A chorus of sharp gasps rose around them.
The foreman in the yellow vest nearly popped his eyes out. He knew the big guy was strong, but this was ridiculous. Still, in Gotham, any dog that could work was a good dog. He couldn't be bothered to look deeper.
"What are you staring at? Get back to fucking work!" the foreman roared, then turned to Clark. "Good work, big guy! You're paired with this useless bastard today. Do his share too!"
Jack's face flushed crimson, and he lowered his head in shame.
Over the next few hours, Clark demonstrated what a true "human crane" looked like.
He handled eighty percent of the team's workload alone. Chemical drums that took three or four grown men to move were nothing to him. He carried one in each hand as easily as buckets of water.
Jack followed behind, doing nothing but checking the manifest and pushing the empty cart.
"Clark, right?" During a break, Jack handed Clark a bottle of water. "I really can't thank you enough for today. If it weren't for you, I'd probably be a pancake by now."
"It was nothing." Clark unscrewed the cap and took a drink. Looking at the thin, almost stooped man before him, he could sense the kindness deep in his bones.
"You don't look like someone who does manual labor," Clark remarked casually.
"Yeah, I used to be a lab assistant at the Chemical Plant." Jack gave a bitter smile.
"But life likes to play jokes on you. My wife's pregnant, and I need money. Gotham doesn't care whether you hold test tubes or haul steel drums, as long as it puts bread on the table."
Clark fell silent.
He had wandered across the world and witnessed countless hardships. But life at the bottom