Confront The Scarecrow

Rage burned through Lois Lane's musclebound body as the green stain spread out from her crotch. Pulsing emerald veins pumped the green corruption into her flesh; fat seemed to melt off her body as her skin grew taut over growing muscles. Her conscious mind was awash in a chemical stew of anger, pain, and sexual desire...and the enraged reporter struck out wildly at the Scarecrow's lab.

Gripping an IV stand in one hand, Lois gave voice to a yell of fury as she smashed a shelf of chemicals, glassware exploding at the sweep of the metal pole. Chemicals mixed, mingled, burst into flame and exploded into puffs of multicoloured smoke. The savage reporter stabbed the device through the stolen electronic equipment, which spat sparks and died, thousands of dollars of scientific equipment reduced to scrap.

It did not take long for the Scarecrow to return and find his lab in ruins.

"Hmm. Some kind of paradoxical reaction," the villain said, his voice calm though his eyes were wide and bloodshot. "Still, a simple dose of fear gas will—"

Lois turned on him, great arms sweeping down to crush him, but the skinny, agile villain ducked and came up thrusting his palm against her chin. A green burst of gas exploded in the hulking reporter's face.

The same face that came crashing down through the cloud to slam into Scarecrow with a brutal head-butt.

The impact staggered the villain, and he moved to step back...but the reporter caught his wrists.

Caught.

Squeezed.

Crushed.

The Scarecrow screamed and fell to his knees as bone scraped on bone. The reporter's face, now a verdant green, stared down at him with contempt. She brought her right foot back, slowly, deliberately...

"No," Scarecrow said. "No no no, don't..."

Too late, he tried to close his legs. The first kick sent his testicles stabbing up around his kidneys, the hulking reporter's foot buried in his crotch so deep that blood spurted from his urethra. The villain sagged in her grip, vomiting into his mouth as the pain erased every conscious thought.

With a wet squelch, Lois removed her foot...and drew her leg back for another kick. Then another, and another...

...and the worst of it all was that this did not kill him.

When she was satisfied, the Scarecrow was left on the floor, legs splayed out unnaturally, his pelvis shattered, blood soaking his crotch. Red footprints led away from the smoking, flaming ruin of his lab. The primitive sense of vengeance that ruled the hulking reporter's mind was sated, but now some instinct called her somewhere else.