Lois Tries To Call For Help

The reporter fumbled with her smartphone. The room was starting to spin, the pounding beat of the music thrumming up through her heels, pulsing in her chest...and then a young man with the broad shoulders of a linebacker backed into her suddenly.

The smartphone slipped from her fingers.

There was a crash as it hit the floor.

Then another one as his heel came down on it.

"Sorry," the broad-shouldered brute rumbled as he picked up his foot. Lois stared down at the remnants of her smartphone. The plastic case had shattered, the electronic guts visible. With a sigh, the reporter bent over to pick it up...pieces fell out of her hands...but she stuck what was left back in her pocket, then turned back to the bartender:

"Hey! Is there a phone I can use?" Lois half-shouted.

A blank stare met her gaze. The woman had dyed pink hair, eyes that looked like she hadn't slept in three days.

The reporter fished out a fifty-dollar bill, fingers shaking.

"Maybe you didn't hear me."

The barmaid eyed the bill...the reporter...then reached forward and took it. Nodded toward a door next to the bar.

"The office. In the back. Be quick."

Lois Lane nodded and, feeling a sudden surge of nausea, grabbed at her stomach. She shivered, room spinning, struggling to put one foot in front of the other as she made her way around the bar and through the door.

Down Below

"Subject is on the move," one of the drones said. "Moving away from the dance floor."

"Good. There won't be any witnesses. Intercept her," Brainiac ordered. "Bring her here."