Lois Lane Cannot Fight The Transformation

You can't fight a cold with vibes. Can't mentally reprogram your body to fight cancer. Billions of nanites flooded the reporter's system. Machines that could reprogram individual cells. Reprogram her body to build new structures. To turn organic flesh into living machines.

A burn. An itch throughout her body that could not be scratched. Lois Lane went rigid, and then limp, as the tiny machines attacked her brainstem. She shuddered as she felt involuntary muscles relax, her bladder emptied. If she had been able to see it, she would have seen that it was bright green, the color of a coolant leak.

The drones hummed, each of them guiding the reconstruction of Cunt Prime. Processing Brainiac's specifications. Lois Lane would be remade. Their own resources were redirected. Lois saw the four women's features grow sharper, their breasts deflate as subcutaneous stores of fat and precious metals were broken down and sent through the needles in their veins.

Human skin was rewoven in plastic and carbon fiber. Superconducting wires replaced nerves. The reporter's vision went black as her eyes were rebuilt. Her scalp itched as nanites devoured her hair, leaving a smooth green dome not unlike Brainiac's own. The small breasts swelled, the remade skin elastic as new reservoirs filled, the tits swelling bigger and bigger as the drones brought Lois Lane toward the perfect proportions Brainiac had specified.

In her own mind, Lois Lane wanted to fight. Yet as the neural implants delved deeper into her grey matter, the reporter's own thoughtstream became almost incompatible with the thoughtstream from the drones. She "heard" their mantra in her head. Four voices in unison. A constant repetition of service, loyalty, Brainiac before self.

Cunt Prime wasn't sure when her voice joined theirs. Yet she was aware, after a while, of taking part in her own restructuring. Of guiding the nanites in her body to erase the last vestiges of humanity. Her voice was stronger than hers, the drones automatically began to defer to her lead. The former Lois Lane looked at her body through their eyes, and saw room for further improvement.

The body on the bed looked like a living sex doll. Pale turquoise skin stretched taut over massive breasts, a narrow waist, flaring hips, a plump and hairless vulva. The reporter's features were the same, but now she was bald, and traceries of metal circuits were visible beneath the skin. When her eyes opened, they were red and glowing from within. Automatically, Cunt Prime ran through diagnostics, tested the new features of her eyes, her body.

Good. But her specs could be better.

Negative, the drone that had been Mara de la Cruz said. Cunt Prime has achieved Brainiac's design specifications.

There was a chorus of dissent...but Cunt Prime's voice was stronger. Her command protocols overwhelmed the dissent. Their wills quashed in an instant.

There were more changes to make to this vessel.