Real World Testing

Lois blinked. Reality suddenly zoomed into hard focus. She was sitting at the computer, staring at the blue screen of ****—pale white letters like blobs on the screen. Her hand was clutched on the mouse.

The reporter stared down at herself. She was fully dressed. The same tight pants, the same loose shirt, jacket, heels. The chair was...just a chair. Cloth covered foam for a cushion, molded black plastic. The reporter stared hard at the carpet. It needed cleaning.

A profound sense of wrongness came to Lois. I sat down at the computer to send an email, she recalled. Then...what?

She stared back at the blue screen. Lois didn't remember the computer crashing.

It wasn't like this when I sat down, was it? She asked herself. I'm sure it wasn't.

The reporter's shoulders itched, the way they did when she knew she was on the cusp of some big case.

Why does everything seem so out of place, even though it's perfectly normal? She felt her heart beat, smooth and steady. Is it because it's normal?

A cough called Lois' attention to her right. In the doorway, Maria stood, looking worried. Her hair, dyed pink and red, was held back by a black scrunchie now. The young woman rubbed her arms, fidgeting as if agitated.

"Are you done? I thought you wanted to, y'know..." Maria let the thought trail off, popped her head back into the hallway, then back out. "It's supposed to be employees only. If they catch us..."

Of course. Lois thought, remembering why they were here. We're not supposed to be here.

"Computer's broken," the reporter said, swiveling in the chair and standing up. She tried to project calm, to reassure Maria that everything was alright. "You're right, we should go."

The reporter strode across the room, conflicted emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. It was like a word she couldn't quite remember...the idea that she was missing or forgetting something. She shook her head, focused on the situation at hand.

Club, lab, missing women, Maria. Lois ticked off. Her eyes drifted to the last subject.

Maria's back was turned toward the reporter, leaning out of the doorway to stare down the hall, her shirt lifted just enough to expose a sliver of her lower back when the young woman's skirt rode low on her hips...and for the first time, Lois noticed a tattoo there.

Tramp stamp, Lois' brain supplied automatically. Curiosity had her make out the shape of the elaborate Gothic capitals, probably some metal band...

CROATOAN.

Lois went hard. The head of her erection slipped past the waistband of her pants, the bulge straining against the tight fabric. The reporter's heart thundered in her chest, pulse pounding in her temple, sudden heat flushing through her body, eyes focusing entirely on the ass in front of her. Her sense of smell, suddenly super-acute, brought the whiff of pussy, and the reporter's hands shot out, almost without conscious thought, grabbing at the piece of quim in front of her...