Toxic, Part 5

Toxic, Part 5

By Smokedawg (aka JbouleyJdog)

Blog: http://betterwithsmoke.wordpress.com

E-mail: pseudojeff@msn.com

All DC Comics characters used for entertainment purposes only, and remain the
copyright of DC Comics and its affiliate and/or parent companies.

NOTE 1: This story is inspired by an idea presented to me by Blackbladder,
the author of many memorable smoking fetish tales, including the Buffy the
Vampire Slayer fan fiction story, "Demon Weed."

NOTE 2: If you find the mention of Superman's harsh actions toward Nick
O'Teen in this story and its follow-up chapters to be out of character, I
should mention that in one of the early 1980s anti-smoking campaign
commercials featuring Nick O'Teen, Superman is indeed depicted as doing just
what I describe him doing (although the injury and aftermath is my own
creation). There were several different commercials featuring Nick O'Teen,
but the one I refer to can be found on YouTube (in November 2009 anyway) at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfBO83xBZNw

----------------------------------------------

"I know that Lois Lane was your most promising tool, given her friendship
with Superman," said Annabeth, slipping on the boots for the powered armor
she would wear as Cigarillo when they commenced Nicoletta's field operations.
"I know why we had to lure her in, and it's a shame it took so long to do so.
But why give her such a full-blown treatment at the salon all at once, on her
first visit?"

"Jealous, Beth?" Nicoletta teased, pulling on the gloves for her own costume,
as they prepared to do some final tests of their technology.

"Hardly," the blonde woman said with a sniff. "Certainly, I got plenty of fun
in, myself, and I will say that Lois has some nice skills with tongue and
fingers when properly motivated. It just seems like we should have moved
slower, just in case."

"Well, you don't know what I do," Nicoletta said. "Before I got you all in
that room to work on her, I took a couple quick samples from her mouth and
vagina. You have no idea how her body set off the genetic scanners when she
first came into the salon, because I had you on other tasks at that point.
She had numerous traces of Kryptonian DNA all over her. And, as my follow-up
peek at her more intimate spaces revealed - before I brought you all in to
help work her up and break her down - she's been kissing and fucking a
Kryptonian pretty regularly."

"She's not just friends with Superman. She's boning him?" Beth gasped. "Then
that means..."

"Either Lois Lane is cheating on her husband with Superman," Nicoletta said,
"or her husband is Superman. So we need to get straight to things in earnest.
I'm more convinced than ever with this evidence that Superman's secret
identity is someone at the Daily Planet, and it's probably Clark Kent. If so,
all that smoking of Glorianas around the building, with clouds of treated
smoke that he must have passed through at some point - plus so many women
wearing Persuasion - has already begun the seeding process. Lois can complete
it in grand style with more proximate exposure, and we can push up our
timetable by at least a week, perhaps two."

"Jesus!" Beth hissed. "I don't know whether to be thrilled or terrified.
We're going up against Superman for God's sake! So soon, and that's just the
opening act, assuming we succeed."

"We've planned too long and hard to fail," Nicoletta asserted. "Our goals are
ambitious, but not the kind of goals that the villains these heroes deal with
are so fond of. And the things we are willing to do, and capable of doing,
are not the kind of straight-ahead fights these heroes are used to. Our
tactics will strike them where they aren't prepared to defend themselves -
against their own secret desires."

Annabeth Shields took a deep breath, and pulled on her gauntlets. She looked
at herself in a nearby reflective surface, and admired her outfit. The only
thing missing now was the smooth gray-and-red helmet, featureless except for
a crowning piece that abstractly mimicked her real-world straight bob-style
haircut.

The Cigarillo armor in all its glory had become a sort of template for
Vitriol's armor, but with entirely different functions in his case. Beth's
armor was very feminine, with curves and bulges everywhere they needed to be,
making her look even more fetish-sexy, she thought, than if she were naked.
Overall, the armor was a rich, chocolate brown, like a...well, like a
cigarillo. Or perhaps a More cigarette, since there was a faint textured
pattern to the polymerized titanium carapace that made her think of that
brand. Her gauntlets and boots were ash-gray, and when she fully powered up,
they would glow a subtle red in places, much like a cigarette or cigar
flaring up with an inhalation of smoke.

Beth's Cigarillo armor would vastly boost her strength, speed and agility.
She was already an expert martial artist, with top knowledge in several
disciplines. A part of her wanted to test those armor-enhanced skills on
Batman, but for reasons unclear to her, Nicoletta wanted to keep the Dark
Knight out of their plans, at least for a while. A pity. She'd had to pick up
a few new hand-to-hand combat skills to help her make proper use of her
increased strength and speed in the armor, but that extra training had been a
pleasurable addition to her responsibilities, even if she never got to use it
on someone of Batman's martial arts skill.

She checked her utility belt, which was filled with a variety of drugged and
nano-embedded cigarettes, both normal-burning and electronic varieties. Those
wouldn't be of much use most of the time in direct conflict, but they could
be useful once a hero was subdued, at least, or perhaps in some kind of sneak
attack. Also in the utility belt was some flash-bang grenades and some
drugged smoke bombs. But her main weapons, aside from her hand-to-hand
skills, were her twin batons, dark brown and looking not unlike a pair of
huge cigars. Those could expel a variety of gaseous chemicals and smoke-like
streams that could work a number of physical and physiological effects, not
to mention some psychoactive ones.

Nicoletta's own Nicotina costume was less buff, since it was only very
lightly armored with a very thin, advanced variant of Kevlar. But it was
striking in its own way. All white and body-hugging, it showed off
Nicoletta's body well, from her full ass and hips to her rich, luscious bosom
and those long, lithe, strong legs and arms of hers. Not muscular per se, but
still so powerful and graceful. Nicoletta's short gloves, when the costume
powered up into hyperspatial access mode, would be patterned much like the
cork filter of a cigarette - a design touch from Beth herself - and the boots
would look much the same. But for now, powered down as they were, both of
those parts of her costume were pitch-black. 

Nicoletta's helmet looked much like a black gas mask. She didn't need it to
filter air or protect her lungs, of course, thanks to the nano-enhancements
already in her pulmonary system -technology from which Beth benefitted as
well - but the headgear did have the ability to spray various drugged
perfumes and other treats at Nicoletta's command. In addition, both the mouth
filter and visor could open and close very easily, or even phase into
hyperspace entirely to reveal all or part of her face.

This would, in part, allow her to make use of her own special cigarettes when
necessary, while still being able to have her helmet on and reactivate its
full functionality at will. But the hyperspatial capabilities were so much
more than simply related to her helmet, and were the true key to the Nicotina
costume's strengths. One of the biggest gains in Teena Industries' advances,
aside from nanotechnology, had come from the Theoretical Sciences Division,
and involved localized access to, and manipulations of, hyperspatial
dimensions.

One of those breakthroughs included the ability to extrude quasi-matter from
hyperspace, where it could temporarily be formed and manipulated as something
they called "hard smoke." In essence, it achieved much the same effect as a
Green Lantern's power ring, allowing for the formation of simple objects or
effects through the power of imagination and willpower. In terms of physical
manifestations, it wasn't as versatile as a Green Lantern's tactile/energy
constructs -one of those Oan power rings could still create much more complex
shapes and objects and creative effects with the right mind controlling it.

But hard smoke did have an advantage over a Green Lantern's energies. It
could interact with a person's psyche to some extent, to create illusions of
sensation or taste, as well as auditory, olfactory, and visual illusions -
although visual illusions were by far the weakest of the five. Nicoletta had
become quite adept at the psychic aspect of the hard smoke, particularly with
taste and smell.

Beth's boss, mistress, and lover picked up her helmet, nodded her head toward
Annabeth's own, and said, "Get it on, and let's have ourselves a little
sparring match."

* * *

Clark had been gone for three days. Lois had expected that. He had some
intensive work to do as Superman in his Fortress of Solitude in Antarctica.
So much the better for her to indulge her renewed smoking habit, made so much
better by the combination of Persuasion perfume with the smoke. And she had
found that the perfume's effect was just as pleasurable with cigarettes other
than Gloriana's. Inexplicably, the perfume just made smoking so much more
pleasant than it already was - more intimate, arousing even.

But even though she had decided to test the perfume with a pack of Virginia
Slims and also a Salem bummed from a co-worker, it was mostly the Glorianas
she was smoking. They just felt right somehow, just right for her. She had
the strangest tickle in the back of her head that made her realize this
fascination with Glorianas was some kind of "phase." She knew she'd want to
try some other cigarettes from Teena International's Millennium Tobacco
Company to see how they were - maybe some other non-Teena brands as well -
but her loyalties were firmly with the Glorianas for a while...

Just as her loyalty was definitely with that Fantasia Luxe salon. She'd never
been into the fancier, overblown places before but they had definitely
treated her right there. Like a princess. Like a hero. Like a friend. Maybe
even like a lover.

Now, where did that last thought come from? Lois wondered, and realized her
fingers were tickling at the front of her skirt, teasing her sex through the
fabric. Why am I feeling so much more sexual these past few days?

But as much as she was enjoying the smell of smoke in the air again, and the
feel of it in her chest, and the taste of it on her tongue, she wasn't
looking forward to the lecturing she would get upon Clark's return. It was
inevitable. But she also wasn't going to let him bully her. Not even Superman
had the muscle to force her to quit this pleasure again, and if he tried, he
was going to be one divorced-ass superhero.

Love me for who I really am, Lois thought, or not at all.

* * *

"All my intelligence from within the Daily Planet indicates that Clark Kent
went out on some kind of extended reporting assignment," Beth told Nicoletta.
"As far as I can tell, he's due back at work on Tuesday, so he should be back
in his and Lois' place tonight, I'm guessing. A pity for the delay. Three
days of Lois Lane smoking Glorianas, and the most-likely candidate for being
Superman not even at home with her."

"We're still ahead of schedule," Nicoletta noted. "I had considered
manufacturing some kind of emergency to lure him back earlier, but I don't
want to do anything too obvious to tip our hand. Too many crises or
coincidences and I might not be able to pull off the real event safely."

Beth nodded and scratched the back of neck thoughtfully, then rubbed her
head. "What we really need is intelligence from inside the Justice League,"
she finally said. "Are you certain it's not time yet to co-opt one of the
lesser heroes to achieve that?"

"Superman must go down first, and he must go down quietly, so that no one
ties it to our little unnamed and soon-to-mysteriously-emerge metahuman
team," Nicoletta said. "When we first appear on the scene, no one must know
whether we are good, bad or what. We have three other main prizes to snare
after Superman, and I want at least one of them to be totally unprepared. The
more of them whom we gain to our side, the less subtle and sneaky we will
need to be later. But right now, we must move cautiously."

Beth said nothing. The strategy was sound and she agreed, no matter how antsy
she was becoming with the waiting. Plus, she supposed, if they could take
down Superman as successfully as they hoped to, the rest should be a relative
cakewalk.

* * *

Clark couldn't help but notice the smell of smoke from the apartment, even
from outside the door, and he wondered if perhaps Lois was having guests over
from work. With all that smoking going on lately even by people like Lana
Lang, Lois might not have wanted to be rude and tell them to take it outside.
Understandable. It wasn't as if smoke was a constant in their home. A little
second-hand smoke wasn't going to hurt Lois, and it certainly wasn't going to
hurt him, although it might assault his senses.

What he hadn't expected was to see Lois alone, and emptying an ashtray that
had been rather full, apparently.

"Welcome back, honey," she said with a little trepidation in her voice. She
wasn't looking forward to this, though she was happy to have her husband back
home. She went to give him a kiss, and although he hesitated at first, it was
only a moment, and he hugged her and gave her a firm kiss.

"Lois, I'm not sure what's happened while I've been gone, but it must have
been awfully stressful for you to be smoking," he stated. "You know what they
say about kissing smokers."

He had tried to put as much humor in his voice as possible to defuse things,
but Clark could see the slight crease between her brows; the little frown.
She picked up the ashtray, which was empty of butts now, but hadn't been
cleaned. It was gray with old ashes.

"Yes, just like licking an ashtray, right?" she responded. "Well, here,
Clark, lick this and compare why don't you?"

Her tone was even, without rancor, but there was challenge there nonetheless.

"Now, Lois, let's not start with a fight..."

"Really, Clark. If you're going to make a blanket statement like that, back
it up. You just kissed me, and you didn't throw up on me. I know how to brush
my teeth. I'm not chain smoking non-stop. Lick this ashtray and tell me that
it tastes exactly like my lips and tongue just did."

"OK, Lois, you've made your point. I'm sure it tastes truly terrible, and I'd
much rather kiss you than lick up old ashes. And while I don't like the hints
of tobacco and...other things...in your mouth and all through our air here, I'm
not mad at you. But..."

"You're disappointed."

"I suppose I will be if this is a choice you've made for the long-run, Lois.
It's a terrible habit. You've been free of this addiction for years, and you
know how I feel..."

"Yes, I know how you feel about smoking. Tell me, Clark, are you going to
fling me into a building to get me to stop, just like you did with Nick
O'Teen?"

Clark's face registered stunned silence. Even Lois felt an odd tickle in her
chest; reservations over her words. She wondered, why did I say that? Why on
Earth would I even compare my situation to Nick O'Teen's?

"Lois, that was an unfortunate mistake. I may not be human, but Kryptonians
are just as fallible as any of you," Clark said. "Why would you say that?"

"I don't know, Clark. I really don't. But I'm a smoker. I was before you came
to work for the Daily Planet. I am again. I missed it. I've missed it while
I've watched other people enjoy it. Is it bad for me? Yes. But it's a choice
I'm happy to make. The question is, are you going to accept it, or are you
going to make this another point of battle in our marriage, just like the
issue of having kids?"

The discussion continued for a couple hours, and the intensity of it rose and
fell, bouncing between periods of quiet calm and loud arguments. Through it,
Lois smoked often, though not excessively, and Clark endured the smoke
without overt complaint. Ultimately, they went to bed not with anger, but
with many unresolved complaints. Lois agreed to leave the smoking out of
their bedroom, and she showered before they went to bed.

But Clark could still smell smoke in the air, and he wondered why it bothered
him so much. Was it because she was making a choice he didn't approve of?
Perhaps because she was putting a habit before his concerns? Or did he fear
that this smoke was just another symptom that his marriage might be burning
down around his ears?

Inside Superman's mind, questions raged and suspicions grew. And in his body,
tiny nanobots went about their furious reproductive cycle, with the Man of
Steel none the wiser.

In the suite of Nicoletta Teena - she and Beth had been alerted to Clark
Kent's return, and a three-day countdown began.

* * *

Normally, arranging a visit with a prisoner at Stryker's Island would take
weeks. But then again, not everyone was one of the biggest editorial names at
the Daily Planet, and not everyone was known to be one of Superman's friends.

Clark Kent was both.

Oh, he could have gotten a meeting with Nicholas Teena faster as Superman,
but that would reveal too much to the man known now as Nick O'Teen. A little
over a day's wait wasn't so bad. As near as he could tell, Lois was only a
smoker and nothing more sinister. Even that was bad enough, of course, and a
petty sort of revenge. But an appropriate one, Clark supposed, even if there
was nothing more dastardly at work.

Sitting on the other side of the SecuriField from the man he had unthinkingly
crippled, Clark Kent said, "So. Been busy, lately, Mr. Teena?"

The homely man across from him smiled a thin, yellowed smile and said, "I
wasn't aware any newspapers or other media outlets cared about me anymore,
and now you're here to find out what I've been up to all these years of my
incarcerated life, Mr. Kent?"

"No, just wondering what you've been up to lately, Mr. Teena. Very lately. My
wife suddenly started smoking. Heavily."

"New habit? Or an old one renewed?"

"I suspect you know."

The man's brow wrinkled in consternation. "The only thing I know is that your
wife is Lois Lane, Mr. Kent. We have a limited amount of time. Do you want to
waste it on word games and mysteries? Speak plainly, please."

"My wife smoked years ago. But this is a rather sudden re-emergence and she
seems to have you on the mind a lot."

Nick O'Teen frowned. "Mr. Kent, I have no idea what you're suggesting. Or
perhaps more accurately, I know what you are accusing me of, but what you're
suggesting makes no sense. I am in prison. I don't have any operatives,
lackeys, or sidekicks to carry out any revenge because I was never that kind
of villain. I worked solo and my targets were teens and children, as you
recall; I never tried converting adults to smoking."

"Yes," Clark said with clear distaste. "That was your modus operandi."

"I was not myself, Mr. Kent. Sadly, I have no way to prove that and I am
still no longer my old self thanks to Superman. I am a cripple, and behind
bars."

"You wouldn't be the first criminal to reach out to someone from prison, to
hurt someone outside from the inside."

"Why would I care about Lois Lane, Mr. Kent? She didn't paralyze me from the
waist down by flinging me up into the air to land on a skyscraper several
blocks away. Superman did that."

"But perhaps you want to strike out at him through his friends."

"After this much time, Mr. Kent, I am going finally strike a blow? A blow as
petty as getting one of Superman's best friends to become a smoker? Sir, you
are painting me as some villain, which is an overblown version of what I did...
and you are also painting me to be a most pathetic practitioner of the art of
revenge. I am neither."

Sadly, Clark had to admit to himself that it was hard to find a flaw in that
argument. Nick O'Teen made a poor suspect in his wife's sudden smoking,
despite her frequent mentions of him. 

Sometimes, if it quacks like a duck, it's just a duck, Clark told himself.
So, maybe Lois just wants to smoke. I have to simply decide if I can live
with that.

But still, the suspicions wouldn't leave him. After all, a lot of people
seemed to be smoking lately. Particularly women, but the men were catching
up, almost as if they were catching a disease of addiction. Most of the women
seemed to be smoking that Gloriana brand from Millennium Tobacco, including
Lois. Millennium was owned by Teena Industries.

But even though Nicholas Teena seems to be speaking honestly and seems to
have no idea what is going on...even though that duck may indeed be a duck,
Clark thought, someone else is almost certainly a rat, and Teena Industries
is involved. But who?

* * *

Just a little over two days after he had returned home to Metropolis, Clark
switched to his signature red-and-blue costume and flew to the Teena
Industries headquarters. He found the suite in the building where the
company's chief executive and majority shareholder lived, and he waited for
her to come out onto the balcony for a smoke break before he settled down
beside her.

"How are you doing it?" Superman asked her. Her whole body jerked with
surprise, and she spilled some of her cappuccino. Setting it down on a small
table, and smoothing out her skirt, she collected herself, took a deep pull
on her cigarette, and looked at him

"How am I doing what?" she finally asked. "Coping with the fact my father has
not only been in prison for years, but thanks to you, is also paralyzed from
the waist down?"

"It that was all this is about, Ms. Teena?"

"Dr. Teena," she corrected. "Unless you want me to call you Supes. And what,
exactly, are you talking about? Is all this about what, specifically?"

"There's been quite the increase in sales of your Gloriana cigarettes."

"So, you're doing business reporting now for the Daily Planet in addition to
all that crime-fighting? Or is it health reporting? Is that why you landed on
my balcony to scare me half to death?" Nicoletta said with a sneer, taking a
deep drag and blowing a plume of smoke at the S-like symbol on his chest.
"Oh, so sorry. Hope I didn't sully your family crest there. I haven't noticed
any marked increase in Gloriana sales, so I don't have any clue what you're
talking about."

"Well, local consumption certainly has gone up. I see women smoking them all
over Metropolis," Superman remarked sternly.

"The brand is also popular among gay men, not just women," Nicoletta pointed
out. She took another drag, and exhaled more generally in Superman's
direction. "A national trend I might add. You need to work on inclusiveness
in your language and tolerance toward homosexuals."

"I know plenty of..."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you have a token gay acquaintance or two," she snapped
back, through the thick smoke of another exhale. "Probably plenty of closeted
gay friends, as well. With all those tight costumes, and male sidekicks
running around, I've long wondered about you super-powered types. But why are
you coming to me to complain about a localized increase in smoking? If it's
one of my brands, fantastic, but it's not exactly making a noticeable
increase in my bottom line. Tobacco isn't even one of our top-three business
segments these days."

This line of conversation was frustrating Superman, on two levels. First, the
woman seemed utterly unfazed and utterly unflappable. But second, and most
importantly, she had a point. As a reporter in his role as Clark Kent, it was
his job to do research, and he hadn't in this case. He knew he was seeing
more smoking and noticing the Gloriana packs more often, but he hadn't even
explored national trends nor even checked to see if the increase was only
around the...

...the Daily Planet building.

Not the city in general, but his workplace. Again, he could only imagine the
possibility that it was some convoluted way to get at him through Lois and
perhaps other friends in the building. It seemed the most logical notion, and
even more so now that he realized he was seeing this mostly around where he
worked. But at the same time, that knowledge was clouding his judgment, since
he was already jumping to larger conclusions without evidence.

"Are you saying someone is trying to frame you, Dr. Teena?"

"Frame me for what? Making and selling a perfectly legal product, even if it
is considered so socially unacceptable these days? Even if the government
feels it can punish and over-tax smokers for their burdens to the healthcare
system, instead of taxing people for eating Twinkies and drinking Mochaccinos
and getting fat and diabetic?"

"The product might not be so legal if there is something in it. Perhaps
something like what your father had in his `20' brand cigarettes."

"There is no mind-bending chemical in my cigarettes, Superman. Go get them
tested if you like. I'll give you a pack for free to do so."

"I've already done that. S.T.A.R. Labs found nothing psychoactive in them and
my super-vision couldn't find anything suspicious, either. But that doesn't
mean there isn't something more subtle or sneaky. So, S.T.A.R. Labs is doing
a more intensive analysis over the next couple days."

"I hope you're paying them for their efforts, because they're wasting their
time," Nicoletta said as she blew a stream of smoke into the air, meeting his
eyes defiantly.

"You clearly don't like me, Dr. Teena, so I find myself suspecting some sort
of petty revenge, and it seems likely that's what's going on," Superman said.
"And I did put your father in prison."

"You put him a wheelchair, Superman," she nearly spat, then struck a haughty
pose, dragged deep on her cigarette, and blew it right into his face.

"That was unfortunate, Dr. Teena, and I regret that it happened," Superman
answered. "I really do. Crippling a man isn't something I'm proud of. It
isn't what I stand for. For what it's worth, that day I had been trying to
find a little girl who had been kidnapped. When I did find her body, she was
mutilated. And she had been raped. And the perpetrator was nowhere near the
scene. I never did catch him. When I saw your father peddling cigarettes to
kids a few hours later, it resonated badly, and it set me off."

"So, raping and killing a child is comparable to enticing some tweens or
teens to smoke?" Nicoletta said, nearly spitting out the words.

"No, it isn't, but my mind wasn't in the right frame that it should have
been. I may not be human, Dr. Teena, but I have flaws, too, and bad days. For
all my powers, I'm just as mortal as you are, when you get down to it."

"You can lift a luxury liner, Superman, or bring a passenger jet safely to
the ground. You can melt metal with your eyes, or burn holes through a
building. You could freeze a man with your super-breath and send him into
hypothermic shock. You aren't allowed to have bad days. You cannot call
yourself a hero and let your feelings run amok!"

"I'm sorry," Superman said. "That's the truth."

"And it's the only reason I'm not going to utterly destroy you," Nicoletta
said. "Medusa. Gloriana. Five-two-four."

Without warning, Superman's legs gave way beneath him, and he crumpled to the
floor of Nicoletta's balcony. He suddenly realized he couldn't move his legs
or arms or neck. He still had sensations, so he wasn't a quadriplegic, but he
had no control over his limbs at all. The fall hadn't injured him in the
slightest or caused him pain, so his powers were still intact,
invulnerability at least. That might mean he could still fly.

He began to float, and Nicoletta whipped out a black sphere, and threw it at
him. When it struck home, it blossomed into some kind of polymer web-net,
wrapping him up.

"Nimrod. Gamma. Seven-oh-two," Nicoletta said, and suddenly, Superman's
ascent ceased, and he was pulled back to the ground, and held there.

He might not be able to move his neck, but he could move his eyes, so
Superman focused his heat vision on the dark, rubbery webbing in which he was
held, and sent out twin beams like lasers. Halfway to their goal, the beams
suddenly dissipated. Superman poured more energy into it, but there was
nothing. The beams lost their cohesion; went nowhere, or at least not where
he was aiming them.

"Clark Kent, meet Carl Banyan," Nicoletta said, indicating a man now stepping
out of her suite to stand by the balcony door. He wore a simple red costume
with bronze highlights. His mask was a simple bronze domino-style and the
exposed brown skin of his face, neck and hands seemed to ripple like the air
over a desert horizon. "Otherwise known as Heat-Sink. Teena Industries' only
intentionally created and specifically gene-modified metahuman. He's been
waiting nearby ever since my sensors picked up your approach. Glad I took
acting lessons when I was young; you really thought you had surprised me with
your arrival. Anyway, Carl is here because I needed a very specific set of
powers to deal with you, Superman. To deal with a pair of powers of yours
that I didn't have the ability to block directly."

She had called him "Clark Kent," Superman realized. She knew his secret
identity, and that was bad, but that wasn't his primary concern. He took a
deep breath, waited for a chance...

"You might as well forget about the freezing breath trick," Nicoletta
sneered, blowing smoke down on him. "It's going to be awfully hard to aim it
when you can't move your head, and besides, Heat-Sink will counteract it. He
absorbs thermal energy and various other kinds of energy. He stores it. All
that energy you put into your heat vision was absorbed by him. He can
redirect that heat at will, to cancel out your freezing breath, for example.
Even before you arrived, I've had him sitting in an industrial-strength
furnace several times a day for several days anticipating an encounter with
you."

"You knew I would come," Superman said.

"Actually, no. Truth be told, we had planned to lure you into a confrontation
tomorrow elsewhere. But the end result would have been the same. This is just
more convenient, since we don't have to transport you back to the building
now. You're already here," she pointed out with a wicked smile. "And to be
honest, while I knew that it would only take a day or two for my little
nanomachines to do their work, I had hoped to wait another day just to be on
the safe side. But, all's well that ends well."

"You won't get away with this," Superman said.

"I expected something less trite from you. And I already have gotten away
with it," she answered, blowing smoke at him. "I've captured the Man of
Steel."

He looked at her cigarette, and set his mouth in a grim line. 

"I see that you're holding your breath now, Superman. I know that you can
hold it for a very long, long time, but it's pointless. Because the fact is
you have to breathe eventually. And it's not my cigarette that did this to
you. Not this brand, anyway. Although I will be introducing you to some other
cigarettes, and I will bring you to heel, Superman."

He said nothing. 

"I don't expect you to trust me, Superman, so go on. Hold your breath until
you finally have to take a nice, deep one. You also have to sleep eventually,
and I can smoke you into submission then just as easily with one of my
special smokes. But for now, how about I do the standard villain scenario and
gloat about my victory. Shall I monologue now, Superman? And why not? It
won't change a thing about your predicament to know how I did it all. My
other plans, the ones you might stand some slim chance of somehow derailing
if you get free...well, I will keep to myself for now."

"Fine. Talk," Superman said, softly, through clenched teeth.

"It's true that I've addicted many, many women to Gloriana cigarettes, but
not through any chemicals in the tobacco," Nicoletta said. "I simply
brainwashed them to want them. I have some very efficient means to reach many
women, every day, to bend their wills. And I have other products through
which to deliver chemicals to help further sway them and bind them."

Superman rolled his eyes.

"Oh, don't put on airs, Superman. I have a very nice voice, so my monologue
isn't hard on your ears, and you want to know what I've done. You're not
going to goad me or get me mad with that `I'm bored' act. You got me as mad
as I'm ever going to get when you crippled my father. Mad enough for a
lifetime. And that's why I'm going to make you my tool. My revenge on you is
to use you, for my own gains and goals, and for my father's sake."

Nicoletta took another drag. "Now, where was I? Yes, the cigarettes and all
those smoking women. You see, the Glorianas did have something in them.
Something seemingly quite innocuous. Even if S.T.A.R. Labs notices it, I
doubt they'll be able to figure out what it does. Because until combined with
something in another medium of mine, a product that is selling quite well and
isn't smoking related, it doesn't do anything. And, in fact, those two
combined agents still don't do anything unless in the direct presence of
Kryptonian DNA. When that happens, they begin a complex routine to create
nanomachines that are now throughout your body, but most particularly in your
legs, arms and shoulders. They are inhibiting neural responses from your
brain, so that you cannot move your limbs. And, not being able to move your
limbs or use any other major muscle groups elsewhere, your super-strength is
useless."

Nicoletta stubbed out her cigarette and lit a new one. Superman could see
this one was different, and the red-and-blue design of it - the exact colors
of his costume - made him suspicious. He continued to hold his breath.

"The smoke actually seeps into your mucous membranes anyway, Superman. You'll
only delay things by holding your breath," Nicoletta said. "But I'm
impatient, so let's just get on with it. Pneuma. Amore. Nine-six-nine."

Suddenly, Superman's lungs expelled his air, and then suddenly took a deep
inhalation, sucking in the smoke of her new cigarette. Something floral and
tangy, mixed in with the tobacco. Something familiar, but...

He couldn't quite identify it, but Superman realized he was getting an
erection, and he could feel his libido slowly build.

"More on that, later," Nicoletta said. "So, I could deal with your strength,
your heat vision and your breath. And, as you can see, I didn't really even
need Heat-Sink to interfere with your lung power, since my nanos have pretty
well colonized your chest, too. But your power of flight. There was the rub.
The one thing I wasn't sure I could counter to keep you from getting away.
And I tell you, we did a lot of recording of your flights. It was difficult
to get hard data with direct scans, but we managed a bit."

"You see," she continued, "we noticed that a lot of your velocity was tied to
you leaping from the ground. But clearly there was more involved. You can
levitate, of course, using all that solar energy in your body to create a
sort of anti-gravity field. But to get initial speed, you either jump, or you
pump all sorts of converted solar energy into a sort of propulsive beam from
your feet or hands. Your limbs, you see, have the ability to focus those
energies for actual maneuverable flight, or so we have surmised, as opposed
to just floating around."

"Having denied you the ability to use your limbs properly," she added, "I
also crippled your flight powers. Thank God we were right about how your
flying works, eh? And that webbing that's holding you, with its ability to
create a strong attractive field with the floors throughout this building,
even keeps you from floating away slowly. Oh, it's not holding you down
anymore. But if you try to get more than a few inches off the floor, it will
pull you down again."

"So, now that you have me, you're going to make me do your will," Superman
said. It seemed pointless to try to avoid talking or breathing at this point,
so he simply marshaled his will, and thought of the cold surface of Pluto or
the pain of a Kryptonite energy blast. Anything to get him to stop thinking
about how attractive Nicoletta was, and how much he needed to spray his seed
all over her. Or himself. "I'm not that easy."

"Oh, but you are, Superman," she said, blowing smoke into his mouth, and
rubbing one of his biceps. "Have you pinpointed the scent in these
cigarettes, Superman? Familiar? Hints of Redylith and essence of Jocuora, two
native Kryptonian flowers. It was very nice of you to share some of the more
innocuous flora of your home world, germinated from seeds you found, or that
perhaps were sent here with you to Earth. Displayed so nicely in the Krypton
exhibit at the Metropolis Field Museum. You know, that bank robbery you
stopped five weeks ago was just a diversion for us to sneak in and get
samples of those flowers."

"Why?" Superman asked, trying to flex his muscles and failing. Trying to fly
away and failing. Trying not to think of making love to Nicoletta, and
failing. 

"Well, I guess this isn't the kind of information your people sent along with
you when they aimed you at Earth," Nicoletta said. "So, I don't suppose any
information sent along with you told you that certain compounds in those
flowers, when mixed with certain ratios of carbon, nitrogen, and silicon,
creates a powerful aphrodisiac. Well, if you're a Kryptonian, it's an
aphrodisiac. For humans, it's an air freshener."

"I though you wanted to punish me. You're going to punish me with pleasure?"
Superman tried to keep the longing out of his voice; the hope that he was
right. He was pretty sure he had done a poor job of it.

"No, I am going to break you through desire. I am going to bind you and
control you. And I am going to deny you release, actually. I'm going to keep
you horny and not do anything to you, nor let anyone else give you release.
This compound enhances libido and makes you wild for sex, Superman, but it
also inhibits ejaculation and orgasm. Spanish fly, Viagra, and a cock ring
all in one chemical package."

"Kinky, but I doubt it will work," Superman said, and realized his voice was
becoming thicker, deeper. Realized he wanted Nicoletta badly. Needed her.
Felt stirrings of regret that she wouldn't touch him where he wanted her to
and felt guilt about Lois in that desire, and such feelings only made the
longing he was feeling more intense.

"I've been bending wills long enough to know what I'm doing, and I have
experts to help me with the Kryptonian mind," Nicoletta said, bathing his
face in smoke and smiling when she saw him deeply inhale on his own. "The
compound you are breathing is itself quite irresistible. Such wonderful
little tidbits like that in the computer files that General Zod kept, files
that I have had copies of for several years now. One of your fellow
Kryptonians, helping me indirectly through his own recorded legacy of
depredation and villainy."

"I'm going to fight you."

"Please do. It will soften you up faster, and make my victory sweeter," she
said. "Be glad your handling of my father had something behind it besides
pettiness or cruelty. I always suspected it did. That something strange set
you off. It doesn't make me any less angry or any less desirous of payback.
But at least it spares you being turned into a vegetable like Manchester
Black, who made my father into Nick O'Teen, essentially."

"If your father was being controlled, why didn't you ever tell," Superman
began, panting and writhing in what limited mobility he had. Salivating.
Wanting to taste the lips that were expelling this magnificent smoke.

"I have my reasons, and I might share them later," Nicoletta said, her face
hovering just in front of his. She took a deep breath, covered his head in
smoke, and let her mouth linger near his lips for several seconds, watching
the desire in his eyes before she pulled away, leaving him unfulfilled.

"Carl, if you could please haul Superman to his new quarters," Nicoletta
said. "I have a lot of work to do. But since Superman started things off a
bit early, I have a whole extra day to shape him. How wonderful for me, but
perhaps a bit inconvenient for him and his need for heroics." 

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