Nothing

Lois struggled to absorb this new information. Demons. Sex slaves. A dead ghost possessing a stringy goth, a yellow-skinned demon, and the Daily Planet's best reporter.

They wanted her to whore herself out.

This isn't a job for me! Lois shrieked internally, every mental alarm bell going off at once. This is a job for Power Girl or Wonder Woman or some other super-bimbo. They should have sorcerers and alien demigods here to punch the bad guys or...or...something. Someone else. If this gets out, I'll be ruined. I'm not that kind of woman, I'm...I'm...

Lois had known a sex trafficking victim, once. Young woman, in the country on a student visa. Lois had interviewed her. A bright, pretty thing named Priya. Wanted to be an archaeologist when she grew up. Needed the money, got caught up in an escort service. Then one day Priya had disappeared.

They found her corpse, six months later. Dumped in Crime Alley in Gotham. It barely rated three sentences in the obituaries. Cold-cased immediately. Batman broke up the gang that did it a few weeks later, and it made it to the third page...and that was it. That was all for Priya.

The reporter had done her own investigation, after Batman was done. There were videos on the dark web. Lois had watched them, over and over. The women hadn't always been willing. It's one thing, when you're a porn actor—you know what you're getting into, you know when the shine of exposure is wearing off, and you have to show the audience something they haven't seen before. Career trajectories marked by more and more **** material. Sure, they'd take two cocks in their ass at the same time. It's a gonzo shoot, they expect to be spit on, slapped around a little. They work their way up and away from the casting couch videos...but not Priya.

Lois didn't see Priya lose her virginity. But she had seen her bleed. The counter on the video said it had been watched over ten thousand times. Something that should never have been seen by anybody, ever.

A cold settled over Lois, and she pushed the fears aside. Her career, her image, it didn't matter. She was a grown woman, making her own decisions, she could fuck whomever or whatever she wanted, and if anybody called her a whore she'd spit in their face. Because if there was a chance—even a small one—of keeping those missing women from ending up like Priya, then they deserved everything she had.

Whatever it takes.

"I'm in," she said.