On A Psychiatric Ward

Lois Lane woke like a cat, all senses aware at once, no gradual rise to consciousness...but she kept her eyes closed and her breathing steady, some instinct telling her not to show she was awake.

Her feet were bare, and cold. She was wearing some loose, sturdy clothes, but no underwear or bra. The reporter couldn't move her arms, which were in some kind of jacket, the palms down around her waist. Her head and shoulder were leaning against a padded pillow, and so were her feet...there was a light on...Lois opened her eyes, just to slits...and found herself in a nightmare.

It was a small, padded room. There was one door, with a window. No way to open it from the inside. A single bulb in a cage, up above. Lois opened her eyes wider, sat up...and she was in a straitjacket, and hospital clothes.

Don't panic, Lane, Lois told herself. It's a mistake, is all. You've visited psychiatric wards before, you know how they work. If you've been put here against your will, you just need to keep calm, don't panic the nurses, ask for...some sort of outside contact. A caregiver, a friend, anything.

Voices, out in the hall. Lois shifted herself onto her knees, pressed her head against the doorjamb. Held her breath, hoping to learn something...

"Yes, she came in last night. She was naked, no ID, attacked an EMT outside an emergency room at Metropolis General while ranting about demons. Given her condition, it took some effort to restrain her without injury, and it was decided to commit her involuntarily for her own safety...the **** should be wearing off now."

Lois didn't know that voice. A woman, African-American, probably a nurse or administrator...and then Lois heard a voice she did recognize, and her heart leaped into her throat.

"What is her condition, exactly?" Clark Kent said.