'My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel.'

Growing up, there had been no fights that Lois Lane managed to get herself into that she couldn't fight her way out of. Combative at a young age, she had often landed herself into more trouble than she had anticipated, but always managed to come away with nothing more than a scratch or two. Sam Lane had received several calls about these instances, and while he was unhappy that she had found her way into them, he had always been proud that his daughter managed to always come out the victor. He had enrolled her in various martial arts in an effort to have her exercise her anger in a more positive way and to some extent? It worked. She no longer got into physical altercations. Instead, her wars were fought with wars and were deescalated before it came to blows. She managed to continue this non combative streak into young adulthood, and eventually turned her war of words into her profession. The pen proved to be mightier than the sword. Except for in the cases of dealing with metahumans. In those cases? Physical altercations were not only necessary, but encouraged. But it had been ages since she had to actively exercise her skill, one of te many benefits of being tied to a superhero, and, in her current situation? The downside. No, Lois Lane was not used to losing in a fight, but had experienced something she hadn't had the pleasure of happening in quite some time: her ass handed to her by way of a knockout.

She saw stars, bright shining and blinding, accompanied by pain. Thoughts began to jumble, some she could identify as her own, some as Lindsay's. Super strength had been ideal to deliver blows to her opponent, but he had caught her off guard and delivered a blow that hit with precise accuracy. Body already sufficiently battered by the electric shocks and the lack of proper rest and sustence, the knockout almost felt a bit like a blessing. Finally, sweet, mindless relief.

She stood in an empty room, facing a mirror. Blinking once, then twice, the reflection following suit. Surprisingly, there were no signs of bruising. Funny, since her last memory involved more violence than she cared to recall. But no, no brusing. Ivory skin, cheeks pink, hair and eyes dark. The reflection flinched and Lois gasped. It was her, but not. For these weeks, these strange weeks, this was what her mind felt like, a reflection that varied ever so slightly. She offered a smile and the reflection took a moment before returning it. Glancing around, her gaze feel back on the reflection and she let out a sigh.

"So this is what it looks like in here?"

The reflection shrugged and glanced around, as well. "I mean, for the most part. Usually there's more color, but I assume due to the circumstances, our imagination is otherwise occupied. Got our ass kicked, huh?"

Lois nodded and let out a frustrated sigh. "I had him for a while, but he fought dirty in the end."

Lindsay made a face. "That's probably my fault. I haven't exactly needed