Lois Lane shimmied through the cracked ventilation grate, dropping silently into the dimly lit storage room of the abandoned shipyard. Ignoring the "No Trespassing" signs that she considered mere suggestions, she pulled out her voice recorder and crept toward the stack of crates marked with a shell company logo she had spent weeks tracking.
"Gotcha," she whispered, snapping a series of rapid-fire photos of the illegal alien tech peeking out from the straw packing. Just as she reached for a manifest, the heavy clang of a metal door opening behind her made her freeze, but instead of hiding, she spun around with her press badge already raised, her expression shifting instantly from startled to authoritative.
"About time someone showed up," she bluffed smoothly, marching toward the armed guards. "I'm Lois Lane, Daily Planet, and unless you want tomorrow's headline to be about your boss's tax evasion, you're going to answer a few questions."
