The bat’s eyes do not “flutter,” nor does he “drift” into consciousness. Such comforts are reserved for the citizens he protects, and not himself. His body is a machine, well-tuned and often pleasingly oiled, and so his eyelids burst open—and no other word seems intense enough for the action or the man behind it, his consciousness does not fade in but lash out—as if battling against the concept of rest itself, and his gaze, full and bold and livid, rushes to his wristwatch. 04:19, exactly. He is not happy with this. He usually wakes up at 03:15 for breakfast and light stretching before a more full workout. His awareness of his surroundings increases within milliseconds, and he is quick to his feet, his cape as silent as he is, as it floats through the air and back down on to his back. This is not his home. This is not his room. He knows of no museums in the area with paintings like this, and his knowledge of Baltimore nightlife is staggering and unrivaled. He is not in Baltimore. He does not know where he is. He counts the paintings, the statues, the bodies beside him on the floor, makes note of every sharp corner and calculates the dimensions of the room in his head. He notices he is lighter. Since he knows exactly how much every tool in his arsenal weighs, he is certain that all he is left with is his retractable Bo-staff, a flashlight, and a bag of sand. He checks to make sure. He is correct. He suspects this, of course.
The artwork is distasteful. He wishes he could punch it right in its distasteful face. He allows himself a moment to picture this. The punching. It is nice. He allows himself a small smile, as none of the bodies seem awake. He thinks he should check for pulses. He does not like these people. He does not like many people, but some of these people look distasteful, and also quite gross. Some of the male citizens have facial hair. Disgusting. He decides he does not want to touch /any/ of them. He instead looks for the rise and fall of their chests. Everyone is breathing. Even the fat guy with facial hair, and the one with glasses and also facial hair. Also disgusting, and unfortunate. People should not be allowed to have /two/ things wrong with them, he thinks. They seem to have many things wrong with them. Whoever these two are, they are not to be trusted. The fat guy is probably a supervillian, given his weird robot arm. The bat will enjoy taking him down. The other boy is probably an idiot, given his clothing choices. The bat will enjoy taking him down as well. Perhaps for littering. He will find an excuse somehow.
It is possible one of these bodies has taken him there. But considering the cameras, and the distasteful artwork, he believes something far more sinister must be at work. He explores the other rooms, stops right before he goes up the stairs. This is unnecessary, for now, he thinks. And the bodies must be watched.
The bat decides that he will lay back on the floor, and pretend to sleep until everyone wakes up. This task actually requires more concentration than he thinks it will. Usually The Night sleeps with his eyes open. Also, he is not used to being up for such prolonged periods of time without excercising. He flexes as he pretends. In two hours the others start to awaken. He has to stop flexing and start listening. He wishes he could keep his eyes open. White contacts would come in handy in a case like this. He wishes, not for the first time, that he was able to make something like that out of cardboard. Unfortunately, cardboard, he knows, is oblique, and not transparent. He could not see through the cardboard. This saddens him. Just another detail in his tragic backstory, he tells himself. The thought comforts him, much moreso than listening to people /talk/.
As he continues listening, he realizes he has no idea how he is supposed to pretend to wake up. How do normal people wake up? He has seen people wake up from being knocked unconscious by him, and also he has watched him Mom sleep, but he always leaves the room before she wakes up, because she doesn’t like that very much. Does he exaggerate a yawn? Does he let his eyes “flutter?” That sounds disgusting. He would never do that. So he continues to pretend to sleep. Maybe he can just pretend to be awake when everyone leaves the room. This was a bad plan. This was an /awful/ plan.
