End: They Are Programmed To Copy Other Heroines

The drones returned to the creches. Cunt Prime, the former Lois Lane, dug deeper into Brainiac's databases. Accessed the profiles of other heroines. With machinelike efficiency and a woman's intuition, the reporter sifted through the files, and assigned designations.

Within the creches, the four drones began to change to match their new programming. Spines cracked and hips shifted. Breasts swelled and altered in shape. New plastic implants altered the bones of their face. Their former identities were lost beneath the new changes...and as Cunt Prime admired her handiwork, she enabled the holographic camouflage skins. Pale green flesh and shiny chrome attachments disappeared in a digital flicker...and when they opened their eyes, the four women looked identical to the four heroines that they were destined to replace.

Batwoman shook her crimson hair, the sleek and toned body lithe and deadly.

Hawkwoman flexed her wings, Brainiac's antigravity systems an effective replacement for the Nth metal originals, at least for purposes of flight.

Black Canary hummed, supersonic and subsonic speakers calibrating. The blonde smiled, a picture-perfect replica of the original's saucy smirk.

Big Barda smashed her fist into her palm, the artificial muscles bulging. Hers was the easiest powerset to replicate of them all, and the drone towered over the others.

There old identities were already locked away. They did not need them for this mission. Clothing fabricators were already manufacturing their costumes. Together, the four of them could easily overpower and replace each of the Justice Leaguers. Better yet, those four super-whores would be brought back here, to be made into drones. Then they could replace more...and more...until the entire League was under her...no, Brainiac's...control.

The former reporter smiled, and brushed golden hair out of her face. Her massive swollen breasts heaved as a sexual excitement filled her at the idea of fulfilling Brainiac's plans. Distantly, through subtle backchannels, she was aware of an echo of arrival in her master's system.

"Go," Cunt Prime said. "You have your orders. And I have mine."

The drones nodded, and turned to dress and leave. Lois Lane walked back to where Brainiac was waiting. Almost unconsciously, she continued to reprogram her form. Long, stilletto-like heels emerged, so that she walked on toe and point, her calves emphasized. Metal supports lifted her jutting, swollen tits. Fluid reservoirs redirected to her pussy and ass, so that all of her holes would be well-lubricated for him. Her eyes flickered as she accessed vast archives of pornography, sifting them for sexual techniques, positions, fetishes.

She would be the ultimate whore-bot for her lord and master. The perfect fuck-doll. First among all of his cunts.

Brainiac looked up from his throne as Cunt Prime walked in. His pale green face remained impassive, portions of his extended consciousness pulling themselves away from his vast network to focus on the former Lois Lane—now with the proportions of Power Girl, but a poise and confidence that the Kryptonian could never match. There was the perfectly-calibrated sway of a jungle cat in her walk, a precisely-calculated leer of lust on her lips.

Between his legs, Brainiac's crotch interface twitched. Cunt Prime stood before him—and without any conscious order, she dropped down until her swollen ass rested on her heels. Long, slender hands reached and unhooked the cable. To reveal the plug interface, glowing from internal indicators.

She knew any number of attachments that Brainiac could plug into there. Special ones for impregnating humans. Breaking Amazons. Torturing Kryptonians. Yet right now, there was only the plug.

Cunt Prime's mouth open. Her tongue extended. Three prongs on the end slid into Brainiac's crotch interface. Both of their bodies shuddered as pleasure circuits were engaged directly. It was like turning on a wire, and pure bliss flooded through both of them.

In the digital space of their minds, Cunt Prime was represented as a fluid pink sphere of data. Brainiac's avatar ran his fingers across her surface, sampled her thoughtstream. The chief sexual drone shivered with ecstasy as his credentials allowed him unfettered access to the deepest parts of her being.

"Excellent," Brainiac murmured, and his approval was all the pleasure in her universe. "Now, delete 'Lois Lane' from your memory. You are now, and forever, Cunt Prime!"

Deleting 'Lois Lane'...

The command went through her system...and that was the end, not only of Lois Lane's night out, but of Lois Lane herself. Whatever was left, whatever pleasured Brainiac and furthered his plans, was not her.

There was only Cunt Prime.