So, this had not been the brightest of ideas from the questionable thoughts of Glass. It was true that he did not care what the public thought of him and nor did he care what happened to him. He could be hated because of his appearance and insulted and mocked and anything else the humans could come up with. He could be attacked, beaten (though that word somehow implies that damage was being done), or even shattered into pieces, and Glass would not care. It had already happened once, and the sharp and broken edges of his left hand testified to such and the fading memory of that night inconsequential in Glass' mind.

Even incarceration did not bother Glass, which was the current issue he was having, staring down the wall beyond the bars of his cell in silence. The police officers were on edge, even if it was only a slight change from their normal fare of the unusual and strange. It wasn't everyday that a glass man came into their lives, and it was even less often that a naked glass man did so.

It was not truly Glass' fault. He'd encountered a group of questionable people on the streets of New York, and as was natural for him, he did not display the usual signs of "I'm concerned because I feel threatened". How could he, when he did not care at all? The thugs, of course, took his nonchalant entrance into their territory as a sign of disrespect and sought to remedy this. It was quickly discovered that Glass could not be affected by their usual methods, and after a period of sneer-filled contemplation, the men decided to drop him off of the roof of a building.

Glass did not bother fighting. There was no point, especially since he highly doubted they could do anything to "injure" him. The rooftop of a nearby apartment complex proved to be the perfect place for his undoing, or at least the men thought it was. They attempted to drag Glass to the rooftop, but the five foot, eleven inch man proved to be a little more hassle than anything else, since he was a little less than five hundred pounds in weight. Apathy proved to be his "undoing" as Glass simply went along for the ride instead of putting his obvious advantages to a good use.

That being said, actually pushing the Morlock off the roof was more than enough entertainment for Glass as he watched the humans struggle. He wasn't worried, especially since they'd decided to drop him off onto balconies below in the hopes that the metal bars would shatter the man. No could do, especially since Glass was an animate being and tended to grab onto things as he fell. He eventually stopped his descent before he reached the ground, but the pair of shorts he was wearing were impaled by a railing and Glass was forced to abandoned them.

It wasn't like it bothered the Morlock, anyways. Cold and nakedness were things that no longer concerned him. What did concern him (some dulled down version of the feeling) was maneuvering over to a fire escape so he could climb and then drop down with a crash onto an abandoned car. Or a not-abandoned car. It did not matter to him.

He was out of the area before the thugs could get back down to the ground floor, but unfortunately, the cops did not take kindly to a naked, silent, glass man wandering about New York like some kind of mutated pervert. And so Glass was stuck in a holding cell overnight as the police officer promised, because he was quiet and passive and just generally creepy. They'd given him something to wear while he waited, but it was all the same to Glass.

For a while, the Morlock had watched and observed the world around him, sitting nearly motionless on the cot, but it only took a few hours before he fell into a sleep-like trance, bored of life. No one noticed the change, because Glass neither moved nor shut his eyes for this. He simply froze and locked himself into his own mind, and time passed by.

But not fast enough. Never fast enough.