The road droned on by under his wheels as Bruce roared over it. Stark had offered to fly him across the country in style, but he had opted instead to ride the distance. He'd been accompanied by random bikers for part of the trip, but this last leg he was alone, just him, the wind, and the AI speaking through the Bluetooth in his helmet. Dickinson, as he had dubbed the disembodied voice that had downloaded itself to his cell phone, was reading aloud the same research materials that Stark had sent for him to study. Bruce had read much of it in the string of hotels he had stayed at. Now he was listening to the specs on the Mark 40 armor that he was being gifted. 

"Kinda clunky for a racing machine," he spoke aloud into his helmet. "I'll strip it down some, I think. Get it chopped."
"I can do the honors right now, sir," Dickinson said in his ear. 
"Really? Alright, strip all the weapons off. Have it disassembled for my arrival."
"At once, sir." At that moment, in the Hall of Armors the machines started moving, taking the Mark 40 from its place and beginning work. 
"Oh," Bruce began as an after thought, "And paint it blue. BMW blue, I think."

Bruce roared into the parking lot at the Academy. His bike turned a few heads, and he smiled at the attention, unseen under his helmet. He kicked the stand out and killed the engine, pulling the helmet off and leaving it on the handlebars. His ass was killing him, and he was glad to be off bike, as much as he loved it. Bruce mad his way with the crowd, heading toward the center, where people seemed to be heading. He didn't have the uniform that everyone else was wearing, and also lacked the watch that they were using. 
His phone started ringing, but he ignored it as he passed a particularly stunning young woman. Bruce's head turned and he decided that finding an authority could wait a second. 
"Hey there," he said, extending a hand to shake, "You look like you know what's what. Care to help a freshman out? I don't really know where to go."