Then

The mercenaries wait, tension filling the air. The small band of murderous thugs were the best free agents in the quadrant, and they knew it. But this time was different, wasn't it? It's not every day that you get hired by a living legend.

Lobo stood behind the group, the acrid stench of his cigar filling the small room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made of solid plutanium; nothing was getting in or out without Lobo opening the door for them. The chair in the center of the room was made of the same rare mineral, it's shackles cobbled together by the greatest smiths in the galaxy.

But none of the men, women, or unnameable things in the room gave a damn about the door or the chair. It was the seven foot long cylinder at the far wall that commanded their attention. A Kryptonian cryopod, somehow damaged to allow the occupant to age while sleeping. There was no telling how much yellow sun radiation the woman inside had stored, or what her reaction would be.

The lead merc steps forward, activating the pod's latch. The lid opens with a gentle HISS, and the gathered soldiers of fortune close in on the prone woman. The nearest one reaches out to tentatively touch the delicate wrist of the resting Kryptonian.

Her eyes snap open, immediately filling with a murderous red glow. The mercenary is instantly incinerated, his lower half falling gracelessly to the floor. Shouts and shots ring out as the hired help is mercilessly dispatched by the raging woman. Lobo manages to sneak behind her as she decapitates the last of the mercenaries.

Grappling the woman, Lobo marvels at her strength; he struggles to manhandle her into the seat. He has barely shackled her left wrist when she lashes out with her right, catching him in the temple. His vision swirls as he somehow manages to secure her other arm, finally backing away from the enraged Kryptonian.

Flipping a small switch on the wall behind him, he squints as a bright beam of light shines from a projecto-scope onto the woman's face. She calms instantly, absorbing the knowledge the training module was imparting upon her. The light fades, and she contorts her body and head to stare at Lobo from the corner of her eye. Her voice is strong yet sweet, like a whorehouse matron, despite the uncertainty in her question.

"How did you do that? How do I know... everything?"

Lobo slaps the wall above the switch. "Psychlo tech. Pretentious snobs, hate every one of 'em, but they got insta-teach technology. Liked it, so I stole it."

Her eyes narrow, a mischievous smile slowly beginning to spread across the young woman's face. "What else do you like?"

Now

Lobo looks over the treasure trove of goodies spread before him. He checks his list of necessary items, making sure, one final time, that everything he needed for his plan was ready. Satisfied, he begins to load the various weapons, snacks, explosives, and overall fun s#*% he intended to bring on his trip.

With each item stored in his bulging saddlebags, Lobo checks a notation off of his list. Humming to himself, he doesn't notice Kara until she is literally right behind him.

"What'cha doin', big guy?"

"What does it look like I'm doin'? I'm packing for a picnic!"

She sighs, her eyes wistfully following the severe lines of Lobo's custom spacecycle. Her angelic voice betrays her desire as she speaks.

"Well f*#% me, I wish I had f*&$in' bike!"

"You did have a f*&$in' bike, and you f*&$in' crashed it on the intergalactic highway."

"Oh yeah, that was awesome."

He had to agree, the ensuing chase and shootout had been one of the best times of his life, since his defeat at the hands of those primitive nobodies. Luckily, only Zod and Kara knew about that, and neither one of them was talking to anybody, so Lobo's reputation remained untarnished.

"Still," she continues, "I want another bike."

"Why do you even care? You can fly faster than any bike we can make, we already proved that when we fleeced those pro racers."

"I dunno, I just think it's cool."

Well, when you're right, you're right. Lobo couldn't argue that having a bike as awesome as his was definitely cooler than simply flying. He grins, an idea forming.

"Tell ya what. You come with me, be my cheerleader, and I'll buy you whatever bike you want."

She lets out an uncharacteristically girlish squeal.

"Really? Even if it's cooler than yours?"

"Can't be cooler than mine, baby snakes. Mine's automatically the coolest, just 'cause it's mine!"

She trounces away, leaving Lobo to load his gear alone.

Later

They cruise through FTL, the sounds of Mötörhead blaring from the custom multi-phase speaker system. Kara yells to be heard over the noise.

"Why do you have an atmospheric stabilizer, anyway? It's not like either of us need to breathe."

"Because I like my tunes. The Main Man always comes prepared with a killer soundtrack!"

"Where is this music from? I haven't heard it before."

"It's from Earth, actually. They have some pretty cool s#!%."

She scoffs, and he rummages through his jacket, producing a vid-disk tablet. He passes the device back to her, activating the screen. She removes a hand from his waist to hold the thing as a video begins playing, the audio cutting over from Mötörhead to the opening musical number. He calls out.

"They also made these things called 'movies.' Some of 'em are awesome. Check this one out. It's about a badass guy that tries to teach a bunch of nerds how to be badass, too. It's called 'Fight Club.'"

They ride on through the nauseating whorls of Hyperspace, Lobo angling slightly to veer towards his favorite diner. He felt hungry, and he knew to never start a job on an empty stomach.