End: Lois Lane Runs Naked Down The Streets Of Metropolis

A part of Lois Lane considered diving under a blanket with one of the winos. Letting Blaze and her minions chase out of the alley while the reporter waited until the coast was clear. Except that scenario would probably end with Lois Lane's lips wrapped round some unwashed homeless man's cock, and while she wasn't opposed to small acts of mercy she also wasn't eager for Blaze to come back and catch her with some hobo's jizz dripping down her chin.

Which meant that all Lois could do is run.

Streaking naked out of the alley. No time for modesty, or to cover up. Arms and legs pumping. Wishing for once that her breasts were once again small and that she therefore didn't have as much to bounce around as she sprinted out of the alley and into the street. As it was, her bigger titties flopped painfully.

Brakes screamed and cars skidded. Smartphones flashed, but Lois didn't both to stop. Behind her, she could hear the crash of pursuit. Ahead of her, she could see the dawning realization of people on the sidewalk, or in passing cars. The way their eyes widened. Some flattened themselves against the wall. Others froze, and Lois had to guide around them. Surprisingly, no one tried to grab or trip her. The sight of a naked body racing through the night didn't inspire lust as much as confusion.

All those but-look-what-she-was-wearing assholes are full of shit! Lois thought as she turned a corner.

Ducking through alleys was a good way to get lost and get caught. Lois didn't know how many people were on her tail or how close they were. Yet the shortest route between the warehouse district and her own apartment building was through the worst part of Metropolis—Suicide Slum—and she hoped that maybe, just maybe, the reputation of that hard neighborhood would make her pursuers hesitate.

As soon as she crossed into those streets, Lois could feel a change. The sidewalks were older and rougher, the streets smaller. Gentrification had never made its way here, and these were buildings from the turn of the century. Street lights were few and further between, the alleys darker and in which people lurked who didn't want to be seen. Cars rested on blocks, wheels and tires long gone; Lois had once done an experiment and found that the average vehicle lasted less than a week before being stripped for parts, unless it was under the protection of one of the gangs.

The gangs had already spotted the streaking naked woman. These weren't like the passers-by earlier. Their eyes narrowed, focused on what Lois was running from and who was chasing her. Young, hard faces, thin from poor diets, from money that went to **** and **** rather than food. Hands that went to blades and guns.

The first pop sounded shortly before the first scream. Lois didn't look back. The gangs of Suicide Slum were territorial. A cult of demon-worshippers wasn't looked on with fear; to the Slum, they were just competition invading their turf.

By the time Lois Lane staggered up to the door of her apartment building, she was shaking and weary, feet bleeding...but there were no more pursuers. The doorman offered her a copy of the Daily Planet's morning edition to cover her breasts and crotch as she approached the door.

"Jogging," she lied smoothly. "I have to lose some pounds."

The grey-haired old man blinked and nodded uncertainly as he opened the door for her. In truth, a part of him thought the Daily Planet's greatest reporter looked better with more curves...but that wasn't his business.

Lois retrieved the spare key to her apartment from its hiding place, and let herself into her apartment. Every part of her swollen body ached. She needed coffee, eggs, a donut...the reporter paused and pinched her new love handles.

Well, maybe not a donut, she thought, resolving that a diet was definitely in order. I'll be lucky if any of my clothes even fit me!

The reporter sighed and limped toward the shower. She had been lucky to get away from her night out with just an extra twenty or thirty pounds. As the hot water hit her, the reporter's mind ran over all the decisions she had made during her night out, the paths not taken. Wondering how differently things might have gone, if she had done things just a little differently.