Batman was going through the longest day of his life.
Later that day, Batman dealt with Wayne Enterprises' affairs as quickly as possible. His meticulous nature compelled him to investigate the company's operations over the past three months and adjust countless details, so even at maximum efficiency, it was already late at night by the time he finished.
A light had been left on for him at Wayne Manor, but when he stepped into the manor's hall, he saw a sight unlike any he had seen before.
If Batman had to describe the scene, his artistic sensibilities, no less keen than anyone else's, would have called it "the remains of merriment" or "the wreckage of warmth."
The fire in the fireplace had gradually died down. The blackened charcoal had lost its last red glow, and ash drifted upward through the flue. Magnified by the faint firelight, it cast wavering shadows across the sofa like jellyfish floating upward through the dim glow of the Deep Sea.
There were obvious indentations in the upholstered sofa, details Batman's instinctive detective's vision fed into his mind. He saw several familiar figures sitting around the fireplace: his Robins, Damian, several younger children, and Bruce sitting on the sofa opposite the hearth.
In the flickering firelight, they had leaned forward over the drawings on the coffee table. As Batman approached, he saw several pale, slender hands of youths, along with the somewhat childish hands of younger children, drawing and writing on a sheet of white paper.
Now they had gone, leaving only the densely sketched soccer formations on the paper atop the coffee table to tell the story of the lively discussion that had taken place here about an hour earlier.
The bone china cups and saucers had been set apart, still marked by trails of