Rikka leads the exciting person-shaped apparition down another long bike street. They reach an unusually broad and segregated building, the more unusual for the pale gray concrete exterior of its first floor being nearly unbroken by windows, in contrast to the second floor and all those above, which are almost entirely made of glass. (It's one-way, though, the outside glass giving off the impression, no matter what angle you're viewing it from, that that's slightly the wrong angle to see inside.)
The double doors open into a narrow, short, dark-painted room lit by dim electric strips around the ceiling. The only feature is a silvery little keypad on the right wall. Rikka extracts a ragged slip of paper from his backpack, with a code scrawled on it, and punches the code into the keypad, which flashes green and makes a clattering-metal noise, and the "wall" at the end of the hallway shhhhhhks aside. A soft pink glow comes from the opening.
Rikka retrieves the key-and-lanyard that's been dispensed into an alcove behind a metal flap in the wall - that's what the clattering was. He puts the lanyard on. "The room will be really small", he admits, trying to lowball, as he leads the person-shaped apparition through. The pinkish-glow room has copper-looking handrails on all the walls, and another, bigger keypad. Rikka presses a button and the door shhhhhhks shut again. "Twelfth floor", he says idly, and presses another. The elevator's acceleration is rapid, but smooth - it'd be barely perceptible, except for that after the first floor, the fourth dark wall of the shaft drops away from the side of the elevator that's transparent, and four-dozen-foot-square pink-lit common areas blur past, one after another. On each floor Rikka glimpses the same arrangement of unassuming ergonomic stools and standing desks, the same doors to the same common bathrooms, the same pattern of hallways leading away, so that when the elevator reaches Twelve, he's oriented himself to at least where the hallways are.
It still takes him half a minute of searching to figure out what direction the room numbers go in, before he finds his room and turns the key.
"Small", he repeats, leading Stranger inside and flipping on the dimmer of the two light settings. The room is between six and a dozen feet square, with a cutout formed by the unseen bathroom; there's nothing on any of the walls, except that the far wall itself seems to be beveled inward, with the inside of the cutout covered entirely by a sheet of perfectly black, heavy fabric, weighted taut by a metal strip at the bottom.
On one side, there's a very tall standing desk with a correspondingly tall stool. On the other, there's a bed, soft but clearly not physically big enough for more than one person. It's elevated to about Rikka's waist height and very shallowly cup-shaped - there's a latch you turn to flip one of the short, cushioned walls outward so you can get in. Rikka strips the bed of one of its two blankets, and one of its two (stacked) pillows, and lays them out on the floor, which is carpeted. "I'll sleep here", he says, nodding satisfiedly at his floor setup.