Where She's Told

Lois returned Maria's smile...and then, over the barmaid's shoulder, she spied someone else enter the stall. Someone that held a green light in her hand, at about head height.

The light was pain.

The reporter recoiled, her venom-enhanced strength seemed to drain from her instantly as the light hit her. A familiar voice spoke.

"Looks like she's responding. On your feet, Lane." The voice ordered.

Lois staggered to her knees, then rose on wobbly legs. The whole time, the light burned across her skin. It wasn't bright, exactly, but it seemed to dazzle her eyes, and every muscle seemed to ache.

"Out here," the voice said, and Lois focused on it. Focused on the shape that was holding the damn light.

Maria had fled the stall, and Lois staggered out. She looked away from the light, into the bathroom mirror—and all the pieces fell into place.

"Mercy," she said. Lex Luthor's bodyguard and girl friday...and the thing she held in her hand...it was a chunk of green crystal. Kryptonite. She thought. Why would I be affected by Kryptonite?

"Maria, the door," Mercy said. The barmaid rushed to a maintenance door in the bathroom—which, half-blinded and weakened by the kryptonite as she was, Lois noticed was newer and sturdier than the rest of the fixtures, and had a biometic keypad. The barmaid laid her palm flat against the electronic rectangle next to the door, and the bolts unlocked with a heavy thunk.

"Walk, Lane." Mercy said. "Follow Maria."

Naked, her back burning from the emerald rays, Lois gritted her teeth and followed Maria, her eyes mostly on the shapely ass as she tried to focus through the pain.

They strange parade moved along a back corridor; doors led off to offices, storage closets, a breakroom. Employees stared at her, and Lois blushed a little at being marched naked through this semi-public space...she debated making a move, but there was no time and nowhere to go. Best to bide and be ready for the moment, whenever it presented itself.

A large man with a bald head, black glasses, and an earpiece stood in front of a door at the end of it, a heavy pistol visible in a shoulder holster—the lack of concealment alone let Lois know they were close to something big.

"Open it, Terry." Mercy said, and the big man moved quickly to do so.

"Inside, Lane."

Lois walked inside. The White Room was a cube of shiny white tile, with industrial-looking vertical lamps on every wall and the ceiling, along with small dark flatscreens. There was a little platform in the center. Then the door clicked shut...Lois felt an instant of relief, as the green light was blocked, and the burning and weakness ceased...and there was the thump of a bolt as it locked.

The screens flickered into life. Mercy stared out from all around the reporter. "I'm sure you have questions," she began. "I have questions too. You will answer them, one way or another."

The lamps in the room began to brighten, and Lois felt...nothing. Barely a warmth, even as it got harder and harder to see. She felt better, in fact, than she had since she had come into the club. The light seemed to burn away the fever, the dizziness, the alcoholic haze...even the venom subsided, as her muscles seemed to shrink back a little, less prominent against her bare flesh.

"Question one," Mercy said.