The hand of the guard. The zipper moving up her back. The tightening of the bodyglove. The texture of the metal wall she faced. The air temperature of the holding cell. Lois Lane tried her hardest to focus on basic sensations, in a vain attempt to suppress her anxiety.

Questions rushed through her mind: Was this it? Was this the time that she finally pushed things too far? What had she been thinking? Was the story really worth this?

Lois was reluctantly compliant as the guard twisted a small tool that locked the zipper closed. The bodyglove covered her from ankles to neck, its glossy, silver rubber etched with patterns reminiscent of technology from New Genesis. Whatever its purpose or origin, Lois knew better than to ask at this juncture.

“Any attempt to tamper with or remove your bodyglove without permission will result in serious sanction,” recited the blonde guard, venom gushing from each word. “Do you understand, inmate?”

“Yes, officer,” Lois replied, in her best neutral tone. She swallowed down all the barbed comebacks that intruded into her thoughts – she saw no value in riling the guards at this time.

The intake process had been many hours so far, and full of experiences she never wanted to repeat. The guards' efforts to intimidate her had not been subtle – she had been subjected to unnecessarily stringent security measures, the kind of high-tech stuff usually reserved for supervillains.

“Turn around, slowly,” commanded the taller guard. Lois could tell she was military trained, like her colleague.

In their black, tactical uniforms, the two female guards appeared like monuments of professional severity. Lois would have pitied them if they weren't such assholes. Clearly skilled and intelligent people, they chose to make a living as petty thugs. In Lois view, there were few things more pathetic.

As she grudgingly obeyed, Lois couldn't help but feel exposed and vulnerable: every shape and curve of her athletic body was fully visible beneath the glossy rubber. She had already stood naked in front of these hostile strangers today, but this felt worse somehow – as if her selfhood was being obscured.

Anxiety bit her again. This could be a one of her biggest mistakes. Her courage, confidence and tenacity had helped her achieve many admirable things over her career, but they also got her into trouble, and not infrequently. Had she overstepped this time, and slipped into an inexorable predicament?

Reacting reflexively, Lois caught another garment tossed at her by the blonde guard, the material cold and unforgiving as it hit her hands. As the garment unfolded, it was revealed to be a loose-fitting, navy blue jumpsuit made of shiny vinyl. The white barcodes printed on the chest and back did nothing to improve her sense of alienation.

The rest of her transformation was completed rapidly – jumpsuit zipped up, heavy-duty boots strapped on. Returning her hands to her head, Lois smothered another flare of apprehension as the other guard stepped forward with a high-tech metal waist belt, leg irons and handcuffs.

“It's taking a lot for you to hold your tongue, isn't it, inmate?” taunted the tall guard. “We know who you are, and how you act on the outside. You best forget all of that. In here, you're going to learn what it means to obey the rules for once.”

The taste of indignation rose once more in Lois' throat. Resisting their provocation was proving a challenge for her, but she was ready for it, like the rest of the hardships she was about to encounter.

As she was shackled, Lois hardened her resolve. She had been face to face with dangerous supervillains. She had been to other worlds. She had narrowly avoided death many times. And there was no way she would let some government goons bring her down.

 

* * *

 

[ Transcript: Lois Lane's phone call from prison. May 8 ]

“Hello?”

“Hi, it's me. And please stop worrying, I'm fine.”

“Lois, look, I know we've had this conversation, but did you have to go ahead with it? You're in prison, for pete's sake.”

“You're right, we did have this conversation already, and you conceded that you're not the only one who's allowed to take risks, remember? You know why I did this.”

“I know, I just--”

“Just remember what we discussed, if this situation happened. And I really am fine, no visitors required, ok?”

“Ok, ok. I got it covered.”

“My time's nearly up. I... I'm sorry to put you through this. I really am. But I'm can't let them get away with this. I know you can relate.”

“I love you, Lois.”

“I love you too, Clark.”

 

* * *

 

Lois remained stoic as the guards led her to her seat, securely latching her handcuffs and waist belt to the anchor points fixed to the metal table. Radiating patient defiance, she stared the interrogator in the eyes until the guards left the room.

“Y'know, I'm still waiting to be read my rights,” she said facetiously.

The interrogator gave hint of weary amusement. He wouldn't give his name, but his demeanour was that of an overworked, mid-level spook.

“Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you again, Ms Lane,” he said, his voice smooth and resonant. “But you're in the wrong place if you want things like rights and lawyers.”

“And where are we exactly?” came her quick reply, prodding him. It was not the first time she had pestered him with this question today.

The interrogator said nothing. The prison was obviously run by Task Force Delta – the secret government black-ops program – but demanding to know the exact location helped her assert herself under these harsh conditions.

It had been about two days – or so Lois estimated – since she had been marched out the Daily Planet building in handcuffs.

The night before that, she'd taken a big risk on national TV, calling out Task Force Delta for a failed operation in the heart of Metropolis that had cost a dozen innocent lives. She had cited a dossier of top-secret evidence in her possession about their dangerous use of illegal weapons, made from technology stolen from S.T.A.R. Labs.

It would not go down as the most prudent move she had made in her career, but she felt it was necessary. The truth needed to be known.

The interrogator leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I hope you've given some further thought to our previous conversation.”

“I told you before: I won't give up my source,” she said in a firm tone. “Perhaps you people should look at yourselves – you're the ones who can't keep a tight ship. Or perhaps you should ask your partners in your little caper.”

“I'm asking you, Ms Lane,” the interrogator said with a hint of frustration. His reaction told her she was on the right track. “You know we've got--”

“Look, sorry, I'd hate to waste your time again,” she interrupted. “Maybe try asking something else? Why don't you ask me where all my evidence is kept?”

The interrogator tilted his head, his frown deepening. “Ok then, where is your evi--”

“I'm not telling you,” she cut him off again, doing her best to keep a straight face.

As the interrogator tried to mask his souring expression, she observed hints of rage – nose flaring, face and neck reddening, tensing shoulders. She had ruffled him.

“Are you ok?” she asked flippantly. “Can I get you a coffee or something?”

The interrogator was suddenly out of his seat and in her face.

“Listen, bitch! I recommend you pay heed to what I told you before, because I don't think you appreciate how much trouble you're in right now! Unless you say his name, you'll be prosecuted for unauthorised possession of classified information. You're looking at ten years in a joint like this.

“And, yes, we know about you and Superman – sure, he could bust you out, but after that you'd be a fugitive for the rest of your life. Are you sure this story is worth all that? Is this really the hill you want to die on?”

Lois looked startled at his sudden outburst.

The interrogator's veins were bulging. “We know who you met with. We know. Do you want to see the photos? Is that what you need to admit it?”

He scrabbled through a folder and produced a photo – it was of Lois speaking with Lexcorp junior executive Sebastien Mallory, five days earlier. Undeniable.

Lois stared wide-eyed at the photo. After a moment, she slumped back, looking defeated.

“Shit,” she said whispered to herself, eyes downturned.

She paused for a long while, in deep deliberation.

“Just admit he gave you the evidence and this will all go away,” he said, calmer but still threatening. “We'll arrange a nice plea deal for you when we turn you over to the FBI. You probably won't even have to do any time.”

Another long interval passed in silence, until Lois finally sighed.

“Ok,” she said in a quiet, wavering voice. “Give me some something to write with, and I'll give you the truth.”

As he passed several leaves of paper and an anti-shiv pen, she observed his smug, self-assured smile. After a moment's hesitation, Lois mumbled something under her breath and began writing.

“What was that?” he asked, returning to his seat.

She did not look up from the paper. “I said, I can't believe I'm doing this...”

“You're making the right choice. Not worth going to jail for that guy or anyone from LexCorp.”

“Was there really no one else that could make the tech from S.T.A.R. Labs work for you guys?” Lois asked, ever curious. “LexCorp are difficult enough to deal with, but Mallory is a real prick.”

“Don't be naïve, Ms Lane. You're wise enough to know deals like this happen all the time, and that there's not much choice if you're in the clock. Dealing with Mallory was regrettable, but he's just the type of asshole who loves doing deals like this. Too bad he's so spineless, spilling his guts as soon as he's confronted. He won't last long now.”

Regret and dejection all over her face, Lois folded a piece of paper and slid it across the smooth metal of the table. The interrogator opened it and read:

I, Lois Lane, have never possessed or had access to any form of classified or secret information relating to Task Force Delta or their operations, including the robbery of S.T.A.R. Labs. The statement I made on TV on May 6 alluding to this was a lie.

The evidence I do possess is from publicly available sources and interview statements. My meeting with Sebastien Mallory on May 3 was in regards to an entirely unrelated matter. He never supplied me with any information related to Task Force Delta – we never even discussed the subject.

Thank you for verbally confirming his involvement, and that of LexCorp, in the manufacture of illegal weapons made from S.T.A.R. Labs property – I knew they were involved but didn't have the evidence to prove it until now. Also, provoking my own arrest was a big risk, so thanks for making it worthwhile by being so predictable.

This was followed by her most elaborate signature.

The interrogator snapped. “What is this?!”

“Sorry, I know it's not a legal document, but it's the truth, like I promised,” she said, gesturing innocently as far as her cuffs would allow.

“You think this gets you off the hook?! Get real, Lane! You can't publish any of what's been discussed here!”

“Actually, I'll be free to publish it all once the case against me is dropped – which should be happening fairly soon if I've got the time of day right. Superman knows some very persuasive people, and his friends are my friends. They're the kind of people that will be putting a lot of pressure on your bosses right about now.”

“Don't be so complacent, Lane. Even if your little note is true, we can still turn your life upside-down and drag you through the courts for years!”

“Well, if you can get away with harassing me, you'll only be drawing more attention to yourselves, and be feeding the narrative that you're the bad guys and I'm a cute, persecuted journalist. Do you think your bosses will like that kind of heat, especially over a job you people botched?”

“We'll see, little miss smartass.”

The interrogator snatched the paper, crumpled it in his fist and threw it aside. His face was a mask of anger now, any pretence of self-discipline gone.

“Take her to the cell, we're done here,” he barked to the guards outside the door.

The guards stepped in and swiftly untethered her from the table. As they led her out, Lois had one parting shot.

“I've got a tip for you. When you explain to your bosses why you screwed up so badly today, you can put the blame back on them. Tell them they chose the wrong reporter to mess with.”