnerability and terrifying precision left no doubt in anyone's mind: this wasn't a man to trifle with. With the dozen bullets still resting in his hand, Bardi could easily end every life here without a second thought.

The butler, observing Bardi's interest in Hank, exhaled quietly in relief. It seemed Bardi's intentions didn't extend to random slaughter, he simply wanted to recruit someone. Still, the display of raw, inhuman power left the butler shaken. How could such a being even exist? A body immune to bullets? The sheer impossibility of it defied everything he knew.

Meanwhile, Hank stood frozen in place, his breathing uneven.

Bardi casually flicked a bullet between his fingers. Though it looked harmless, like a toy marble, there was no doubt in Hank's mind that it carried the force of a gunshot. He didn't dare move. One wrong move, one hint of defiance, and he'd be dead in an instant.

Hank understood the situation perfectly. This wasn't a negotiation. If he resisted, Bardi would kill him without hesitation. There were countless others in Gotham—or anywhere, really—who would take his place without complaint.

So, without much deliberation, Hank made his choice. The Gotham wind howled in his ears as he resigned himself to submission. What did it matter if he became someone's errand boy? Staying alive was far more important.

When the bullets had started flying earlier, Hank had already prepared himself for a "kill or be killed" scenario. But now? No one was dead. That, in itself, was a relief.

Hank wasn't a stranger to swallowing his pride. He had survived the horrors of war and the lawless chaos of the Devil's Triangle. Bowing his head now was hardly a struggle. His mind had already moved to the next step, negotiating his role and, perhaps, securing some benefits.

Maybe, just maybe, he thought, Bardi could offer him something. That unbreakable body, for example. The mere idea of having such strength sent a strange warmth through Hank's chest.

He began sorting through his thoughts, trying to find the right words to say. But before he could speak, he noticed Bardi turning away from him with a satisfied look.

Hank frowned in confusion and followed Bardi's gaze. His eyes widened in disbelief when he saw what his men were doing.

"You've got to be kidding me…"

Several of his subordinates were kneeling on the ground, their guns discarded in front of them as if offering them up in surrender.

The man closest to him glanced back and whispered urgently, "Hank, get down already, or you're going to die!"

Another man nodded frantically, his voice equally hushed but desperate. "Yeah, what the hell are you doing just standing there? Kneel down, for God's sake, before someone gets killed!"

The rest of them bobbed their heads in agreement, their eyes wide with fear.

Hank's chest heaved with frustration as his face turned an angry shade of red. His fists clenched tightly as he fought the urge to scream.

These bastards! Traitors! Cowards!

The closest subordinate gave him another meaningful look, even winking. "We'll figure it out later, Hank. Just kneel, okay?"

Hank wanted to kill them all on the spot. Here he was, trying to think ahead, to negotiate for a better deal, and these idiots had already dropped to their knees like scared children.

You spineless fools! he thought, his face twisting with rage. I brought you here, I trusted you, and this is how you repay me?

But it was too late. The damage was done.

The saying, "A bad soldier ruins a good general," felt painfully accurate in this moment. Hank had recruited this lot, and now their cowardice reflected on him.

He felt his dignity slipping through his fingers. But with the situation as it was, there was little he could do. For all his anger, he couldn't exactly argue against survival.

Bardi, on the other hand, was more amused than annoyed. He rarely encountered people who were this "sensible." In modern times, especially, most were too proud to recognize the clear gap between themselves and others.

Bardi appreciated those who could see reality for what it was.

To him, people were not equal. They were separated by vast, undeniable differences. Everyone might have two eyes, a nose, and a mouth, but the gulf between individuals was monumental. Some could rise to the heights of power, while others carried bricks their entire lives.

Bardi valued people who understood this. If the situation called for submission, they submitted. If it required action, they acted. And if someone insisted on being stubborn or defiant when they clearly had no chance, then they deserved whatever fate they brought upon themselves.

In the same way, Bardi understood himself. He had no illusions about who he was, the power he wielded, or the realities of the world around him. Recognizing the rules of the world and knowing when to enforce them or break them was the foundation of his strength.

Bardi's cold, emotionless gaze returned to Hank, sending a chill through him. The look seemed to say, I already have enough dogs. One less won't matter.

Hank forced himself to maintain his composure, though his pulse quickened. His expression was stern, his brow furrowed as if trying to project an air of defiance. Taking a deep breath, he let out a cold snort.

"I, Hank, have seen everything there is to see in this life!" he began, his voice loud and firm. "From the deserts of Africa to the Bermuda Triangle, from the jungles of Thailand to the chaos of Myanmar, I founded the War Bear Mercenary Team! Hundreds of battles—big and small—and yet here I stand!"

His chest swelled with pride, and his voice grew even louder. "And now, you expect me to be a dog at your feet?"

Hank's head was held high, his tone resolute and unyielding, as if he were a warrior staring down death itself. The sheer conviction in his words made him appear as if he were ready to face his doom with dignity, his will burning brighter than ever in the face of an inevitable end.

The sea breeze howled, whipping around him like a mournful dirge, as if nature itself were bidding farewell to a tragic hero.

For a moment, those around him were stunned. Hank's men, who had already dropped to their knees, looked up at him in disbelief, their faces slack with shock.

The butler and Mario, standing on the other side, exchanged a glance. Though they were removed from the situation, there was a flicker of admiration in their eyes.

A man of true conviction, they thought.

Even Bardi, whose face rarely betrayed his thoughts, gave the faintest impression of recognition. He didn't mind people who weren't afraid of death. In fact, he respected them. It made them interesting and killing them even easier.

"In that case..." Bardi said coldly, his voice as calm as ever.

His fingers tightened, the bullet in his hand poised for release.

Hank's chest rose and fell, his stance strong. For a brief moment, it seemed as though he might actually embrace death with pride.

But just as Bardi was about to fire, Hank's booming voice echoed again.

"In that case!" he roared.

Thud!

Hank dropped to his knees with a resounding impact, the sound cutting through the silence.

"I'll be your dog," he declared loudly, his tone utterly unashamed.

Despite kneeling, Hank still carried himself with an air of authority. His back was straight, his chest puffed out, and his expression was resolute. He knelt with more dignity than most men stood, as if this was some kind of triumph rather than a submission.

The stunned expressions on his men's faces melted away, replaced by a collective sigh of relief.

There's our boss, they thought. That's the Hank we know. Thank God he didn't do anything stupid.

Mario and the butler, however, couldn't hide the twitch in their expressions. The admiration they'd felt moments ago evaporated in an instant, replaced by disbelief and a sense of secondhand embarrassment.

The butler's lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He glanced at Mario, who looked equally bewildered.

Hank's men, oblivious to the reaction from the other side, seemed almost proud. One even whispered under his breath, "See? That's our boss. Knew he'd handle it."

Bardi, on the other hand, hesitated. For a moment, his fingers twitched, and the bullet nearly left his grasp.

He had genuinely thought Hank would choose death. The boldness of his earlier words, the defiance in his tone, it had all seemed so convincing.

But instead, Hank had not only knelt but had done so with such dramatic flair that it caught even Bardi off guard.

With his straight posture and unyielding demeanor, Hank almost looked like he believed kneeling was an act of honor. The sheer contradiction between his words and actions was so strange that it made Bardi pause.

Bardi's gaze lingered on Hank, making the mercenary shiver slightly despite his outward bravado.

"I—I just knelt a little late," Hank said quickly, his voice stiff. "You can't kill me for that, right?"

Bardi raised an eyebrow, then let out the faintest huff of air. Was it amusement? Disdain? Hard to say. Either way, he dropped the bullets from his hand.

The metallic clink of the bullets hitting the ground echoed in the tense silence.

It was over.

Hank exhaled quietly, relief flooding his system. His men also relaxed, though they still knelt cautiously, not daring to move until Bardi said otherwise.

Only then did everyone fully process what had just happened. Bardi had held onto those bullets, more than a dozen of them, this entire time, catching them effortlessly during the earlier gunfire.

The realization sent a chill through the group.

Bardi glanced at the discarded bullets before finally speaking. "Take my money and follow me."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and began walking toward Gotham.