Clouds! The very fluffy landscapes from which all good marshmallow angels come. We are flying through them on what looks to be a beautiful blue-sky day. I much prefer starting an episode this way than being in some dank cave or in somebody's esophagus like last week. As ethereal music plays, we fly beneath the clouds to the remarkably computer-animated cornfields of [cough cough] Kansas. We fly over some fields, near some trees, and then into...dammit! A dank cave again! More flying, more caves. We see lights strung up and metal platforms from Professor Snideface's cave-drawing-deciphering team. We settle on a view of a big circular hieroglyphics wall of the cave. We shift view and, hey! It's Clark! And he's...floating! And his shirt is sticking up in the back as if some magical invisible wire is holding it up! Clark is staring intently at the wall, with one hand in a fist and sticking forward a bit. He's a little wobbly. Clark eyes the center of that big circular thing, which has an octagonal hole in the middle. I can't think of another show I could be recapping where I'd be writing the world "octagonal" every week. Maybe The Real World Las Vegas, in reference to all the sex partners and their octagonal positionings. Clark floats forward a bit in a swinging motion. He fingers the octagonal hole (new thought after my last rumination: Ewwww!) as foreboding music plays. Clark opens his hand, and he's holding the octagonal piece of his spaceship. He neatly straightens up and lands with his feet on the ground. He takes a tiny step forward. Rubs the piece in his hand. Then he reaches forward and puts the piece in the hole on the wall. Nothing happens. Clark looks confused. He leans forward again and points a finger toward the wall-embedded piece. Clark phone home! As soon as he touches it, what looks like a blinding fireball flies out and everything goes white.
Clark, who was wearing a red flannel shirt, now has on a blue t-shirt, and he's lying with his arms splayed out like they were in the pilot when he was strung up in that cornfield. He's lying in the middle of a highway. The camera cranes back to show Clark looking down at himself. He sits up; a car is approaching behind him, fast. The car is nearly on him before it starts braking, and judging from what the defensive driving class I took recently had to say, there's no way it could have stopped before hitting Clark. But stop it does, right in front of his face. The car is a sporty import, so it must belong to Lex. The man whose head we love to fetishize gets out of the car and stands over Clark. He's wearing a suit. "Clark?" he says. Clark looks around, unsure of what the hell is going on up in hea-ah. Opening credits.