Chapter 7
The elevator doors opened onto the familiar hum of the Daily Planet. Phones rang, printers whirred, and the scent of burnt coffee hung in the air.
Lois stepped out first, coat still on, eyes scanning for Jimmy. She spotted him at his desk, phone pressed to his ear, scribbling something onto a notepad.
Clark followed, the thermos tucked in his satchel.
Jimmy turned slightly as they approached, covering the receiver. “Coach Jonah Scott,” he mouthed, then went back to the call. “Yeah, I’ve got it. Coach’s office. They’ll be there.”
He hung up and looked up at them. “Jonah wants to meet you at the university. Said to come straight to the coach’s office.”
Lois didn’t miss a beat. “Did you get the sample tested yet?”
Jimmy nodded. “Star Labs said it wouldn’t take long. Should be calling any minute.”
Clark’s brow furrowed. “Did Jonah say what this was about?”
Jimmy shook his head. “Just that it’s urgent. He didn’t want to say more over the phone.”
Lois glanced at Clark, then turned to Jimmy. “Clark and I will head to the university.”
She rested a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “You stay here. If Star Labs calls with the results, I want you to get every detail. Don’t let them hang up until you’ve got something solid.”
Jimmy nodded, already reaching for his notepad. “Got it.”
The Jeep pulled into the nearly empty lot behind the athletic building. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pavement, stretching toward the east wing where the coach’s office sat tucked behind rows of lockers and training rooms.
Lois climbed out first, coat still on, her steps brisk. Clark followed, the thermos secure in his satchel, eyes scanning the quiet campus.
They reached the door to the east wing and stepped inside. The hallway was dim, echoing with the distant thud of weights and the low hum of vending machines.
Lois knocked on the coach’s office door. “Jonah?” she called.
No answer.
She knocked again, louder. “Coach Scott?”
Still nothing.
Clark tried the handle. Locked.
Lois frowned. “He said he’d meet us here.”
Clark leaned in, listening. No movement inside. No voices.
Lois glanced down the hallway. “Maybe he got held up.”
Clark’s voice was low. “Or someone didn’t want him talking.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the thermos between them like a warning.
Clark stepped closer to the coach’s office door, his expression unreadable.
Lois reached for the handle again. “Locked,” she muttered, then turned to glance down the hallway.
“Maybe he’s in the locker room. Or grabbing files.”
Clark used the moment. He lowered his glasses just a fraction, angling his head toward the door.
Through the wall, the office came into view—layers of heat and shadow peeling away. His breath caught.
Jonah Scott was on the floor, unmoving. One arm twisted beneath him, a chair overturned nearby.
Clark straightened, pushing his glasses back up just as Lois turned back.
“Clark?”
Clark stepped closer to the door, concern tightening his voice. “Lois, he told us to meet him. Maybe something happened.”
Lois glanced at the handle, then back at Clark.
He gave her a look. “Use your great lock-picking skills.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”
Clark offered a half-smile. “It is.”
Lois reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her kit. “Good thing I never leave home without it.”
She knelt at the door, working quickly. A soft click, and the lock gave way.
Clark pushed the door open.
Jonah Scott lay crumpled on the floor, motionless.
Lois rushed in. “Jonah?”
Clark was already beside her, checking for a pulse. “He’s alive. But we need help. Fast.”
Lois stood, reaching for the phone to call the police—then froze.
Something on Jonah’s desk caught her eye. A file, slightly askew, stamped with the bold, unmistakable LexCorp letterhead.
She hesitated, then picked it up instead of dialing. Her eyes scanned the first page—rows of names, dates, and initials. One name jumped out.
“Clark,” she said, her voice low and sharp. “You need to see this.”
Lois held up the file, her voice low. “Clark. Look at this.”
He stepped closer. The LexCorp letterhead was unmistakable, but it was the name halfway down the page that made his stomach tighten.
Dr. Henry Chase.
Before Clark could speak, Lois shifted the folder—and her elbow bumped a small glass bottle near the edge of the desk.
It tipped, hit the floor, and shattered.
A strange green liquid spread across the tile, glowing faintly.
Clark staggered back, breath catching. His knees buckled slightly as the color drained from his face.
Lois turned, alarmed. “Clark?”
He couldn’t answer. The air felt heavier, his strength draining fast.
Then the door creaked open behind them.
A man stepped inside, calm, composed, and far too casual for the scene in front of him.
Dr. Henry Chase.
“Well,” he said, eyes flicking from the broken vial to Clark. “I was wondering when you two would show up.”
Lois moved instinctively between Clark and the spill, her voice sharp. “What is that?”
Chase smiled. “Something Coach Scott wasn’t supposed to share. But I suppose you’ve figured that out.”
Clark tried to stand, but the glow pulsed stronger.
“Well,” he said, voice smooth. “I was hoping to avoid this.”
Lois moved instinctively, sliding the file into her coat. “You’re too late. We know what’s in the drink.”
Chase’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You know just enough to be a problem.”
Then, with a practiced motion, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small pistol—sleek, black, and steady in his grip.
Clark tensed, his strength already fading from the kryptonite spill.
Lois didn’t flinch. “You really think that’s going to solve your problem?”
Chase’s voice was cold. “It’ll buy me time.”
Clark shifted, trying to draw attention away from Lois. “You won’t get far.”
Chase cocked the weapon. “I don’t need far. Just out that door.”
Lois’s eyes flicked to the desk—calculating, fast. “Then you’d better move quick. Because someone’s going to come looking for Jonah.”
Chase hesitated, just long enough.
Clark tried to steady himself, but the kryptonite-laced liquid on the floor was already working through his system. His strength was fading fast.
Lois kept herself between Clark and Dr. Chase, eyes locked on the pistol.
“You’re not walking out of here,” she said.
Chase stepped forward, calm and deliberate. “I’m not here to walk—I’m here to clean up. I need to make sure the story ends with Coach Scott. That he was the one who gave the players the drink. That he handed it to me. That he had it made.”
“But the students said you were the one keeping it locked up,” Lois snapped. “You arranged the formula. You had it produced. You worked at LexCorp before you ever set foot on this campus—didn’t you?”
Dr. Chase let out a low, amused laugh. “Of course, I knew. How else would I know kryptonite could be melted down? That it could enhance human strength?”
He stepped closer, eyes gleaming. “It was simple, really. And when this all comes out, it’ll point straight to Jonah Scott. The coach who got in over his head. The man who couldn’t resist the pull of Lois Lane.”
“He wasn’t part of this,” Lois said, voice tight, scanning the room for anything—an exit, a weapon, a way out. Clark lay crumpled on the floor, breath shallow, his strength draining fast and without explanation.
The doctor didn’t respond. Just watched them, calculating.
“What are you going to do with us?” Lois asked, her tone shifting from defiance to dread.
No answer. Just the soft metallic click as he reached into his coat and drew out a pair of handcuffs. The steel caught the light—cold, final.
In one swift motion, he locked them together. Lois flinched. Clark groaned. The silence that followed felt like the beginning of something far worse.
“It’s a pleasure, Miss Lane. Lex spoke highly of you.” He offered a faint smile, then glanced around at the chaos. “Shame it had to be under these conditions.”
“Lex planted the idea,” he said, voice cool and untroubled, as if discussing a business merger rather than a biochemical weapon. “He was always fascinated by duality—how the same compound that could bring Superman to his knees might elevate someone else to greatness.”
He stepped closer, eyes gleaming with clinical detachment. “Turns out, in small doses, liquid kryptonite doesn’t just weaken—it enhances. Strength. Speed. Endurance. Who would’ve thought the thing that nearly killed a god could turn ordinary athletes into something... extraordinary.”
He let the silence stretch, the implications hanging heavy in the air. “Lex saw potential. I made it real.”
Lois glanced at Jonah—still slumped and unmoving—then tugged at the handcuffs binding her to Clark. The metal bit into her wrist, cold and unyielding. She leaned down, her breath catching as she saw him.
“Clark… what’s happening?”
Lois dropped to her knees beside Clark, the handcuffs biting into her wrist as she leaned over him. The strange liquid from Jonah’s desk had spilled across the floor, soaking into Clark’s clothes, pooling beneath him like something alive.
“Clark,” she whispered, brushing damp hair from his forehead. His skin was flushed, his breath shallow—but not fading. Accelerating.
She pressed her hand to his chest. His heartbeat was erratic, pounding hard, then harder. “Please,” she said, voice cracking. “Wake up.”
Behind her, the doctor paused, watching with a flicker of unease.
“This compound was meant to enhance,” he said slowly. “Strength. Speed. Stamina. That’s what it does—for everyone else.”
Clark’s fingers twitched. Then his arm jerked, sudden and sharp.
The doctor stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “I’ve never seen this kind of reaction.”
Clark groaned, louder this time. His eyes snapped open—wild, unfocused, glowing faintly beneath the surface.
Lois gripped his hand. “I’m here,” she said fiercely. “Stay with me.”
The doctor backed away, unsettled. “Fascinating,” he muttered, then checked his watch. “But I have places to be.”
He turned toward the door, his voice flat. “Someone will come for you. Eventually.”
The door clicked shut.
