The moment Clark is out of sight, Zod drops the ruse. He lowers his hand and steps toward the rooftop ledge. He stands in the deep, golden light and closes his eyes, basking in it. A bird's-eye view shows him standing on a small, architectural precipice high above the city streets. Eyes still closed, he raises his arms. His long coat flaps in the breeze. The Daily Planet globe spins slowly above him. It's truly a beautiful shot, I must say. He tilts back his head, lips parted in a silent sigh. And then he doesn't so much leap from the building as he just sort of... allows himself to tip forward. Momentum pulls him down. He falls and falls, arms still outstretched, and then, at the last moment, he purposefully draws his hands to his side and torpedoes up and away from the street. He flies past the Watchtower and straight toward us, his blissful expression transforming into something more devilish. End credits.
Next week: The show's taking some time off, and so am I.
Tippi Blevins is going to spend the next few weeks stockpiling weapons and cocktail mixes for the apocalypse. You can email her at firstname.lastname@example.org, or find her on Twitter.