Lex Luthor

The cocktail the barmaid handed to Lois was a pale pink. The undercover reporter brought it to her lips for a sip, not wanting to get too buzzed and miss some vital clue. The bitters tingled on her tongue - not quite like any pink gin she'd ever had. She let it roll around in her mouth before swallowing it, a burning trail making its way down to her stomach.

Downstairs
Nanosensors online. The carefully modulated artificial voice buzzed. Viral load delivered. Infection is at stage one.

The bald man in the warehouse's basement watched the holoscreens as Lois Lane's vital data began to pour in. A three-dimensional facsimile of the Daily Planet's star reporter floated before him, the nanites—and the carefully tailored retrovirus—were currently in the icons representing her mouth, esophagus, and stomach, and began to diffuse throughout her circulatory system.

Lex Luthor allowed his smug smile to widen. "How long until infection reaches stage two?"

Processing. The quite hum in the room audibly increased as secondary cooling units came online. Twelve hours, sixteen minutes at current and projected metabolic rates.

"Let's see if we can't speed things up a bit." The industrialist said. He tapped at the controls for the club, bringing up a three-dimensional layout of the building, and the LexCorp agents he had seeded among the clubgoers and staff, and gave his orders. Silent acknowledgements came back, and Lex sat back, running a heavy hand over his bald head. The holographic facsimile of Lois Lane floated in front of him. Internal body temperature was already rising, the first symptom.

The Club Floor
The club was starting to get hot, Lois realized, as the beat changed and the dance floor surged in a bump-and-grind. The PVC biker jacket was suddenly stifling, so she quickly shucked it, tying it around her waist. She took another small sip of the cocktail as she surveyed the club, a long idle gaze, fingers absently tapping to the beat.

"You want another?" The barmaid yelled above the music, and Lois realized with some surprise that the glass in her hand was empty, save for a slight pink puddle at the bottom of the glass. She tilted it back, letting the last drop sag onto her waiting tongue, and sucked it in. The barmaid flashed her a smile as she brought forth another, identical cocktail, and took away the dirty glass.

"What's your name?" Lois yelled back, leaning in close. She felt a flush growing on her face and chest. The barmaid probably knew a lot about what was happening here, if Lois could get her to talk.

"Maria," the barmaid shouted. "What's yours?"

"Joanne," she said, giving her middle name. Not a lie, and enough of a cover to keep for tonight. Lois eyed the barmaid over the rim of the glass. Twenty-something, with that half-starved look, hollows under the eyes that spoke of long nights without enough sleep. A mesh shirt that didn't hide the twin barbells through the nipples of her small but pert breasts. Head shaved on both sides, but what was left was a long and flowing crest, dyed about a dozen shades of purple and red, and tied back into a pony tail. Short nails, painted black. Skirt and fishnets, black boots. About a dozen piercings in her ears, but no makeup.

The barmaid was working, but she was obviously also giving the reporter a lot of attention, eyes sliding over Lois as she sipped her cocktail, mouth locked into a smirk. Lois didn't mind the attention, and liked watching Maria work, the hint of muscle rippling under the skin of her arms as she mixed drinks, pulled beer. Most of the bottles behind the bar were labeled in code; an old bartending trick to keep rival clubs from stealing your recipes. She could feel the crowd behind her, but didn't give up her spot at the bar, and Maria didn't seem to mind. At least, the barmaid was getting more familiar as she replaced Lois' suddenly empty drink with another fresh one, letting their fingers touch. Lois, flushed and sweating, found she was terribly thirsty...

"Hey!" Maria shouted, leaning over the bar to give Lois a deep eyeful of her mesh-covered breasts. Their fingers were still touching, wrapped around the stem of the cocktail glass. "Let's dance!"