The jet (dceu wiki cheekily calls it the Batwing) is a fine piece of technology; in its rebuilt state, hauled away from where Doomsday had swatted it down and tinkered with on and off for a year, the co-pilot's seat was finally put back in. Then taken out. Then put in again. A private, silent argument with himself. But it's there for Clark to get bored in, even at supersonic speeds no military craft can match. Maybe the mild-mannered reporter in him will remember a harsh critique of Wayne Enterprises' failed in-and-out defense contract from the staunch money men of the WSJ; What business does Mr Wayne have blowing off such a rare offer?

Bruce is in a very insulated coat, over very insulated other garments. It might not be as cold, inside the scout ship, and he might be used to Gotham's insidious damp chill, but there's a reason Superman parked his reappropriated space ship here. Not much manages to be alive.

"Are you hungry already?"

We haven't even done any work, Kansas.

A louder sound, Bruce pulling a heavy bag from the cockpit, slinging it over his shoulder. Not sure yet, if it's safe to set up a link between the cave's computer and this one - for reasons of alien viruses harming his terran tech, and terran viruses harming alien tech, and much more mundane concerns, like, 'will someone track that funny IP ping'. He walks in, looking up, taking in the sight of the place. Not unfamiliar, strictly but still strange.