Emperor Building.
Underground Research Institute.
On the fourteenth underground floor, this level was filled with cloned flesh, various detection programs, and research on the genetic programming of Doomsday cells and multiple cell types, mainly conducted by humans.
It was brightly lit, vast, and empty. Doctors in white coats and researchers moved back and forth. The institute housed the world's most advanced biological research equipnt and gathered the finest biodical experts. At every mont, human brilliance and wisdom shone here.
The white floor was made of sound-absorbing clay. As Bardi stepped on it, it sank slightly beneath his feet without making a sound, so as not to disturb the researchers at work.
So researchers, upon seeing Bardi, would bow slightly to show their respect.
Passing through the quiet white corridor, Bardi reached the innermost section and entered the Doomsday manufacturing, research, and training room.
Tall glass-sealed tanks stood like scenes from a science fiction film, arranged neatly throughout the room. The ground was covered with a cold mist, enhancing the futuristic, cinematic atmosphere.
"Increase nutritional supplents."
"Inject solar energy."
"Stimulate antibody proliferation."
"Tear muscle fibers."
"Protein synthesis is insufficient."
"Freeze it imdiately."
Lex gave these commands with calm eyes.
The assistant nearby followed his instructions and activated the low-temperature cooling system to freeze the sarcoma mass within the glass-sealed jar.
Alongside the assistant, data was collected and recorded, analyzing where the process had gone wrong.
Everything proceeded in an orderly fashion, though no results had been achieved yet. It was another failed experint.
Bardi was not surprised.
This research was carried out by a team of human bioscience experts. On the ten floors below, there was also a specialized group composed of Hera and artificial intelligence systems. Using the combined knowledge of these scientific teams, along with Bardi's understanding of Kryptonian cells, research continued. Yet, success remained out of reach.
Doomsday was not so easy to replicate. Perhaps they truly would need to wait for the arrival of General Zod.
Bardi gazed at the mass of sarcoma, thinking silently to himself.
When Bardi finished inspecting, Lex and the other researchers lowered their heads in greeting. Bardi gave a slight nod, allowing them to resu their work.
"Is it ready?" Bardi asked. In the days following the capture of The Flash, he had begun planning to use The Flash to alter the past.
It was not simply about saving Jenny.
It was also essential to avoid disturbing his past self, ensuring that the younger Bardi would not see his future self and thus avoid any temporal disruptions.
Bardi would never underestimate the risks of altering ti.
"It is ready. The embryo is absorbing nuclear energy and continuing to grow. It is expected to reach a height of thirteen ters. The body will be bloated, the bones barbed, and the flesh layer will be adjusted to 95 percent completion of the desired form," Lex replied, leading Bardi toward the largest glass-sealed tank.
This giant glass jar stood over twenty ters tall with a diater of fifteen ters.
Inside, floating in the green nutrient solution, was a massive and grotesque embryo. It curled up, peacefully asleep with its calves tucked against its body.
Bardi stood silently before the embryo, his expression softening. A trace of tenderness appeared in his eyes, touched by mory.
The flickering flas, the ugly figure standing alone in the darkness, flashed once again before his eyes.
…
On the ninth floor of the underground research institute. From the first floor down to the ninth floor were all chanical research levels. The air carried a faint scent of engine oil. Countless individual weapons, nanotechnology projects, and other chanical research filled these floors. They were also connected to the large-scale circular accelerator collider on the ground, as well as the subterranean Atlantic Ocean, where the Kryptonian spacecraft was docked.
The Kryptonian spacecraft, however, had been completely refitted. It had beco an amphibious giant aircraft carrier, capable of flying into space and carrying hundreds of thousands of passengers.
On the ninth floor, Mike surveyed all the high-tech equipnt present. Under strict orders, he was stationed here to guard the researchers as they installed chanical prosthetics on Barry Allen's legs. These prosthetics were designed to absorb and limit the Speed Force, suppressing Barry's abilities.
Mike had been assigned to ensure that no accidents occurred during the procedure.
Watching Barry, now under the researchers' control like a puppet as they manipulated the nerve connections in his legs, Mike's anger surged. His face grew tense, his fingers clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He wanted to lash out, to beat these people to death and rescue Barry.
But he could not. The security here was too tight. Without his current identity, he would not have been able to get this close at all.
When the researchers finished installing one of the chanical prosthetics and sighed in relief, a yellow arc suddenly flashed across Barry's arm, accompanied by a sharp 'zipping' sound.
Mike stepped forward abruptly, placing his hand on Barry's arm.
"Hey! This is inappropriate. Combat personnel are only here to guard, not to interfere with the research. What do you think you're doing?" the commander overseeing the operation shouted at Mike.
"I was sent by His Majesty to prevent The Flash from losing control."
"The Flash is under His Majesty's strict supervision. There is no room for error. If he resists, none of us will escape His Majesty's wrath."
"The Flash's power is about to recover. Even ten tis the normal dose of anesthetic may not hold him."
Mike responded coldly. The commander froze for a mont, then noticed the arcs of electricity flickering across Barry's body. He quickly ordered the staff to bring stronger anesthetics to sedate him further.
Just as Mike had said, The Flash's power was returning. The arcs around him intensified as he regained consciousness, though he still lacked the strength to escape.
Mike continued holding Barry's arm. With his thumb, he pressed into Barry's skin in a specific rhythm, communicating through a cipher.
"Barry, what's going on?"
Barry, who had only just regained consciousness, froze. This cipher—painfully morized under Bruce's strict training—was far more complicated than Morse code. Bruce had forced them to learn it alongside the world's most difficult languages, like Chinese, Arabic, and German. Though it had been a nightmare at the ti, it proved invaluable now. A simple nod or gesture was enough to convey full ssages.
Only Hal, Barry, Bruce, and Victor knew this code. No one else.
In that instant, Barry understood clearly. This "Mike" was Bruce!
Hidden from view where Bruce's hand covered Barry's, Barry lightly touched Bruce's clothes and replied with his fingers.
"Barmulodi wants to help him go back to the past."
Bruce's eyes narrowed. His fingers tightened around Barry's arm.
At that mont, the researchers approached with the stronger anesthetic and injected it into Barry.
Taking advantage of the brief mont before Barry lost consciousness again, Bruce pressed one final ssage into Barry's hand.
Barry gave a slight nod before passing out once more.
(To be continued.)
***
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