Lois Lane Is Changing

Fire burned in the reporter's veins. Every nerve in her body seemed to come alight, and she quivered on the balls of her feet, hands between her legs. Her clit was stiffer and more sensitive than it had ever felt in her life...and that wasn't the only thing.

Normally, the reporter kept her pubic hair carefully trimmed and managed. Yet beneath her fingers, she could feel the fresh-shaven hair push out and spread over her crotch. Every sound in the room was suddenly too loud—the hum of the lights overhead and the electronic equipment, the thunder of her own heart, the soft pad of Cheetah's footsteps, the swish of her tail.

She could taste **** in the air. ****, cat-odors, weird harsh chemicals that burned her nostrils, and a musky feminine scent, agitated and...weirdly alluring. The reporter's tongue played over her canines, which seemed somehow bigger and sharper than before.

"What's...happening...to me..." Lois moaned as her fingers rubbed her burning labia, guts twisted and on fire.

"You're dying," Cheetah said. "The virus is taking hold, but it needs living cells to propagate. When it's run its course, your heart will stop, and you'll die—and in 72 hours, you'll wake up as one of the undead."

"I...I can't...there must be...some...antidote," the reporter murmured as she half-collapsed onto her knees. The reporter's body burned as with fever, and she felt febrile, weak, and yet with a strange, terrible strength...and...so thirsty...

Cheetah growled and Lois heard the clatter of test tubes. "A strong round of antiviral medication in time would halt the infection. There might be something here to slow it down..."