Take It To The Lab To Be Analyzed

Lois Lane sipped the sperm, and then stopped and set it to pour down the sink. She had no idea what this thing was, really. Or if it was even safe to keep ingesting it like this. No, she needed to talk to an expert.

Fortunately, she had S.T.A.R. Labs number.

"Dr. Faulker? Lois Lane. Sorry to call you so late...I've recently acquired an unusual artifact. It seems to be, um, generating biological material from nothing. Uh huh. Yeah, I was hoping you could take a look at it...yes, I'll be there in half an hour. Excellent, thanks!"

The reporter put on fresh clothes. Nothing as flashy as her club wear. Tight jeans, a clean shirt, white socks and tennis shoes. She kept the jacket, because she liked the pockets. The bottle she placed in a brown paper bag, the better to sip from it without arousing attention.

Keys, wallet, smartphone...and she was out again, into the night.

The doorman didn't even blink twice as Lois, hair still damp, went back out. The reporter's holes were still sore from her ordeal earlier in the evening, but being back on the case was the best therapy she could think of to put tonight's earlier humiliation out of mind.

The cabby, an older black woman with greying dreads, gave her an eyeball as Lois sipped the salty slime regularly—but she said nothing, and the reporter was left to her own thoughts as they drove to S.T.A.R. Labs. Her stomach rumbled, and she felt a wave of nausea...but she had to keep sipping the cum from the bottle, lest it overflow the lip. She wondered how much cum she'd swallowed that night. A cup a minute...two cups to a pint...it was only about ten minutes from the door of her apartment to the door of S.T.A.R. Labs, but that was still five pints. No wonder she felt like she was sloshing by the time she slipped out of the cab. It might well be more cum than most women swallowed in a lifetime.

Dr. Kitty Faulker met the reporter at the side door. A woman with big, mousy hair, dresed in a conservative black skirty and green sweater, low heels and a white lab coat. Her friendly smile and thick glasses made her seem shy and nervous—which she was—but Lois knew that she had another side to her. The meek and prudish scientist could become the extroverted, unihibited solar-powered heroine Rampage.

Faulkner badged them into a lab, and took the bottle from Lois as the reporter gave a carefully censored version of the night's events. Then it was Lois Lane's turn to sit back and hold her roiling abdomen as the mousy-eared scientist got to work—first, to turn the bottle into an empty fifty-gallon drum, then to take samples of the jizz. Lois saw her prepare slides and put them under a microscope...the scientist took notes the old fashioned way, on pen and paper, muttering under her breath.

Microscopes gave way to vials and reagents. Then to devices that Lois didn't have a name for. The minutes ticked by, and Lois had to excuse herself to vomit noisily in the toilets. She returned, feeling bloated and no better, to see Dr. Faulkner frowning deeply at a computer screen.

"Well?" The reporter asked. "Did you find anything out?"

"Well, it is definitely living sperm. Not entirely human sperm, based on the shape. I've fast-tracked the DNA sequencing, but we won't get results tonight. The bottle itself is radioactive—nothing dangerous for the short term, just the kind of exotic particles we associate with dimensional gateways. So I believe you're correct, the...semen...is from a sole source, and it is being 'piped' here, for lack of a better word. That's not what I'm worried about."

Lois barely stifled a belch. She was about to make another run to the toilets. It had barely been an hour since she'd handed the bottle off to Dr. Faulkner and the reporter was feeling genuinely ill.

"What *urp*, excuse me, are you worried about?"

"What effect ingesting it has had on your biology," the mousy woman coughed. "I need...to run a few tests on you."