Wayne Manor, basement.
Ririko stepped out of the elevator, and a gust of warm air carrying the scent of machine oil and metal washed over her.
In just a month, Bruce had already transformed the underground space before her:
Several rows of dark gray metal shelving now lined the walls, neatly stacked with tools and parts of unknown purpose, along with some oddly shaped instruments.
Screens of all sizes stood all around, and an unfinished cup of drip coffee sat on the enormous, button-covered console.
Bruce stood with his back to her, bent over a workbench.
He wore a dark gray T-shirt, its sleeves rolled up near his shoulders, exposing his strong, well-defined arms.
The fabric clung loosely to his back. As he bent forward, his shoulder blades stood out as sharply as mountain ridges.
He wore safety goggles, their lenses reflecting a cold gleam in the welding torch's flare.
He was welding a component on a black motorcycle-
It had a streamlined body and a matte black finish, its front shaped like a bat with its wings folded.
It was more agile than the Batmobile he had built before, and better suited to weaving through Gotham's narrow alleys.
Hearing footsteps, he turned and saw Ririko standing at the entrance, watching him from a few steps away.
He straightened at once, pulled off his goggles, and bounded over to her.
"What brings you here?"
Ririko approached him unhurriedly, studying the faint smudges of machine oil on his face.
"I heard you were shown out of the board meeting today." She had learned about it from Alfred as soon as she entered the house.
Bruce braced a hand against the edge of the workbench, his embarrassed gaze settling on the Batcycle's front wheel.
"Galavan set up a 'Strategic Executive Committee.' All