Flight

Infection progressing ahead of schedule. The artificial voice announced. Luthor stared at the screen. Overall body temperature was elevated, but the reporter's sexual organs glowed bright red in the simulation.

"Let me know when we can hit the lights," the bald man said. "And the alien?"

Superman is currently outside Earth orbit. Probability of intercept is low.

"Not low enough," he gruffed. Luthor tapped his microphone. "Maria. Accelerate the schedule."

On the dance floor, the adrenaline hit Lois like a ****. Eyes burned, fever bright, and she felt the flush creep up over her, senses acute as panic set in. She sought escape.

Heels slammed into the floor as the reporter made a run for the entrance, but there was no straight path. Tangles of individuals blocked her way at every turn, some of them clubbers, others the tight-muscled security with the ex-military haircuts. Lois bobbed and weaved, eyes wide. In her haste she slammed into people, pushed others. Lurched and tripped to the calls of "Watch it bitch!" and "Drunk slut!"

Finally, she felt a heel give and fell hard, ankle screamed as it twisted. Disoriented, Lois spasmed on the ground like a spider, manic eyes sought the exit. Her fingers scrabbled on the floor, prepared to crawl...

When strong hands grasped her. Lois thrashed as Maria picked her up.

"Let me go let me go let me go..." Lois said, but Maria just stood there, let Lois steady on her feet. Two of the security goons appeared.

"Problem?" One grunted.

"No problem, Jeff." Maria said, putting a shoulder under Lois left arm, then bent her head to give Lois a quick, sloppy kiss. Lois responded by instinct, tongue searched out, but Maria broke it quickly. The reporter felt their breasts smoosh together from the maneuver, or how Maria's right arm slipped around her waist and groped her ass.

"My girlfriend here just had a little too much to drink, a little too much excitement. Going to take her downstairs for a bit, let her relax, call a cab." The red-and-purple haired barmaid smiled and winked, started to edge Lois away, indicated the direction with thrusts of her hip. Lois hopped awkwardly, **** to lean on Maria.

The goon looked unconvinced, but didn't say anything; just bent down to rescue Lois' broken shoe from the dance floor and hand it to her.

"Act natural," Maria said, sotto voce as they turned away from the guard. "You've just had a little too much to drink. I can get you out of here."

Lois gave a barely perceptible nod and played into the swoon: girl goes clubbing and has one too many drinks, causes a scene. Not even worth page twenty, unless it's a Hilton. As they limped along, the adrenaline started to fade, and Lois began to shake, muscles weak and achy—and from more than just that. She felt feverish and a bit nauseous—maybe she did have too much to drink, the reporter thought, as they headed away from the dance floor.