In the silence, the work continued. Everyone was extremely focused, cautious, and efficient, as if flawless. But in reality, they were just repeatedly removing small amounts of tissue from the existing wound—those that were completely non-viable.
Around one wound, three or four people gathered. These top doctors, with professional demeanor, were doing things even an intern surgical assistant could do, yet they behaved as if facing a great enemy, very tense.
Others were busy nearby as well, sometimes observing, sometimes researching and discussing. One was sitting on a chair drawing cross-sectional diagrams, another was writing medical records, all bustling with activity.
At this moment, the benefits of the English vocabulary barrier became apparent. Amanda could only tell they were discussing some professional data, completely unable to understand the specifics. After all, each organ has a specific term, and the parts of the organ have even more specialized terms. Just the different muscles can break down into countless words. So what they were actually discussing, except for the professionals involved, no one could understand.
Amanda only listened to the buzz, knowing they might have encountered some problems. She opened her mouth to inquire several times, but was met with an attitude that clearly disdained explaining to her. She couldn't pursue it further since her mastery of technical vocabulary was limited, asking further would make her feel like an ignorant fool, so she stopped asking.
It's fortunate that Amanda acted with excessive urgency, going to various hospitals and kidnapping top doctors from various departments. Everybody was a top-tier doctor, sharing many professional topics. If she had included a few interns, they might have been exposed.
Thus they labored for ten whole hours. During this time, it wasn't fruitless; they submitted many reports. However, Amanda personally could not understand these reports; she only knew that they could be sold for money, used for trading benefits, so she was satisfied.
Moreover, she was anxious for the doctors to cause minimal damage to the corpse, so that once she obtained professional data, she could sell the body once more. Naturally, the more intact the state, the better, to fetch a higher price.
During these ten hours, it was naturally the process of the three types of energy within Clark interacting and finally merging into one. It's also why the battle continued within him for so long, without any external intervention—the doctors in the room were buying him time.
Just as another portion of necrotic tissue slices was sent out, Doctor Niman suddenly noticed that the tissue beneath Superman's thoracic skin emerged like new sprouts. He took a deep breath, speaking in a deep voice: "Turn the body over, I want to check the penetrating wound at the back."
The people immediately got to work, turning the body over. This action pleased Amanda; after ten hours of research, they finally progressed to the next step.
In fact, the wound at the back was very small, about the thickness of a finger, barely visible if one didn't look carefully, also easier to conceal.
Niman expressed dissatisfaction, saying: "Our speed is too slow; I want to go home early. Let's do this; from now on, rotate shifts every twenty minutes, everyone must continuously extract tissue. Before the shift changes, no one is allowed to rest."
The doctors' eyesight was top-notch, naturally realizing the anomaly. They quickly understood Doctor Niman's intention—that the so-called 'no rest, continuous work' was actually continuously lowering their heads to study the body, thus concealing the wound.
Because the cameras were mounted above, as long as the doctors bent over the wound, the cameras couldn't capture it clearly, nor could it record any changes to the wound.
As a result, several doctors in the room began rotating shifts, tirelessly bending over their work, either meticulously extracting surface tissue from around the wound, or without lifting their heads, passing the extracted materials to the assistant beside them.
This led to Amanda staring at the monitor, completely unable to see what the wound had become, naturally missing the astonishingly rapid healing of the muscle tissue.
Maintaining this posture was extremely taxing, the doctors' sweat continuously dripping onto their masks, yet not a single one spoke, as if silently upholding an oath.
Tick-tock, tick-tock. The room grew quiet, with only the sound of the clock hands ticking. Finally, when it was Doctor Niman's turn, the small wound at the back completely healed.
When he placed his hand on Superman's chest, he heard the heartbeat, weak at first, gradually returning to a strong rhythm, sweat dripping once more, yet his gaze was remarkably bright. He finally slowly straightened up, looking at his colleagues: "The surgery is over. Thank you for your hard work."
Upon hearing these words, Amanda instinctively glanced at the screen, only to find all the doctors motionless. She immediately became somewhat angry: "What are you doing? Get to work!"
"I am very sorry, madam. I have completed my mission." Doctor Niman drew a cross on his chest, placed his hand on his forehead, extended two fingers upward, made a praying gesture, then continued, "I once vowed before God to use all of my bestowed skills to aid others, never bringing shame to the Lord. I've done it. Amen."
"What are you doing!!!" Amanda was furious, not even noticing the fingers of the corpse on the experimental table moved.
Minutes later, fully armed soldiers stormed into the lab. Amanda stepped out from the crowd, just about to say something, but met a pair of blue eyes.
Superman sat up, then floated gently above the experimental table, speaking slowly: "I once thought declaring oneself God was too arrogant. But even if there exists such a righteous person in this world, I should save him."
"In the past, I also never thought I had the authority to judge others, but even if there's only one sinner like you in the world, judgment and slaughter would no longer be sins."
"I've never been good at disappointing people."
Bzzz—!!!
Suddenly, laser beams shot from his eyes. Amanda maintained her shocked expression as a line of blood spread from her forehead to her chin, then to her chest and abdomen. Under the stunned gazes of all, she was split in two from the middle, her body slowly falling to both sides.
Superman soared into the sky, and under the gaze of a helicopter, he took a deep breath, unleashing a horizontal laser that burned away the entire base's ceiling. The room was exposed, revealing numerous corpses and specimens to the long-awaited sunlight.
Clark had already noticed that the laser beams shooting from his eyes were no longer their original red. A strange force kept surging in his chest, as if the energy he absorbed from the Sun's rays had transformed into something else.
Previously, he had disliked using laser beams, as they were too violent, focused on destruction. But for some reason, he now felt that this new power granted him the ability to create. So he decided to give it a try.
Everyone in the building ran outside. In full view of everyone, the floating figure's laser hit the building but didn't destroy it; instead, it turned into a purple glow, wrapping around the building and slowly lifting it.
This mysterious energy enveloped the building, following Superman as they flew toward the city center of Metropolis.
At that moment, the most bustling central square of Metropolis was adorned with Christmas decorations. People were picking out gifts on the bustling streets.
Suddenly, a huge shadow loomed over them. At the center of the square, the building was set down silently. Its bottom was smoothed out, so it didn't tilt at all; it was as if the building had grown out of the square. And the figure floating in the air was the one who appeared on the morning newspaper's front page, proclaimed to be dead—Superman.
"Superman! It's Superman!"
"Great, Superman isn't dead!!"
"He's not dead! I knew he wasn't dead!"
Everyone screamed, watching the figure continue to descend from the sky. And with another flash of purple light, the editor-in-chief of The Daily Planet suddenly appeared on the rooftop of the building closest to Superman.
The editor was initially perplexed until Clark pointed to the building below. The journalist's keen sense was fully activated when he saw the room with its roof cut off and filled with corpses. He pounced like a hungry wolf.
Soon, countless reporters swarmed the building. Then came helicopters and fighter jets, all targeting Superman, as his previous death seemed to give them confidence.
Those standing on the ground looked up at the sky, all wondering what conclusion Superman would bring to these people. Would he kill them? Or would he, like before, be unfazed by their attacks?
But to everyone's surprise, Superman remained stationary in mid-air, unaffected by the helicopters and fighter jets flying around him. More police cars gathered until they blocked the roads.
Countless memories flashed through Clark's mind: the parent of a student who thanked him after he saved a school bus, promising never to reveal his uniqueness; the park ranger who said nothing after seeing him fly in to save people from a fire; the sailor during a distant fishing trip, who pretended not to see him use his superpower to save someone; the police officer who knew he was still breathing, his wounds healing, yet used a body bag to cover his injuries; those doctors who knew he wasn't dead but conspired to deceive Amanda, buying time for his recovery…
For these people, he couldn't afford to fail; he had no right to be weak. No matter how many hardships lay on this path, he was bound to succeed.
He once wanted to be responsible for everyone but never thought about the meaning of doing so; he also wanted to make the world better but could not find enough motivation. But at that moment, he realized he must forge himself into a Man of Steel, one who could not be defeated by difficulties, only grow stronger, persevere until the end, just to become the final barrier against their downfall. If society can't lift them, if God can't save them—then let it be me.
Amid everyone's watchful eyes, Superman's figure suddenly vanished. Just when everyone thought he had completed his mission and left, an even larger shadow loomed over Metropolis.
A mountain landed before everyone, surrounded by gun barrels, its terrain majestic, its buildings splendid, like Heaven had descended.
The onlookers raised their heads to gaze, quickly recognizing the iconic buildings. They usually referred to this area as—"Capitol Hill."