Daily Planet. Lois is on a tear through the basement. A young puppy of a lad is trailing after her. "I'm getting really tired of excuses here," Lois says. The puppy starts to apologize, but Lois holds up a silencing hand. She was actually bitching at someone through her earpiece, and she's not done: "Risotto cheese bites? Should we just serve up hot charcoal, too?" She hangs up on what must be a wedding caterer who is now considering a career change. Also, what's wrong with risotto cheese bites? They sound delicious! She turns her attention to the puppy, who is still following her around. "What do you have for me, Jeff?" He hands her some files from Bert in forensics. "He says you're lucky to be engaged to such a super guy," says Mutt N. Jeff. He clasps his little paws together and eagerly awaits her next command, so she sends him off to a bakery to get her a "good deal on vanilla bean frosting." Lady knows how to delegate, but does not know how to pick her wedding battles. Nonetheless, Jeff bounds off, eager to please. On his way out, he bumps into Clark and respectfully apologizes to "Mr. Kent." Clark barely even notices the guy.
Clark sits down across from Lois and waits for her to lay into him, sure that she's heard about all the ass-kissing he's been getting lately. [So, in order to hide his identity, he needs to become unlikeable? - Z] You can tell she really, really wants to, but calls herself a "positive, supportive, independent woman" and she just wants to hear what he found out at the morgue. She smiles very brightly. Clark should be very afraid. He tells her the coroner hasn't made a connection between the bodies. "It's a dead end." Lois flips through the file that Jeff fetched for her. Photos of the victims at the crime scene show little inked pretzels just above each of their hands. Lois tells him the coroner must have been lying. Clark looks at the pictures, too, and tells her he only saw a few dots an their hands at the morgue. Lois squints at the pictures. "That's only a fraction of a centimeter; how were you able to see that?" she asks. "Micro-vision," he says. She scoffs slightly at the name. "It's my power, I can call it whatever I want," he pouts. But on to more important matters: Clark realizes the coroner was covering his tracks. Then he really should have cleaned off his victims' hands before dumping their bodies, no?