The batjet wins out, partially because Clark wants to go for a ride. He will ride his bike to work and take the ferry to Gotham and call down an Uber and it's not all just to act like Clark Kent, because in a lot of the ways it matters, he is Clark Kent.

That said, there's no sense of grounding or anything very sentimental in selecting this particular mode of transport. Like any regular person, he would just like a go in the cool stealth plane. He even waits until halfway there to get antsy at the pace.

Of course, the North Pole itself is ocean, and Clark was not feeling so petulant or adventurous as to land the thing submerged, beneath the sea ice. The rocky island that is home to the scout ship is snow-crusted and home only to Kryptonians and neighbouring polar bears, and at this time of year, they are in the depths of months-long darkness. Navigational tools do the work but Clark directs Bruce to a hangar entrance, a broad doorway opening slickly and swiftly to permit them entry.

And they can see. Lightsources unknown paint cool illumination over the broad curvatures of the interior. It is still extremely cold, inside, breaths leaving them as thick clouds of fog, but nothing like the outside blizzards.

There's a slight crinkle sound. Clark retrieving a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.