Chapter 6
The newsroom was quiet, still shaking off sleep. A few early risers shuffled papers and sipped coffee, but Lois was already in motion—half a dozen articles spread across her desk, highlighter uncapped, notes scribbled in the margins.
She’d been there since seven.
Clark stepped off the elevator, adjusting his tie, scanning the bullpen. Her desk was empty.
Then he saw her—inside Perry’s office, animated, focused, leaning over the editor’s desk with that look she got when something wasn’t just a story, it was a mission.
Lois leaned over Perry’s desk, voice sharp with conviction. “It’s not just one player or one team. It’s systemic. The same doctor oversees soccer, basketball, and football. No medical records where there should be. Injuries happening, but the players keep performing like nothing’s wrong. Like they’re indestructible.”
Perry frowned, flipping through the folder she’d handed him. “What about this green drink you mentioned? What does that have to do with it?”
Lois nodded, already anticipating the question. “It’s showing up in locker rooms. Trainers say it’s part of a new recovery protocol, but no one’s talking about what’s in it. No label, no manufacturer. Just a plain bottle and a lot of secrecy.”
Perry leaned back, skeptical. “You think it’s enhancing performance?”
“I think it’s masking injuries,” Lois said. “And if that’s true, it’s not just unethical—it’s dangerous.”
Perry rubbed his chin. “Alright. You’ve got my attention. But I want hard proof. Interviews, samples, something we can run without getting sued into next week.”
Lois nodded. “I’m working on it.”
Behind her, Clark lingered just outside the office, listening. He hadn’t stepped in yet—but he was already part of the story.
Clark stepped into the office, casual but alert. “Morning, Chief. Lois. Jimmy’s working on getting that green drink tested—trying to trace the ingredients.”
Perry looked up from the folder, eyes narrowing. “Tested for what? Performance enhancers? Street drugs? Have either of you taken a sip—or Jimmy?”
Lois shook her head. “Not a chance. We’re treating it like evidence.”
Perry grunted. “Good. Last thing I need is one of you bench-pressing the copy machine.”
Lois tapped the folder on Perry’s desk, her tone shifting from sharp to concerned. “There’s one more thing. A player—Everett Moore, sophomore tight end—hasn’t been seen in over a week.”
Perry looked up. “Injured?”
“Official records say he’s out for a family emergency,” Lois said. “But no one’s heard from him. No calls, no sightings. His roommate says he packed a bag and left campus in the middle of the night.”
Perry frowned. “You think it’s connected?”
“We don’t know, Chief,” Clark answered. “But he’s the only one from the beginning of the season who missed a single game.”
Lois nodded. “And he’s one of the only players who hasn’t been seen drinking the green stuff. Trainers say he’s ‘noncompliant.’”
Perry leaned back in his chair. “So we’ve got one player missing, another going quiet, and a mystery drink no one wants to talk about.”
Lois folded her arms. “Everett might be the key. If he’s resisting whatever this is, he might know more than he’s saying.”
Perry held up a hand, cutting through the charged silence. “Okay, the two of you,” he said, voice firm. “Whatever this is between you—save it for later. Right now, I need answers.”
He tapped the folder. “Connect the dots. Find this kid. And figure out what’s in that damn drink before someone ends up in a hospital—or worse.”
Lois and Clark exchanged a glance. No more hesitation.
They were on it.
Clark stepped out of Perry’s office just in time to see Lois stride toward her desk, her pace brisk, her focus locked on the files in her hand.
He caught up easily, but she didn’t look at him.
“Lois,” he said gently.
She didn’t stop. “We’ve got a missing player, a mystery drink, and a university stonewalling press inquiries. I don’t have time for anything else.”
Clark nodded, keeping pace. “I know. I just—”
She dropped the folder onto her desk, flipping it open with more force than necessary. “You left last night. Again.”
Clark’s voice was quiet. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Lois finally looked at him, eyes sharp but tired. “You always have a choice. You just never choose to tell me why.”
He didn’t answer right away. The newsroom buzzed around them—phones ringing, keyboards clacking—but the space between them felt suspended.
“I want to,” he said. “I just don’t know how.”
Lois held his gaze for a beat longer, then turned back to the folder. “Then figure it out before I decide I’ve had enough disappearing acts.”
The Jeep hummed along the highway, wind tugging at the edges of Lois’s hair as she stared straight ahead, hands steady on the wheel.
Clark sat beside her, glancing over now and then, but she didn’t speak. Her jaw was set, her focus locked on the road. The radio was off. Even the city felt quieter than usual.
He knew this silence.
It wasn’t anger. Not exactly.
It was the space she retreated to when something mattered too much to say out loud.
Clark shifted in his seat, watching the way her fingers tightened around the steering wheel at every turn.
“I’ll tell her,” he thought. “Soon.”
She deserved the truth. All of it. Not just the pieces he thought she could handle.
But not now. Not while they were chasing a lead. Not while Everett Moore might be the key to something bigger than both of them.
Lois turned onto a quieter street, the houses growing older, quieter, tucked behind hedges and iron gates.
She hadn’t looked at him once.
Clark exhaled, barely audible. “Soon,” he whispered.
And the Jeep kept rolling forward.
Lois pulled the Jeep to the curb in front of a modest brick house tucked behind a row of maple trees. The lawn was neat, the porch swept, but the curtains were drawn tight.
Clark stepped out first, scanning the quiet street. Lois followed, her heels clicking softly against the pavement.
She rang the bell.
After a moment, the door creaked open. A middle-aged woman stood there, eyes tired, cardigan pulled tight around her shoulders.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Moore?” Lois asked gently. “We’re with the Daily Planet. We’re looking for Everett.”
The woman hesitated, her gaze flicking between Lois and Clark. “Everett’s not doing interviews.”
Clark stepped forward, voice calm. “We’re not here to pressure him. We’re just trying to understand what’s happening at the university. We think Everett might be in danger.”
Mrs. Moore’s expression shifted—something between fear and resignation. “He’s resting. He’s not well.”
Lois leaned in slightly. “Is he hurt?”
The woman didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly: “He came home last week. Said he couldn’t play anymore. Said something wasn’t right.”
Clark exchanged a glance with Lois.
“May we speak with him?” he asked.
Mrs. Moore hesitated, then opened the door a little wider. “You can try. But he’s not himself.”
The room was dim, the blinds drawn. Posters of Metropolis University football lined the walls, but the trophies on the shelf were dusty. Everett Moore sat on the edge of his bed, hoodie pulled low, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
He looked up as Lois and Clark entered, his expression wary but not surprised.
“You’re from the Planet,” he said. “I figured someone would come.”
Lois stepped forward, gentle but direct. “We’re trying to understand what’s happening at the university. The injuries. The drink. Why you left?”
Everett exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not just a drink.”
“What is it, then?” Clark asked, watching him closely.
Everett reached under the bed and pulled out a dented thermos, setting it carefully on the nightstand. “I’m a chemistry major,” he said. “First time I tried it, I noticed a metallic taste—sharp, unnatural. And it burned going down. Not like a sports drink. Like something that shouldn’t be in your body.”
Lois stepped closer, her voice low but direct. “Did you test it?”
Everett glanced at the thermos, then back at Lois and Clark. “I wanted to test it,” he said. “I really did. But I never got the chance.”
Lois leaned in. “Why not?”
“The doctor doesn’t like it leaving the locker room,” Everett replied. “Says it’s ‘proprietary.’ Trainers guard it like it’s gold. You’re not even supposed to take it home.”
Clark frowned. “But you did.”
Everett nodded, gesturing to the thermos. “I managed to sneak some out before I left. Thought I’d run tests once I had the chance. But then my dad had a heart attack, and I had to come home. Everything else got put on hold.”
“Does anyone know you took it?” Lois asked.
Everett shook his head. “I don’t think so. If they did, I’d probably already have someone knocking on the door.”
He glanced at the thermos. “The doctor’s obsessive about it. Keeps it in a locked cabinet. Watches every dose like it’s classified.”
Lois narrowed her eyes at the thermos. “Then how did Jimmy get a bottle of it?”
Everett looked up, surprised. “He did?”
Clark nodded. “He said he was getting it tested.”
Everett shook his head slowly. “I don’t know how he pulled that off. The doctor keeps it locked up—cabinet’s got a key code, and the trainers don’t let it out of their sight. You’re not even supposed to carry it off the field.”
Lois folded her arms. “Then someone slipped up. Or Jimmy got lucky.”
Everett’s voice dropped. “If they find out he took it, he could be in trouble. Real trouble.”
Clark glanced at Lois, tension rising. “We need to warn him.”
Lois and Clark stepped out of the Moore residence, the thermos tucked securely in Lois’ bag. Neither spoke as they climbed into the Jeep, the weight of Everett’s story settling between them.
A few blocks into the drive, Lois glanced over, her voice low.
“What do you think we’re dealing with?”
Clark looked out the window, then down at the satchel. “Something dangerous. Something no one was supposed to find.”
Clark unscrewed the lid of the thermos, careful not to spill a drop. The scent hit him instantly—sharp, metallic, wrong.
His breath caught.
Pain lanced through his chest, low and familiar. Kryptonite.
He closed the lid quickly, jaw tight, eyes darkening.
Whoever was behind this wasn’t just reckless.
They were dangerous.
Clark kept his voice steady. “Lois, did Jimmy say where he was taking the sample?”
She glanced over, hands still on the wheel. “Star Labs, I think. Why?”
Clark didn’t answer right away. His hand rested near the satchel, the thermos inside. Even sealed, he could feel it—like a weight pressing against his chest.
Lois noticed the shift in his posture, the way his jaw had tightened.
“You okay?” she asked, her tone softer now.
Clark nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. “Just… worried. That stuff isn’t safe. If it really is what Everett thinks, Jimmy could be walking into something bigger than he realizes.”
Lois kept her eyes on the road, but her grip on the wheel tightened. “Then we’d better get there first.
Last edited by CarrieRene; 10/19/25 07:40 AM.
