"Fuck! Who's that big guy carrying someone?! Kill him!"
Koslov, the Russian mafia boss, hid behind a bulletproof SUV, pointing at the tall figure strolling along the edge of the docks as he roared in fury.
Clark carried Jack, who was wearing a rubber protective suit, over one shoulder with a single hand, as though he were a weightless sack of cotton.
The three empty barrels, each weighing several hundred pounds, that he had casually thrown had not only knocked out three gunmen preparing an ambush with pinpoint accuracy, but also smashed three deep, spiderweb-cracked craters into the hard concrete.
"Clark! Put me down! I can run! Carrying me will get us both shot full of holes!"
Jack was pale with terror on Clark's broad shoulder. Bullets whizzed around them, striking the nearby shipping containers and throwing up showers of dazzling sparks.
"Don't squirm, Jack." Clark's voice remained steady, his breathing completely unruffled. "You're too slow. Close your eyes. It'll be over soon."
Gordon crouched behind a forklift, quickly loading a fresh magazine into his service pistol. He looked at the three gangsters knocked unconscious by the empty barrels, then at Clark walking away, and swallowed hard.
"Harvey, did you see that?" Gordon's voice was strained. "Did that guy just throw three plastic barrels weighing several hundred pounds?"
"I saw it, James. Every freak in Gotham is out tonight." Harvey gave a cold laugh and raised his revolver. "Whoever he is, as long as he's killing Falcone's men, he's our friend!"
In midair, Batman broke a gunman's ribs with a vicious flying kick, then used the momentum to roll behind cover. His goggles locked onto Clark's retreating figure, his face beneath the mask darkening.
"Heart rate, sixty beats per minute. Normal body temperature. No signs of excessive blood flow to