INTERLUDE

Clark Kent wandered down the cracked streets of Brockton Bay, his hands tucked into the pockets of a worn, second-hand jacket he’d picked up at a local thrift store. The city felt like a place that had been gutted and left to fester. Buildings stood in various stages of decay, their facades stripped away by violence and apathy, and the people who moved through the streets wore the same worn expressions—grim, cautious, and tired.

Clark’s stomach growled softly, and he sighed. It wasn’t that he needed to eat, but keeping up appearances was important. If he was going to blend in, he had to live like the people here did—scraping by on whatever they could find. The money he had was meager, cobbled together from the odd jobs he’d managed to pick up since arriving in this broken world. But finding steady work had proven… complicated.

No identification. No social security number. No references. He was a ghost here, and even if he had tried to use his abilities to forge something convincing, he knew that the rigid systems of Earth Bet would catch onto him sooner or later. Brockton Bay wasn’t exactly a place where people asked questions, but that didn’t mean its undercurrents weren’t dangerous.

He passed a corner store with boards nailed haphazardly across its shattered windows. The faded sign above read “Doyle’s Groceries,” and an old man sat on a crate outside, watching him with wary eyes. Clark nodded politely, but the man just grunted, chewing on the stub of a cigar.

This world… it was different. So different. It was almost overwhelming.

On Earth Bet, people had powers, but instead of standing together to protect and inspire, many wielded their abilities like weapons of war. The Protectorate, the Wards, the villains—their struggles were all-consuming. Civilian lives were an afterthought in the chaos. And then there were the monsters—the Endbringers, forces of nature that even the strongest capes feared. Their existence loomed over everything, turning hope into something fragile and fleeting.

Clark stopped at the edge of the docks, the sharp tang of seawater mingling with the stench of oil and decay. He rested his hands on a rusted railing, staring out at the churning waves as his thoughts churned just as violently.

Back on Earth, he’d always felt like an outsider, but here? Here, he felt more alien than ever. Earth Bet wasn’t just a world in need—it was a world drowning. Its people didn’t just need saving; they needed someone to show them that things could be better. That they didn’t have to be defined by tragedy and fear.

But even Superman had his limits.

The rules here were different. The violence was unrelenting, the stakes impossibly high. He’d learned that the hard way during the Leviathan attack. Watching the destruction, the deaths—it had shaken him in ways he wasn’t used to. Back home, he could always rely on the knowledge that he could make a difference, that his powers were enough. Here? Here, even he felt small.

And then there was the moral weight of his actions. He couldn’t solve Earth Bet’s problems by brute force. He couldn’t punch the corruption out of the various governments or knock the Endbringers into the sun without the risk of causing even greater harm. He had to navigate carefully, step by step, just like the people around him.

He straightened up, forcing himself to breathe deeply. No matter how overwhelming it felt, he couldn’t lose sight of his purpose. He’d come to Earth Bet for a reason. To help. To inspire.

But first, he needed a job.

Clark’s eyes scanned the bulletin board outside a nearby diner. Most of the notices were for things like handyman work, labor at the docks, or “security” gigs that were almost certainly tied to one of the local gangs. He frowned, considering his options. Physical labor was easy enough—he could work faster and harder than any human without breaking a sweat. But he couldn’t draw attention to himself. Everything he did here had to be ordinary.

His gaze landed on a handwritten note pinned to the corner of the board: “Dishwasher needed. No experience required. Ask for Maria.”

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something. Clark pulled the note free and turned toward the diner, its neon sign flickering faintly in the gray afternoon light.

As he stepped through the door, the scent of grease and coffee hit him, and he was met with the curious stares of the few patrons scattered throughout the room.

“Can I help you?” the waitress behind the counter asked, her tone suspicious.

Clark smiled, adjusting his glasses. “I’m here about the dishwasher job. Is Maria around?”

The waitress eyed him for a moment longer before nodding. “Hang tight.”

As he waited, Clark found himself hoping—really hoping—that this small, unassuming job might give him the foothold he needed. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

And on Earth Bet, even Superman had to start somewhere.