He tilted his head, his gaze beneath the mask sweeping over Cyborg's half-mechanical face, then Selina's slightly frowning profile. His brow furrowed beneath his mask.
Had he just been about to say something to Cyborg?
Batman's jaw tightened for a moment, then he suppressed that flicker of doubt and continued answering Charles's question.
But a faint unease rose in his heart.
The talks between the two sides continued for roughly forty minutes, in an atmosphere of outward harmony with undercurrents churning beneath.
Charles led the entire conversation, moving from the history of Mutants to the Xavier School's operating model, from the similarities between the two universes to the possibility of cooperation. He spoke at a measured pace, his wording tactful and gentle. Every question was perfectly placed, and every answer left no opening.
Batman sat beside the long table, leaning on his cane, his gaze beneath the mask never leaving Charles's face.
But he increasingly felt that something was wrong.
He could not say what was wrong. Charles was too perfect. Too gentle. Too much like a gentle leader.
Working with them, there would be no need at all to worry about being stabbed in the back.
Yet all of this completely contradicted his earlier thoughts, as well as that bastard Yongye's assessment.
Though Batman loathed Yongye, he would never take his abilities or judgment lightly.
Why was this happening?
Batman sank into thought, tapping his knuckles lightly twice against the head of his cane. The Tactical Terminal inside it silently lit up, only for him to switch it off again.
He wanted to signal Cyborg.
He tilted his head, sweeping his gaze toward Cyborg.
Cyborg had his head lowered, his electronic prosthetic eye fixed on the glass of water on the table, as though he were spacing out.
Batman