Welcome to Clark's unconscious, sweaty face! His eyes snap open and he rolls them around a little. He lets out a "Mehhh!" of struggle and pain. Or maybe it's more of a "Muhhh!" Sounds are so hard to spell out. I admire comic book writers who do it well. As Clark slowly sits up, it becomes obvious he was subjected to some sort of medical procedure: He's lying on some kind of medical table and there's a loosened latex strap at the crook of his elbow. His light blue shirt is open over a white A-shirt. He lifts away the strap and reveals an angry bruise. I confess that at first I mostly noticed the nice bulgy vein in his biceps. My compliments to Tom Welling's free weights. Clark clutches at the wound in pain and staggers to his feet. As he looks around, it becomes apparent that he's at the balcony level of the Watchtower. He's alone. On a desk a few feet away, his cell phone rings. He pauses before picking it up because on a cart right by him, there's a syringe with two tiny green droplets on the needle. He knocks the cart over and picks up the phone. There's a text message from Oliver that reads, "I lost her." Clark frowns, breathing heavily.
Clark stumbles out of the building and has a look around. A bike lies on the sidewalk. An abandoned car beeps because its doors have been left open. An aerial shot shows a seemingly abandoned Metropolis beneath gray and cloudy skies. Clark stands in an intersection and uses his superhearing. Aren't you glad they don't show the inside of his ear anymore? Now it's just a halo of distorted light and Clark looking like he's concentrating on math homework. He hears heavy metal music and guesses it must be Lois for some reason. He follows the music to the Daily Planet offices. The basement has been ransacked. The overhead lights flicker. He hears some machinery and goes to the copy room, where he comes up behind a shapely lass in a blue top and black skirt. She's standing over a copy machine, which is running with the top open. We see just her hands on the scanning plate. Then gobbets of syrupy-looking drool splatter between her hands, accompanied by a sound like a stewed tomato being vigorously squeezed. Num! Clark calls to her: "Lois, are you OK?" She twitches then wheels around to face him. Her skin is gray and pale, her eyes are red, and black, inky ooze coats her teeth. How many times do people have to tell you not to gargle with copier toner, Lois? She lunges at Clark, her gnashing teeth devouring the whole screen. Somebody save him!