DC: Rise of the Kryptonian Tyrant

Kendo Street. The most infamous landmark here was the Brothers Nightclub, a place run by the Brotherhood. It was infamous for its overwhelming number of dancers, blazing neon lights, cheap booze, and the rampant trade of drugs, human trafficking, and prostitution—all orchestrated by the Brotherhood.

This area was also part of the suicide slum. Compared to other parts of the city, the streets here were marginally cleaner, without the pervasive stench of feces and urine so common elsewhere.

The Brotherhood was a local gang, distinct from the other four major crime syndicates in the area. Unlike them, the Brotherhood was composed entirely of locals, each member as ruthless as the next. There was no question of abolishing this gang; it was entrenched in the fabric of the slum.

The people here were maddeningly poor, desperate to the point of insanity. Their only means of survival was the little money they could scrape together to protect themselves. Anyone who dared to provoke them was guaranteed to face their relentless vengeance. For these poor and crazed individuals, their desperation was their greatest weapon, their bottom line. No other organization dared to encroach on their territory, for the Brotherhood's ferocity and tenacity made them a force to be reckoned with. Under the leadership of three brothers, they built their gang and thrived in this forsaken slum.

Mike winked, casually stepped forward, handed over their tickets, and pushed open the glass door framed in gaudy, cheap gold plating.

A wave of heat and noise hit them like a wall. Despite the late autumn air turning crisp with winter's chill, the nightclub's oppressive heat seemed to fill the air, making their hair damp and their blood quicken to the beat of the deafening music. Multicolored laser lights flashed chaotically across the ceiling.

Below, the crowd was a frenzy of writhing bodies. People twisted their waists wildly, arms raised high, their voices hoarse from screaming. Some reached out toward the feet of dancers high on the stage.

The dancers swayed and sidestepped the hands of those without money. The wealthier ones, however, crouched down, grinding their hips while offering bills. They slipped cash into the dancers' underwear, letting their fingers linger, deliberately brushing against their skin. This left the patrons flushed, their excitement boiling over as they roared in wild abandon.

Bardi walked into Brothers Nightclub without hesitation. This was not a place that restricted entry. However, his refined demeanor and well-groomed appearance immediately made him stand out as someone who clearly didn't belong in a slum. The sight of him, accompanied by two bodyguards, caught the attention of the two gatekeepers.

"Does the boss have a guest today?" one of them asked.

"Haven't heard anything. Looks like an outsider," the other replied.

"Think he's just here to party?"

"Not sure. Better let Boss Jetery know."

The two gatekeepers exchanged suspicious glances. One of them eventually walked off to report to the boss.

The Brotherhood had three leaders—the three brothers. Among them, Jetery, the youngest, was the brains of the operation. It was largely thanks to his cunning and strategic mind that the Brotherhood had managed to establish its dominance in the slum. Seventy percent of the credit for their success was his.

Bardi's brow furrowed slightly as he stepped further into the nightclub. The air inside was thick and stifling, a cocktail of sweat, alcohol, and unidentifiable filth. Even with his sense of smell muted, it felt as though the grime in the air was seeping into his very pores. The heat, oppressive and unrelenting, weighed on him.

Behind him, Mike and Leon followed closely.

Leon, a little more wide-eyed, stole glances at the scantily clad dancers. His gaze lingered for a moment before he forced himself to look away, turning instead to the tall, commanding figure of Bardi leading the way. His emotions were a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. He and his companions had just pledged their allegiance to this enigmatic new boss, and he had no idea what awaited them.

Mike had been the one to recruit Leon and his group to join Bardi's operation. For Leon, who had been left penniless after being conned, the offer came at just the right time. Joining a gang had seemed like the only option for survival, and so they had quickly agreed to work under Bardi.

What Leon hadn't expected was the immediate payout. Upon joining, each member of his group received a $1,000 settling fee, a fortune in the 1980s, where the dollar's value carried significant weight.

Leon couldn't help but feel uneasy. The sum was too generous, almost unreal. His friends, however, had been overjoyed, reveling in their sudden windfall. But Leon, who considered himself more level-headed, remained cautious. What kind of job required this kind of upfront payment? What risks would they have to face under Bardi's command?

Bardi continued forward, his expression unreadable, heading toward the staircase at the back of the nightclub. The layout forced him to take a wide loop around the central dancefloor.

Two men stood guard near the stairs. One of them was distracted, his eyes glued to the gyrating dancers onstage. But as Bardi approached, the man snapped to attention, quickly shifting his lecherous gaze to the approaching trio. Suspicion crept into his expression as he watched Bardi close in.

Mike stepped forward and said he was looking for their boss. The gatekeeper, however, clearly didn't believe him, there had been no notification about anyone coming to see the boss. When Mike realized he couldn't talk his way through, he acted decisively. He grabbed the gatekeeper by the throat, cutting off his air supply, and stabbed a knife into his neck. The man crumpled, unconscious, and Mike dragged him into a dark corner out of sight.

The nightclub's atmosphere remained noisy and sweltering, and despite the violence, not many people noticed what had just happened.

In truth, they had no appointment and no connection whatsoever to the Brotherhood's boss.

Leon silently observed from behind as Mike went to work. Mike had warned him beforehand to stay calm and follow his lead. Leon had been startled when he saw Mike attack the gatekeeper so directly, but seeing Bardi remain motionless and indifferent, he forced himself to steady his nerves and watch quietly.

The three of them climbed the stairs, with Mike leading the way. Whenever someone crossed their path, whether it was a passerby or another guard Mike would step forward without hesitation and knock them out with brutal efficiency. His blows were swift, precise, and merciless. Leon couldn't help but flinch each time, his eyebrows twitching as fear and adrenaline surged through him.

After all, the Brotherhood was a major gang in the slums, an organization Leon had always regarded with fear and awe. He had heard countless horrifying rumors about their cruelty: tales of dismemberment, organ trafficking, and even maiming orphans to force them into begging on the streets. Their methods were so brutal and inhumane that they bordered on monstrous.

Leon had never imagined that he would find himself here, walking straight into the Brotherhood's den as if it were nothing. Watching Mike's raw strength and ruthless efficiency as he subdued each guard left Leon trembling, his heart pounding. Although he hadn't lifted a finger, the calm demeanor of both Mike and Bardi gave him a strange sense of security. At the same time, it stirred something inside him—an ambition, a yearning to possess the same strength and composure they displayed.

Just the thought of it filled him with excitement and a dangerous thrill, his body buzzing with adrenaline as he followed closely behind.

***

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